Hunting, pt. II - What Lies in Wait

[Ataraxis]

“Just a bit more.” The whisper went unheard, lost in the vacuum of silence that reigned over the dampish air of Luthmor. Not a sweltering wind had blown nor a twisted twig snapped in that tense moment, when the feline beast had prowled into the glade. Muscles corded under its taut black fur as it eyed the dead hare, the creature shifting its weight from paw to paw with a hypnotizing fluidity as it went to fetch it at the center of the clearing. It was a fresh kill, perhaps abandoned by a well-sated predator. This was a chance encounter that left it licking its lips, over and over as it whiffed the inert mass of flesh and fur.

Oddly, the hare had crumbled onto the greensward, belly-first, as though stuffed with straws into an awkward pose. But what did the Algora care? Had it the ability to think, its only thoughts would be devoted the prospect of a plump repast, free of charge, waiting for it well before the time of hunting. Springing forth, it sunk its fangs into the forest critter, expecting the soft squish and spurt of blood made by any other prey.

The sick sound of splintering bones reverberated through a once hollow din, followed by the excruciating cry and hiss of a wounded marauder. Bouncing back, it rolled with vehemence, flattening the tall grass with every passing, before it sprung back into shape and hared for the woods, snarling something that would forever haunt Lillian’s memories. Feeling that the area was finally safe, she sprung out from the bushes, dusting off what leaves and sticks had taken her host as she made her way to the heart of the shadowed meadow.

Bending down, she picked up the hare with one hand, visibly struggling as she brought it to eyes that gleamed triumphant. With a shake, its belly ripped open, and a blunt rock escaped from the wound to thump into the soft ground. Looking back at the corpse, specifically where were left the bite marks of the Algora, she saw five yellowish slivers protrude from its pink fur. “Well, at least we got what we came for,” she said wanly, a bit sickened. “Well Aiden? Wasn’t this easier than your ‘I’ll hit it with my big shiny sword until it stops moving’ plan?”

[DarkStorm]

Aiden was unamused. It might have been the fact that until Lillian had started moving, he had almost gotten some much needed sleep, or it might have been what she said that irritated him. Grunting in irritation, he centered his eyes on her.

"No. I would have gotten us a whole jawbone full of them." Aiden glanced pointedly at the few teeth in the girl's hand.

Turning, Aiden approached the tree they had been crouched near, and glanced up it. There, hidden by the leaves, Chance slept relatively peaceful. Sitting with his back against the main trunk of the tree, with his legs hanging off either side of the thick branch he sat on, the boy had managed to keep a stable enough perch to get a bit of sleep. Aiden had refused to leave the boy on the ground with them, while the Algora was near.

"Chance. Wake up. We are about to go." Aiden said, shaking his son's foot.

Stirring, Chance yawned, and opened his eyes. Obviously bleary from sleep, he rubbed at them with his knuckles. After he was satisfied, he leaned toward his father and stretched his arms down. Reaching up, Aiden placed his hands on his sons ribs, beneath either arm, and pulled him down. Balancing his son on his hip, with his arm around Chance's lower back, he turned to speak to Lillian.

"What's next on our list, then?"

[Ataraxis]

Listening to the aggravation in Aiden’s disapproval, Lillian made a girlish humph, her pale face creased into a weak frown as she commenced the voicing of her disapprobation. “That’s exactly what I don’t understand! You were ready to kill the poor thing for a mouthful of teeth when we only need one or two!” Really, she couldn’t understand. Granted, Algora had a knack for mauling and devouring travelers such as them, but was that reason enough to rid the forest of one of its rowdier tenants?

Well… she began as forethought, but shooed the terrible idea away. It was still early in the day, and should they still somehow encounter another Algora, they would simply deal with it accordingly. I bet he’d also enjoy the prospect of gutting and skinning one, she quipped with a hidden smile, addressing the hulk of a man one final time before starting for the edge of the glade, where a narrow pass cut through moss-covered heaps of fallen alders. “Plus, I only need to make the one potion, not get hooked on the cursed thing,” Lillian said, placing both hands on her hips, pointing her speech with a maudlin sigh. The night before, they had gone to the Crystal Square, hoping to synthesize a few useful items on their trek, the potion of magical strength being one of the more complex articles she desired. Now, they were scavenging the forests, enduring the humidity that stuck to their skin like creeping insects, in search of inummerable ingredients, some more dangerous to acquire than others. Still, she knew that the hardships they would experience were naught in comparison to the benifices of their hunt.

Grinning at the weary moans of little Chance as he was roused from his sleep and rescued from his perch, Lillian dismissed the whole dissension, wishing much rather for their search to advance. Without hesitation, she plucked their next move from the map in her mind, seeing precisely what location they would reach and what creature they would find upon arrival. “Next would be the eggs from Sleamnaigh Wyrm nest. The forest of Luthmor crawls with them, but our best bet would be rummaging around the trees that embower bodies of water like lakes or ponds.”

Sealing her eyes, she attuned herself to her surroundings, delving deep into the apparent serenity of the woodland. In this state, she felt the wispy voice of the wind, the musical rustle of leaves, the squeaks and squawks that chattered from the treetops. More importantly, however, she heard a steady flow, the trickling rush of cool water against a bed of polished stones. “There’s a river near,” she finally said, taking to the newfound tributary with a merry stride. However, though her exterior exuded none of it, she bore the burden of her qualms, not appreciating this particular part of the foray into Luthmor one bit. Stealing a glimpse of the clear blue sky, the sharpness of her eyes had waned into a dim look of growing worry. In that fleeting moment, she had come to harbour a deep contempt for herself.

I am preparing to rob a creature of its unborn children.

[DarkStorm]

Chance groaned and wiggled in Aiden's arms until his father lowered him to the ground, then swayed slightly as he rubbed at his eyes tiredly. Having stayed up far later than he was normally allowed to the night before, the boy was definitely weary. Where he was normally happy and jittery, Chance was now quiet and calm. He hadn't even begun his daily, precocious routine of either harassing or flirting with Lillian, for which both Aiden and Lillian were undoubtedly thankful.

Looking up at Aiden with his icy blue eyes partially hidden under his moody scowl, Chance spoke. "Why'd you wake me up?"

"Because it's time to go." Aiden replied. Motioning for Chance to come with him, Aiden started to follow Lillian.

"so what are these wyrm thingers you spoke of, Lil?" Aiden asked. Walking beside him, Chance's attention perked up, and Aiden could only assume that the boy had read something about them that made him interested in them.

[Ataraxis]

“Don’t be fooled by the homonymy of the name: they may be called wyrms, but the last thing you will see them do is crawl.” Her admonition was spoken in earnest and her words were given further credibility by the deliberate motion of her index, a summons for extreme caution she thought essential with two heads as rash and reckless as these. If it were left to him, Aiden would skewer the beast without hesitation and, much accidentally, attract more of the felled creature’s brethren to the forefront. Chance, on the other hand, would be the unpredictable little devil that he had always been, a bringer of either good fortune or calamitous disaster. The latter much, much more often than the former.

“The Sleam is a primitive form of dragon. It possesses wings, though it is much too small to support its body mass in flight. Instead, the Sleam uses its wings to glide from bough to bough, much like a flying squirrel, which makes it a dangerously swift opponent, without mentioning the potency of its paralyzing saliva.” Making full use of her encyclopedic knowledge, Lillian recited verbatim the description of the wyrm, found in one of the restored libraries of Donnalaich, as she trod the leafy soil, wary of any slope or snag that would impede their advance. Incidentally, this made her sound more like one of the petite tour guides of the capital than an adventurous scavenger of sorts.

With only a mote of emotion, she added a personal touch to her closing words. “It attacks bigger creatures only when provoked, and so we must proceed carefully; though, as our goal is to steal its unhatched young, we may as well be prepared for the worst.” As if on cue, a splash of water followed her fading voice, but it had made its return in a stretched squeal, the unlucky librarian having slipped on a sward of mud. In a miraculous bout, she had poised herself, stopping in the shallow waters in the oddest of positions. “How did I not see that?” she snarled in irritation, aimed mostly at herself.

What had caught their mutual attention – and mutual worry – was a whole other snarl. In less than a whisper, she told the bulky man and his diminutive self to stand idle and make no sound. With a grinding sluggishness, she turned her head, searching for the source of the feral hiss; but there were no thickets for it to hide, and the green canopies were too thin for it to soar unnoticed. Instead, she found a nook in the ground, a good thirty feet away. The hole was dug by clumsy claws near a rocky monticule, covered in broken branches and carpets of moss; and in it lay half a dozen spotted eggs, each so big it could fit the hollow of her joint fingers. “That was… odd, but there are the eggs, I guess.”

“Who wants to go fetch them?” she murmured, a nervous chuckle blocking her throat.

[Chance]

From the first snarl, Aiden had gone as still as stone. He had dealt with many wild beasts in his life, and had through trial and error learned the importance of mastering his instincts. Right now, they were screaming at him to draw his sword, and defend his son at any and all costs. His intellect, however, told him that to move too suddenly here was suicide, and worse, murder for Lillian and Chance. Slowly, oh so slowly, he mimicked Lilys movement. His jaw dropped, a burst of panic flaring in his stomach. It was as if a dam of adrenaline had been broken, letting the chemical flood into his system.

Having completely ignored Lillian's warning for caution, Chance was now making his way toward the hollow depression in the ground. Before a thought had crossed his mind, Aiden was sprinting towards his son. Before he had taken more than three strides however, Lillian's hand gripped down on his left bicep with a strength that belied her willowy frame. His mane of dreadlocks quivered like a wild creature as his head jerked down to look at her. He could see his panic mirrored in her eyes, and the way her face had paled to a pasty alabaster wasn't lost on the man.

Yards away, Chance had slowed his pace as he came closer to what they had first thought to be a nook in the ground. Closer inspection now revealed it to be an oddly shaped and angled cavern that dropped away into darkness immediately after the egg nest. This close, the boy could make out the stringy, brown mucus-like substance that covered the tops of the eggs, and the wet shine on the soft, shell-less ovals. They lay on a bed of mashed grass. and oddly enough, were ringed by a circle of stones. He lowered himself onto his belly and crawled closer to the opening.

Taking a quick look around to assure himself of his safety, Chance turned back to the eggs. Carefully, slowly, he lowered his shaking hand into the mouth of the cave. What was merely moments for Aiden and Lily seemed to be years for the boy, as his exposed fingers were swallowed by the shadows of the cave. When his fingertips finally grazed the side of the slick orbs, Chance stifled a cry of glee, and instead grabbed the object softly and pulled it out. Turning back, he slowly tossed it through the air. Aiden caught it easily and handed it to Lillian.

"Get back here!" The man hissed towards his son. Chance ignored him, and turned back to the eggs. In his distraction, the boy didn't see the two eyes that stared maliciously out from deeper into the cave, light reflecting from the acidic green, cat-like pupils.

Reaching in again, Chance grabbed three of them, using both of his hands. Carefully slipping one into the cloth sack at his belt that held the gold his father had given him many months ago, the boy turned, and repeated the process of carefully throwing the eggs to his father. When he turned back, he found himself face to face with the Wyrm. Fear froze him, completely, mercilessly. The creature bellowed, its shrieking caw causing Aiden to pull his sword free and begin sprinting towards his son. But it was too late. The creature was too close, and Chance had no hope of getting to his feet in time to run away. Opening its mouth, the Wyrm lunged out of the cave at the boy.

Screaming in fear, Chance lifted his hand in panicked reflex. Where his conscious mind failed to provide any solution, his instincts butted it aside, and took control. A calm anxiety replaced the intense fear of the moment before, and the air in front of his uplifted hand shimmered and a translucent wave rippled and spun like a whirlpool. A sharp gust of cold issued from seemingly nowhere, and a hand size jag of ice erupted from the air in front of his palm. Without fail or fault, the jag of ice shot down the exposed throat of the roaring beast, and tore deep into the back of its throat.

Not waiting to see if it had killed the Wyrm, or merely angered it, Chance jumped to his feet and ran. With his fear driving him, he ducked behind his running father, and threw himself at Lillian.

[Ataraxis]

With agasted eyes, Lillian watched the dangerous procedure, biting her lower lip in a surge of panic as the fragile eggs careened into the air, surprised that Aiden had such a sure grip over the mottled ovoids, what with the mucky mess that oozed over its coarse and viscous sheen. Slowly, she advanced, tugging on the muscle-bound arm of her companion, making ripples in the moss-green river with every careful step, doing her best to make as little noise as humanly possible. I know I told Aiden to stand still, since he makes an awful racket, but as long as we keep this pace...

Lillian was only a few feet away from the plucky little boy, her boots slightly sinking on relatively dry land. With outstretched arms, she reached for the child as he rummaged through his rucksack, beckoning him to come back to safety. It was only then that she noticed the orbs of effervescent green, peering from the veil of darkness that shrouded the small cave she had thought to be a simple nest, finagled with a bundle of twigs and pebbles from the riverbed.

They were abominable, luminous things, with vertical slits that flashed dark with each of its reptilian blinks. When the boy pitched back the last set of eggs, her face was horrifically frozen in fear, not for herself, but for Chance, who had just turned to face to face with an irate wyrm, mother of the children he had just tossed away. As Lillian lunged to save the boy, so did the beast to rip his face and devour him whole.

What followed was a mystery that did not fail to leave her bewildered. A pulse of cold had shot out from his heaved hand in concentric ripples, sending shivers down each of her extremities. Then, from the depths of nowhere had come a shard of frigid crystal, discharged as a flash of glistening blue into the very throat of the wyrm. Bluish blood sprayed from the gaping wound, staining the boy and the peaty tracts, mixing in with the waters into whorls of liquid lightning as the scaly mass splashed and thrashed,its sick shriek and garbled gurgle bringing a sharp wince to her face.

Her plexus felt crushed, but she was glad to know it was due to Chance’s frightened impetus. Holding him dearly against her chest, she patted and brushed his back, gently flattening his auburn hair. With soft hushes, she calmed him down, coddling him as a sister would her baby brother. "It’s okay, it’s gone now! Shh… It’s okay now… It’s–"

Less than a second was what she had to evade the rushing fangs. Spinning back, she fell into the waters, splashing loud with the child in her arms, her left shoulder grazed by the passing of jagged claws. The thing was already back on its feet, for she could hear the rapid pittering of its steps, coming nearer and nearer. Teeth bared and stained fresh with thin drips of her mortal ichor, it threshed its vestigial wings, churning the face of the river; with the full force of its slender hind legs, it lunged again, cutting through the air like a blooded blade, bent on feasting on the thieves of her brood.

A blue juice shot forth, drizzling along the blade of the glass dirk that had embedded itself into the flat skull of the wyrm. With a slick squelch, it slipped down the tainted edge, the whole corpse crashing into a pool of beryl ink, inert. Huffing, subjected to a mix of fear and adrenaline, Lillian watched the scaly cadaver, realizing the meaning of what she had done. Chest heaving, lips yawning, eyes quavering, she held on to the young boy, strangely feeling no regret for the death of which she was the cause, only boundless gladness for the life she had just preserved. “Aiden! It’s okay, it’s dead! For real this time! Chance… Chance is safe!”

Now, she was afraid that Aiden would blame her, scold her for the danger to which she had exposed his only son. She steeled herself, willowy arms still cinched around the frail figure, but as she awaited the worst, she released a staggered moan. Something small was pinching her, industriously palpating her bosom.

“Wow! You’re pretty and soft!” squeaked the innocent boy, still amazed at the pillow-like consistency of her chest. Wincing, fighting against her indignation, she did not move. The boy kept groping, whittling away at her dignity, but it was a worthy sacrifice, if it meant not incurring his father’s wrath. She was definitely not steeled for another bout of yelling, like the one that had befallen her the prior night, after she had vehemently reacted to Chance's precocious interest in giving out impromptu kisses.

Dear mother, I hope this child will not grow to be a lecher. Still, considering all of their ordeals, past and present, the future looked bleak.

[Chance]

Chance's fear at the incident had already faded, as he now explored Lillian's chest with curious fingers. He felt that in her arms, he was safe from any beast, be it wrathful or hungry. He could hear his father approaching, the man's legs sloshing through the water with each step. With a smile on his face, the boy turned to look over his shoulder at his father. His grin widened as his father lifted his sword high into the air, and dropped the point into the chest of the Wyrm. The sharp edges of the weapon punched through the skin easily enough, and a dark liquid pooled out beneath it.

"Yay. Kill it good!" Chance shouted happily, his voice echoing.

Though worry was still etched in the lines of Aiden's face, he couldn't help but smile at his son's words. As his father sheathed his sword and turned to Chance and Lillian, the boy turned and leaned forward without warning, stealing a quick kiss from the girl. He giggled as her face flushed a deep scarlet, and his father's hands closed around his ribs. Pulled up into the air, the world spun for the boy as his father turned him, and pulled him into a hug. He could hear his father's voice in his ear, though the words were aimed at Lillian.

"Thank you, for protecting him." The world tilted as his father leaned forward, supporting Chance with only one hand. When Lillian entered the boy's field of vision, now standing, he understood that his father had bent over to help her up.

[Ataraxis]

The stolen kiss had flustered her quite a bit, but it had not been his first attempt, nor was it his first success; therefore, the girl was quick to pass over the initial surprise and drain the blood from her cheeks. Only then did the strangest feeling seep inside her head.

As she was relieved of the child’s momentary custody, so did she feel relief pervade the throbbing walls of her heart. There was something righteous that churned behind the opacity of her stunned figure, knelt so limply in the blue shadows that floated so calm upon the still brook. Though the black lustre of her hair had taken on the qualities of a soggy mop, though she felt the bite of polished stones against her bruised shins, she was overcome with a deep sense of comfort and confidence. It didn’t matter to her that she was a dishevelled mess of clicking teeth and cold shivers, because even though she was weak and frail, she had managed to stand on the line between life and death, and had made a difference.

“Don’t mention it,” Lillian absently said in her small voice as the ridiculously tall man heaved her onto shaky feet. The drip and drop was but a faint and brief tinkle, until she industriously wrenched a fold of the fine fabric that clung so snugly to her sinuous contours. The sight of bluish streams trickling down with the excess waters was unsettling at best, but she tried to dismiss it nevertheless, shifting her focus to the strange quietude that reigned over their secluded piece of forest.

The air was undeniably brisk, but she no was no longer aggravated by the viscid dampness, now that she had done a most refreshing ablution in the mossy creek. The patches of sky overhead were clear, the rustle in the foliage sounded as a soft melody, even with the few burping croaks of a frog; all in all, save for the presence of a scabrous corpse, the ambiance was suffused with a serenity so pure it was almost palpable. Her vision of the world had been drawn anew, and its whole seemed painted with warmer tones and softer strokes. Standing upright with both arms drooping to her sides, she reared her head, black waves weeping with the motion as she drank in the sharpness of a newer first breath. “Don’t mention it…” she repeated, this time in the sigh of a whisper.

“Father, they’re pink!” At the strange declaration, Lillian opened a quizzical eye and brought it to the extended finger of the fair child. She was a tad troubled by the sudden imbalance his words had elicited, but felt rather curious at what they could possible describe. Following the invisible line of his index, she slowly lowered her gaze, examining the sticks and stones that slept on the riverbed, before gawking in mortification. “How come her chest bumps aren’t dark like yours?”

With a shy squeeze, she hid what feminine assets had peeked through her now see-through dress. Spinning on a dime, she took for a dense cluster of trees, ankle boots squelching as they forded through the shallow brook, kicking up wet dirt and pebbles on her dash as she scurried off to the nearest hillock, mumbling as she hopped away. How? How does that little runt always find new ways to embarrass me? She sat herself at the foot of the mound, a few dozen feet away from Aiden and his little devil, hugging herself shamefacedly as she looked the two from behind her raised knees.

“A-Aiden…” she finally wailed out, weakly but loudly enough for him to catch. “It sh-shouldn’t be dangerous to take a break, r-right? Wyrm n-nests are usually… usually few and f-far between.” She hoped, oh how she hoped that he would catch her drift, that he would take the hint! Alas, she could sense his confusion, even from afar, and sheepishly decided to put words to her squirming thoughts. “C-could you make a fire for me? I need t-to dry my clothes…” Fumbling in the end, she buried her face behind her knees, trying to smother herself to death... “P-please, I can’t go on and w-walk like... this.”

So much for edifying epiphanies, she pouted to herself.

[DarkStorm]

Ugh.

"Chance... Hers are different from yours because she is a girl. And what did I tell you about girls?" Aiden asked wearily.

"That they are easy to make mad?" Chance replied, confused.

"No." Aiden shook his head, and knew that Chance was probably digging a deep hole that they would have to climb out of. "I told you that they are different from us boys, and we have to respect their privacy. Now don't stare at her. Go grab the rest of the eggs from that nest."

As Chance turned and skipped off toward the nest, Aiden turned slightly and yelled after him. "Be careful!"

Aiden's mane of dreadlocks flailed wildly as the man shook his head, exasperated. The boy seemed to be getting worse every day that they spent with Lillian.

Aiden looked around for a second and pointed to a nearby tree. "I'll try to start a fire... but with all this water, it might be harder than just saying 'gung ho, I summon fire!'" Taking his backpack off, he dropped it to the ground, and pulled out the the small box of matches he had bought several weeks ago. Standing, he removed his yellow trenchcoat and tossed it down beside the tree he had indicated. "Go take off those wet clothes, unless you want a cold. Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm married."

Slowly scanning the hillside, Aiden moved off, and began searching for any dry wood that he could find.[hr]Laying beside the fire, Aiden gazed up at the stars quietly. Chance was already asleep, his bare chest rising slowly with each breath. Aiden knew that the boy would wake with an ungodly amount of mosquito bites, but he'd rather the boy be irritated and itchy than sick from sleeping in a wet shirt. His clothes, and Lillian's lay heaped over the treebranch directly above them. Aiden had built the fire beneath the tree that Lillian had used to hide from Chance while changing, and he was now relying on the fact that heat rose.

Looking to his side, he found Lillian staring at him silently, and in that moment he felt uncomfortably judged. "...what?"

[Ataraxis]

Her petite silhouette started when the dreadlocked man grunted his discomfort at the scrutiny of her eyes. Lillian had thought her stares had been hitherto sparse and subtle, but as reality revealed itself otherwise, the girl sank deeper inside the shelter provided by his heavy coat of burnt marigold. She was obviously uncomfortable to be in the presence of an adult, naked as she was, and wrapped the leathery fabric closer around her frail body, squirming to hide as much of her slender legs as she could, without much success.

“Nothing important.” Her reply was dismissive at best, and she veered her gaze first to the crackling fires, then to the moss-infested bark of a nearby tree, finding much interest in the gnats that crept up the woody crimps. A moment stretched awkwardly as whatever topical thought she had entertained was left to linger aloft like a lit fuse over their heads. “I was just wondering… I mean, you… you’re a hundred and twelve years old.”

Aiden sent her a curious nod, eyes squinted as he waited to be enlightened to her point. In the meantime, he hadn’t exactly learned anything new. “Well, of course you know that. And of course, you also know that Chance is six years old.” Again, nothing knew had been brought to the table, but the man had shifted where he sat, as though her obvious statements were finally shaping into whatever issue had been cast over her mind.

“I guess what I’m asking is…” she hesitated, clearing her throat to further beat around the bush. At this thought, she wished there was some thicket under which she could crawl and hide, but the best she found were some oddly malodorous little shrubs nearby, sheltered by a roof of coarse ferns. “Who is his mother? Where is she?” Noticing her sudden change of direction, she perked her eyebrows for a moment, before shrugging. It’s probably wiser not to ask how old she is, anyway.

[DarkStorm]

Aiden smiled softly, easily seeing through the embarrassment-inspired verbal stumbling of the girl. It jogged his memories, reminding him once more of how his wife had done the same when they had only just met. She had pleaded for him to take her with him, and he had treated her like little more than a piece of dirt stuck to the bottom of his boot. Eventually, that had changed. The memories made him ache in longing. Why was it taking so long for her to get to him? Alaina and Fate should have been here by now.

"Alaina is Twenty four years old." Noticing Lillian's expression, Aiden laughed quietly.

"Alaina is a Salus, and I am not human. Our species age differently to your kind, Lillian. What is twenty years beside a century? Two? Five?" Aiden smiled again. "Alaina is a beautiful woman, and as I have seen, she only grows more beautiful with age. I can't wait to see how gorgeous she is in another century."

The smile still on his face, Aiden tossed a dry twig into the fire, and watched it ignite and crumble to ash. He refused to think of what could be keeping his wife and daughter. They should have been here so long ago.

Nearby, Chance rolled over from his back to his side, away from them. His sandy blonde hair stuck up chaotically in the back, and dirt clung between his shoulder blades and just above his jeans. Reaching over, Aiden carefully, gently dusted the soil from the boy's pale skin.

"I worry about Chance, Lillian. These past few weeks, I have felt some unknown doom creeping toward me. It's like reading a book that you know is going to end badly. I feel as if something terrible waits over the horizon." His smile had faded. He was silent for a moment, then "Lillian, you must promise me that if something happens to me, and Alaina is still missing, that you will protect Chance, and try to find Alaina. If I am gone, and Alaina is not here, Chance will have no one..."

[Ataraxis]

He doesn’t know where. Her mind had grasped the situation, or at least enough of it to understand her comrade’s qualms. Lillian felt the walls of her heart falter more and more, and her spirits were now naught but rubbles of worry for the man. These past few days, she had come to know both father and child, but this revelation of Alaina had further deepened this knowledge, opening doors that she had once thought to be locked.

Lillian had known Aiden to be a bit of a ruffian, vested with a caring heart that hid behind his burnished bulk of brawn, while Chance was the innocent demon that both hung over her shoulder and plotted behind her back. Now, however, she was painfully made aware that one had become a husband without a wife, and the other a son without a mother. His overprotective behavior wasn’t so ludicrous anymore, and Chance’s vehement attachment to her suddenly seemed worryingly reasonable. In silence she remained, finding an unbidden comfort in the warmth of Aiden’s trenchcoat.

“Aiden.” Peering into the haze of dancing flames, Lillian finally spoke. “If you already think that way, then Chance might very well be lost to this impending doom you speak of.” Before he could interject, in the ireful manner she knew was second nature to him, she carried on, in the same, soft tone of voice. “I know that you cannot predict what the future will bring, and that you are only looking for his safety. But at the very least, believe that, as likely as the worst may come to pass, the best is just as prone to occur.” Her words carried out in a whisper, as though she lacked the strength for them to carry.

This was how she had managed to endure the trials of her life, how she had persisted through the years. Expecting the worst, without disregarding the possibility of whatever good may come; and more than a mere mantra, an idealistic formula, it was a true belief, founded upon observation and experience. For every time death at grazed her face, she had seen a wonder many have died without ever knowing. For each enemy she made, a friend would come to her aid. “But if your faith in the future is still dystopian…”

Lillian released a sorrowful sigh, shutting her eyes in preparation. “Then you can entrust Chance’s safety to me. No matter what happens, he will have someone – I will make sure of that.”

[Chance]

The chocolate was just... so perfectly tasty. In a daze of splendor, Chance swam through it slowly, enjoying it. The thick liquid... was fading... gone.

Frowning, the boy tried to bring it back, but was further irritated to hear his father and Lillian prattling on again.

God. Don't they ever stop talking?

Chance tried to ignore them, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. He was tired, and he needed sleep. Why wouldn't they just go to bed too?

Finally, he'd had enough. "Shut up!" Chance shouted grumpily.

Shocked, Aiden did just that. Looking at his son, the man frowned. "What did I tell you about that wor-" Chance cut him off.

"Sleep!" The boy shouted.

"Chanc-" Aiden began.

"SLEEP!" The boy reiterated even louder.

Aiden knew it was one of those times that he should have been tough, and disciplined Chance, but it was just too comical, and too cute for him to stay angry. They had been being slightly inconsiderate by talking while the boy was trying to sleep anyways. Turning a smile to Lillian, Aiden shrugged, and moved to lay down beside his son. Despite the child's grumpy disposition, the boy squirmed, pushing his back against his father's stomach.

The night was quiet and peaceful, the stars above glittering like diamonds.

[Ataraxis]

Not a crow, not a breeze, not a croon announced the rise of the sun. At the outskirts of Luthmor, only the warm sleeves of the morning came to brush her sleeping face. Twisting and turning under the leathery blanket of a trenchcoat, Lillian was roused from a short slumber. After a few tired yawns, she lifted herself, careful to hold the dandelion fabric over her chest in an act of modesty. Eyeing the surroundings, she saw the blue-tinted belly of the young Chance, slowly pumping in the air of dawn before expelling it out in a flimsy snore. Aiden was nowhere to be seen, but she knew he was off to fill their waterskins, for the pouches were gone with his sword, the rest of their belongings still strewn across the swards of damp earth.

For once, she could see the adorable devil in a well-deserved lethargy, not making a ruckus nor wreaking havoc wherever he went. Beaming at this strike of luck, she crouched down, swathed in the long jacket, and plucked the leaves off a few plants that she ground in her hands, drawing out the greenish liquid from the blotches. Then, with a devious smile that stretched ever wider, she drew upon his face a curling mustache with a little green goatee. She snickered at a job well done, very appreciative of her artistic skills.

Leaving the child to his saccharine dreams, she hopped and hopped, trying to grab onto her clothes, which were drooping from the limb that hung over an all but extinguished fire – one that had kept the feline beasts at bay throughout the night. After giving bashful glances around, to make sure that her hulking friend would not emerge from the woods as she stood in naked stupor, she let the coat slide and pool down around her ankles, feeling a chill course over her frail skin in that instant of exposure, tingling, but very much welcome.

When she was fully clothed, she expired in relief, figuring that no one had seen her. Chance was still snoring sweetly. And Aiden must still be off gathering food and water, she told herself, startled when the thickets rustled beside her. The massive musculature of the Fell Human melted away from the shadows, pushing away a curtain of lianas that drooped much alike his hair. The girl released her breath, glad to see that it was no woodland monster. “Good morning, you. Ready to get your hands on that Sheadha egg for that lightning enchantment of yours?”

[Chance]

The sky overhead lit with a flickering jag of lightning, the bruised clouds roiling ceaselessly, from horizon to horizon. A bloody crimson light flashed over the land, created by the fractal bolt of red energy as it lanced toward the distant ground. Chance could only look on in horror as another jolt slammed down into the ground, and another after. He knew that the light should have been yellow, and the thunderbolt golden. That knowledge did nothing to arrest the rubescent bursts. There was something about that shade of red ignited a primal fear in the child, lifted every fine blonde hair on his arms and neck. Seeking a refuge from the cataclysmic sky for his eyes, he turned his gaze downward.

The land was sere, blackened and ashen. Desolation stretched as far as his light blue eyes could see, as if some massive fire had washed over the world. As far as he could see, there was nothing. No plants, trees, buildings. Simply burned rubble, and twisted wreckage. It was as if some great deity had finally deigned to show their face, but instead of delivering some long sought paradise, had lifted their colossal hand in judgment, and smote the world. A bitter hell had crept up in the night, and stolen the world, and insinuated itself into its place. Chance's breath began to quicken, his chest tightened. Panic was quickly rising in the young boy. Where was his mother? Where was his father? Where was his twin sister, Fate?

"Mommy!" The boy cried fearfully, but his voice was lost in a tumultuous blast of sound as another bloody bolt rent the dark fabric of the sky. Chance felt eyes on his back. Praying to find a familiar face, he turned, and found himself staring at... himself.

It was as if he had turned, only to find himself gazing into a mirror, yet not. Though the boy standing in front of Chance shared his face, minor differences offset the sight, and made the boy wonder what was happening. Where his eyes were a light blue, this clone's was a startling emerald green. His father had always said that Chance had been born with his mothers eyes, and yet, this copy had obviously inherited his Fathers. And where his hair was a sandy blonde, this boy's was so red it was nearly black. Cuts and scrapes littered the boys face, and a smear of blood stretched from under his left eye back towards his ear. His clothes were tattered almost beyond recognition. The torn fragments of white fabric that hung from his shoulders indicated little other than what color his shirt had been. Beneath it, showing clearly through the numerous rents and tears, injuries similar to the ones on his face spoke of bodily harm. Bruises and dried blood crusted his ribs, and his skin was almost ghastly pale, even compared to Chance's.

"Wh...who are you?" Chance stuttered.

The boy only laughed, and not kindly. Lifting his arms to his sides, the mirror image looked up into the sky. "Welcome to the future, Chance. The future you helped to create."

"I didn't do this!" Chance yelled back. It was becoming harder to breathe, his chest was constricting worse now.

"Oh no, at least not alone. I should thank your father for this as well. And Lillian too, hopeless fool that she was." The boy wearing Chance's face gave a bitter laugh. "I am only glad Mother and Fate aren't alive to see this. To see me now."

It had become too much. The constriction in his chest barely allowed him to breathe, much less handle the quickening of his heart that the fear had brought on. The thought of his family dying- no!


Chance woke with a harsh gasp, his arms jerking and flailing toward the closest figure. He was in the grip of an Asthma attack, and the panic had left him stricken.

[Ataraxis]

There had been no time to heed his answer. Her body spun on its own volition to face the source of the unexpected gasp. Lillian watched in horror as Chance was thrust into the throes of throbbing convulsions, limbs threshing wildly about to grab on to something, anything. His wheezes became shorter, louder, more and more arrhythmic, sending pangs of pain as what little air he could breathe burnt inside his lungs, never enough to quell the choking sensation that rose in his throat. No more dawdling, no more watching, helpless; Lillian dashed to his succour, knowing nothing of what to do under these situations of panic, but hurrying nonetheless. In an instant, she was at his flank, and as she fell onto her knees, caring not for the scrapes of the coarse ground, she threw herself into reach, letting his little arms wrap around her thin waist.

“Chance! Chance! What’s happening?” were the only words that had crossed her mind, too confused to filter them out. His arms held her with a strength that belied his little body, but no matter how painful it was to have her bones crushed and fingers digging into the small of her back, she wouldn’t push him away. Something in his dreams must have initiated the panic attack, a feeling she was sadly familiar with. This time, she would be there to offer her presence, to comfort Chance in the same way she had wished to be comforted, every time the terrors came for her in the dead night. “Chance, it’s okay, I’m here! Everything is fine! Your father just came back, look!”

Her chest was soaked in his tears, but she held him closer still, brushing his hair with a comforting hand, sliding the other up and down his little back. She hushed him calmly, murmuring into his ear whatever solacing words had come to light, but as her well of ideas dried out, she could only dredge up something that had lay hidden in her memories in a decade-long slumber. Lillian began to slowly rock the child in the crib of her arms, humming the beginnings of a lullaby.

Though she knew the words, she was too ruffled to think straight, and not enough confident to trust her own voice in conveying its message. Because of this, she carried on, stroking the nape of his neck in a soothing motion, as though spreading a balm upon his wound. The song was one of nostalgia, sounding much like wordless vespers to the night sky. Feeling his grip become lax, she raised the volume, humming sweetly as she kissed his temple. The boy was almost through his fit, only sniffling as he abandoned himself to the motherly sway.

[DarkStorm]

At a loss for anything to do, Aiden simply watched Lillian hold Chance. He had seen this before, and had been at the receiving end of Chance's grip during one of these attacks. Though the boy's asthma had once been rare, they had increased in frequency lately. It worried him, and at the same time, he knew there was little he could do to fix it. He had taken the boy to healers before. They had told him that they could no more 'heal' his asthma than they could 'heal' the fact that he only had two arms. Stepping closer, Aiden laid his hand on Chance's shoulder, and squeezed lightly. Though the boy's sobbing had eased, he knew that the traumatic effects of this experience wouldn't fade for quite some time.

When he saw Chance's grip on Lillian loosening, he laid his hands on his son's ribs and pulled him upward, out of the girl's embrace. Turning him, he pulled his son into a tight hug. He could feel tears dripping down the back of his neck as Chance's wet face rested on his shoulder.

"It's alright Chance. Everything's alright. Whatever it was, it was just a dream. That's all." Aiden whispered into his son's ear. Aiden looked up at Lillian, noting the look of confused worry on her face, and remembered her panicked questioning of what was happening. "Chance has Asthma, Lillian, and it's gotten worse recently. He'll be okay in a couple minutes."

"I guess just start gathering our stuff, or something. We'll set out as soon as Chance is okay again." Aiden sighed, and hugged his son tighter. He resisted the urge to ask what the boy's nightmare had been about.

[Ataraxis]

Even though the boy was safe and snug into his father’s arms, Lillian could still feel the mark of his nails biting down the skin on her back, the terrified shudders of his little body that had shaken her, awakened her to how helpless she really was. Her throat felt as parched as sandpaper, as opposed to her dress, damp from the storm of tears and cold sweat that had rained over it. Slumped on her knees, hands trembling on her white lap, she gave a good long stare at the grassy patches that waved around her, then the last breaths of a dying campfire. It was hard, so hard not to look at the weeping child. It was so hard not to cry.

Lillian lowered her chin, hiding her face behind a veil of silky black. She didn’t want Aiden to see her as she was, on the verge of wailing like a newborn after its first mouthful of air, all quivering eyes, cringed nose and puckered lips. The man had enough on his shoulders and too great a burden was already weighing on his heart. When he had taken Chance away, she had taken a glimpse at his rugged face, seeing for the first time since the onset of their travels just how old he was. From so close, she noticed the faint lines that crimped his tan, resembling an intricate map in the making. Each line that creased his skin was a road he had taken, a path he had chosen during the travel of his life – and how had he traveled indeed.

Gathering her strength, she drew herself up, languidly brushing the lumps of dirt that had stuck to her knees. In answer to Aiden’s tentative suggestion, she only gave a nod, raking in the odds and ends that were scattered across the campsite and stuffing it all into their backpacks without much care; there was very little to pack, as they had very little to use. At last, when she was done, Lillian kicked the red smolders, brewing cinder and coal into the air. Without saying a word, she walked away, pushing aside the leafy brush as she took for the exit from the rainforest. What could she possibly say? Aiden had enough to worry about, and he didn’t need another crying child to console.


“Keep your eyes peeled, men. We’re looking for something that looks like a camelthorn acacia tree,” she said casually, with eye squinted more than the other as though steadying the aim of an arrow. Lillian was looking far into the distance, trying hard to see past the light of noon that beat down over them like red-hot hammers. Ever since they had emerged from the dense cluster of Luthmor, they had gone from damp heat to dog day, the trio burning under the canicular weather of the grasslands. Hearing no reply, turned her head askance, giving the boys a weary look, soon followed by a long, tedious sigh. “There aren’t a lot of trees in places like these. Among those few are tall ones that branch out near the top, which makes their reddish leaves spread like shingles or umbrellas. Big, red umbrellas, got it?”

“We’ll also need tri-horned beetles. I think the name’s pretty much self-explanative in itself, but just in case: they’re little insects with colorful shells, and three horns.” Her try at humor had failed at best; not only did they not sound chipper, but she had a hard time convincing herself that she was even remotely funny. “They can be found crawling around hollowed bark or beneath stones or dried mounds of earth. Then, we’ll need the egg of a Sheahda, a bird that resembles a lark, but much bigger with purplish plumage. If we’re lucky, we can find all three of those ingredients if we find the right tree.”

Lillian stopped, feeling a bit queasy about what she would tell them next. Up until now, they had worked on luck, ambling about the woods until they happened upon what was needed. However, recovering the last element would be a much more daunting task. Her tone had become darker, gloomier, when the words finally came out. “Lastly, we’ll need to harvest the bone of a Cailpis Wyrven. They nest on small hills, and are extremely territorial. They’re massive, violent, deadly creatures, and they will not hesitate to bite off your head and use it as a chew toy.”

She had dotted her last sentence with multiple inflexions, purposely putting emphasis on the monstrous aspect of these wyrvens. They had all been sulking in quiet for too long, and Lillian frankly had enough of that: if that didn’t break the tension, nothing would.

[DarkStorm]

Aiden smiled to himself for a second, thinking about the battle that was to come. After all the years of relative peace and quiet, he was still a warrior at heart, and the thought of a fight thrilled him, caused his blood to rush through his veins like a white water flood of fire. For a long moment, he was once again Aiden Rahvin DarkStorm, a warrior trained in the Nova; fearless and strong... And then the moment passed as his son Chance leaned against him.

Aiden looked down into the boy's bright, icy blue eyes and remembered who he was now. His desire for the fight became abhorrence at the thought of placing his child in danger. Chance smiled up at him weakly, his hair sticking to his face from the sweat that had been drawn out by the heat. The boy'd had problems breathing since the attack, and because of that, was drenched in his own sweat. His normally pale skin was now flushed a light red, and his shirt clung to him as if he had gone swimming with it still on. Though Aiden had tried everything he could think of to help his son's mood, nothing had helped. To see the child smile, even if only weakly, uplifted his heart considerably.

"You don't have to say it- I know why you are smiling." Aiden said.

Chance tilted his head to the side, questioningly.

"Buggies." Aiden answered.

Chance's weak smile turned to a grin, and he nodded. In the brightness of the day, Aiden could see several drops of sweat fall from the boy's hair. From his earliest words to his every action, Chance had displayed an undying love for what his mother called 'creepy crawlies.' Anything from spiders to scorpions, the boy held a fascination and love for. Aiden couldn't count how many times he had tried to wash his son's clothing, only to have an arachnid or snake fall out of the pockets. The boy simply loved them, and the prospect of hunting them now, with his father's approval no less, brightened his mood.

"Go on. Find us some of those horn beetles." Aiden said. "And don't go too far away!"

The boy was already running off toward a nearby tree. Quickening his pace to walk beside Lillian, Aiden took a quick glance at her, and expressed his worries.

"We need to wrap this up soon. We need to get Chance out of the heat; into some shade or water or something. This heat isn't good on him... especially with his Asthma."

[Ataraxis]

They were a long way from the edge of the rainforest, a curtain of trees stretching out thinner and thinner behind as they marched deeper into the tall grasslands. Lillian had cautiously hared down the uplands, stirring dust in her wake as her boots carried her down the bare slopes, with the father and son close in tow. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she threw a glance upward to the skies, ablaze it seemed with a stark white brushfire, so strong that it submerged the flaxen fields below in a sea of dry heat. Lillian found little to no comfort in the breezes that seldom blew, nor in the cool brush of the tall plants that lined her path; hence why she was more than overjoyed when, at the bend of a yellow hillock, the sight of a great shade blessed her weary eyes, in the shape of an immense mushroom, or rather… “A Ferrion tree?”

Spinning on a dime, she sought out the shape of the Fell and his progeny, a wan expression of glee lighting her countenance. Chance, however, had been one step ahead of her, whooshing past her side to meet the towering wonder, or rather, the creatures it housed beneath its crimson crown. That he had so much energy after such a tedious hike, and especially after his episode earlier this morning, made her look down in shame. She cursed her own physical limitations, the girl yearning that much more for the potion that would change it all. Soon, she would no longer struggle to keep the lead on these two boys, and not even Aiden would hold a candle to her strength. At least, I hope so.

“Don’t worry, this shouldn’t take too long,” she spoke out of breath, though trying her best to keep her speech in a voluble stream. In truth, she had no rational explanation for her certitude that it would all be over soon, nothing on her mind that would convince her swarthy companion that Chance would get his due rest any time soon. All she had was this inkling, this childish little inkling that the boy had not been given his name without rhyme or reason. It was about time, she thought hopefully, for the child to bring them good fortune.

“In the meantime, I’ll need your help to get that egg. Distance yourself from me.” At that, she gave no more explanation, but if the man had any grain of shrewdness in his head, he would quickly tie the ends of her plan at the sight of her unlatched dirk. With a whisk of her index, she touched the glass pommel, and a black light trailed behind as a magical link. In a straddling stance, she began to spin the dirk like a wheel, holding tightly on the black line as she stared at a particular area on the underside of the red copse. With a quick upward jerk, she let the dirk fly, but it fell feet short of the lowest branch and tumbled back down into a mass of shrubs.

With a grunt she reeled it back in, ignoring the sniggers from her taller friend, and repeated the process, the space between her eyebrows crimped in steady resolve. Letting the dirk loose once more, she was delighted to see it wrap around a higher bough like a grappling hook, which she fastened with a sharp tug. “Cross your fingers – well actually, don’t, I need both of your hands for this. Ready?” Sparing no effort, she pulled on the thread, putting all of what little weight she had on the motion, her face red and puffed as though she were in the heat of a tug war.

A jet of purple shot out of the leafy shingle, fluttering away in a thresh of feathers. Lillian beamed an unbelieving smile, quite proud that she had guessed the right location, but was mostly astonished that there was a Sheadha in the tree to begin with. It seemed that, in the end, Chance was truly deserving of his name. Even though only a few ruddy leaves had seesawed their way to the ground, Lillian was unrelenting, and quite soon she could hear the rustle of sprigs and twigs against rugged wood. Swelling her cheeks into red balloons, she gave a final tug to the thread, summoning an even greater flurry of vermillion in the air. This time, a bundle of sticks came falling, and she could perceive the mauve sheen of eggs shaking inside the descending nest, trembling no more when Aiden plucked it out of the air with an outstretched hand. And he makes it look so easy, too! she thought with a smirk of pride and triumph.

“Daddy, Lily! I found a lot of buggies!” cried Chance a few feet away, folded into a crouch as he poked around the ruddy underbrush. Turning around, he extended his small, joint palms, fraught with a swarm of colourful little insects with a crown of horns, crawling near larger, puffier critters that looked as though shorn off the fur of a northern bear. Aiden carefully secured the eggs in his son’s backpack, already heavily laden with various odds and ends. Producing an empty bottle from the bag, he rolled over the grass and forbs in Chance’s way, so that he could safely store his bountiful catch. Lillian picked the fallen leaves off the ground, beseeming some sort of cheery flower-girl at that moment, before stowing the handful away in one of her pockets.

“Looks like we’re just about done, here, soldiers! One thing left to do and then we’re heading home!” Lillian sounded positively chipper, and was glad to see Chance enjoying himself now, and she could barely even see traces of his asthmatic fit on his face anymore. “Well, since we’re on a winning streak here, let’s just tart and look for that Wyrven, shall we? It will be a difficult task, but if we can find one while it’s sleeping, we shouldn’t have much trouble overpowering it with well-aimed strikes of strategic precision!” She bundled her hand into a fist, flailing it about to motivate her companions. “I read that they’re very punctual with their sleep schedule, since they always hunt before dusk and drop like dormice when they’re bloated.”

Something in what she said had rung a bell, an alarming and ominous sound that echoed between her ears. To the direct east, stood a small hill, painted a hushed sienna in the fading daylight. To the far west, a golden disk turning slowly to crimson, melting away into the horizon in a fulgent haze. In the small of her back, a coursing chill that froze her blood. How she had not seen it, the widening stares of her friends as she prattled on, was a mystery she was not very eager to unravel. Something warm dripped on her shoulder, thick and smelling heavily of iron. With prompted haste, her torso twisted back, the girl only catching a glance of the colossal thing as its scabrous tail lashed into her stomach.

She flew far, very far. The Cailpis snapped its jaw open, a limp mess of blue, scaly flesh sliding off its fangs as an ungodly roar ripping out of its elongated throat. Lillian’s body skidded on the tall grass, the stuff barely amortizing her crash, not neatly enough stealing away her dangerous momentum. Lolling on the crisp bed, cold sweat pouring down her neck, she looked sideways at the beast stretch its membranous wings, its horned head craning down on Aiden. A purple body could be seen fluttering about the wyrven’s shoulders, as though whispering orders into the reptilian’s ears. Nothing good could come out of this situation.

Well, at least I didn’t take the eggs. Lillian couldn’t even laugh at her own dark humour. She couldn’t do anything, for that matter.

[Chance]

"Lillian!" Chance shouted, his heart suddenly beating faster than a war drum. He watched, fearfully, as the tail of the ferocious beast sent her sailing through the air like a leaf caught in a breeze. He could think of nothing but her safety. The worry that burned inside of him was hot, and twisted like a knife in his bowels. As she smashed mercilessly into the ground, a wave of fury washed over the boy, and his voice shook with it as he screamed. The boy seemed unaware of the corpse that had just dropped from the thing's mouth. "No!"

With a presence of mind beyond that of a normal child, Chance slipped his backpack from his shoulders, and set it delicately on the ground. If the things they had collected were to be broken, or harmed, then Lillian would have been hurt for no reason.

Chance took a step forward, but found his way blocked as the creature turned. Its head thrust forward and its mouth dropped open to reveal rows of sharp teeth that glistened with saliva. A piercing screech issued from its maw, and Chance staggered backward, his hands clamped over his ears. Though the desire to get to Lillian was his only focus, he knew better than to try to run past the beast. His heart pounded in fear, and his eyes were wide.

"Run Chance!" Aiden shouted at the boy, as he pulled his sword from its sheath. "Go!"

The boy's stomach twisted into knots as he watched his father charge the reptilian creature, his sword flashing out at it. Gritting his teeth and steeling himself against the fear that gnawed at him, the boy dashed past the Cailpis. He could feel the wind from the creatures massive wings as he dove beneath them. In that movement, the Cailpis' head whipped back toward him. Screaming in rage, its tail lashed out at Chance, where he had just knelt beside Lillian.

Seeing what was coming, the boy felt a flood of adrenaline gush into his blood. Time seemed to slow, and his mind cleared of everything but his fear and desire to protect the unconscious girl beneath him. Lifting his left arm as if to intercept an incoming punch, he closed his eyes and released the power that lay coiled in his chest like a viper waiting to strike.

In the blink of an eye, veins of frost spun out across his skin from wrist to bent elbow. It covered his arm in a growing fractal, singular branches giving way to trees, and trees to webs. As if it were still traversing his flesh, the cords of ice moved out into the air, forming a growing disk centered on his forearm. The ice thickened, and grew opaque. The shield had only just formed when the spiked tail of the Cailpis smashed into it.

An involuntary scream of pain burned his throat, and the shield of ice shattered into a fine dust, glittering in the sun like diamond dust caught in a breeze. The force of the blow sent him to the ground to lie beside Lillian, his broken arm cradled against his chest. The boy whimpered quietly as he lay on the ground, curled into a ball. A severe bruise was already spreading, turning his arm a deep purple.

[Ataraxis]

The cold stillness of her eyes betrayed none of the rage that churned within. She had felt the frantic drumbeat in her chest, had heard the wilding cadence grow louder with each of the boy’s closing footsteps. Yet, when she had seen his fall, seen him writhe amidst a pool of melting sparkles, seen the cyanotic shadows infest his broken arm, the thrumming came to a discordant end, and every sound was hushed – every sound, save the grind of dirt against her boots.

The pain was an arrow shot down her spine, or rather an unending flurry that burned worse with each struggling step. Even so, she stood still, back straight and chin held high in defiance. It was no secret that her boldness was nothing but a front, because even though her lineaments spelled a wrath for retribution, her body was subjected to small shakes from a fear repressed, though it could have been her vertebrae crying for relief. Lillian was no threat to the Wyrven, but even so she would not back down.

Sparing only a few seconds to sidle away from Chance and closer to the auburn trunk of Ferrion tree, Lillian made a bold move. The whistling was hard and loud, and in a soldierly fashion, the draconic offshoot stood at attention, dark, vertical slits rolling, following her. Its bloody maw was open in a cloddish gawk, as though wondering in what dish her scrawny meat would be best served. The plum-feathered bird twittered at its ears, so frenetic it seemed to admonish the dimwitted reptile against some detail it had idiotically omitted. The ends of Lillian’s blanched lips curled upwards in a devious satisfaction.

Its roar sounded like a thousand rakes against metal, the green scales of its neck jerking back to reveal a deep, viscous gash in the dark beige of its leathery underside. Lillian had acted as red herring to the creature, knowing its mind to be so dim the oldest tricks in the book were most likely to work; as such, Aiden had successfully slithered in between its hind legs to sneak in a direct strike.

But no good thing ever lasts, and not even this reptilian fool would fall for the same trick twice. As Aiden steadied his blade for a stabbing hit, the Cailpis entered a crouch, massive cords rippling under the green scales of its legs. In a flash, it bounded past the dreadlocked Fell, knocking him down and nearly crushing him under the weight of its clawed foot. Rather than dealing with the gnat that had slunk to kill it, it had decided to destroy that which had diverted its focus.

In a murderous vehemence, it came for Lillian.

She yelled out in pain as she sprung to her left, rolling on a damaged spine to evade the rampaging beast. She felt like crying – no, she was already blubbering like a baby, wet salt flowing down her cheeks as her whole body convulsed and cried murder. Hard slivers sparked out from the tree, and after a moment of near silence in which she could hear wood yield and suffer, the thing simply cracked in half like a mere twig under the sheer force of the Wyrven’s onslaught. The red tower was violently toppled and it rolled away into the grass in loud thumps, a mist of blood-red leaves fluttering ominously all over the battlefield.

Not too far, she could hear the Sheadha bird twitter and twirp in a high-pitched anger, unable to take the hit that was witnessing the destruction of its homiest dwelling. The reptilian colossus, however, hobbled about where it stood, ostensibly shaken from the impact, flapping its scarlet wings in confusion and teetering as if its whole weight were poised on a single peg. Looking around the ruined scene, she noticed a blue glint in the tangerine light, sitting half a dozen feet away from the jagged talons of the monster, quietly waiting in a yellowing patch of grass. In a painstaking instant, Lillian flung herself toward the doddering Wyrven, reaching out in her lunge for the dirk that had fallen with the shattered trunk.

[DarkStorm]

Aiden's ribs burned in silent agony, tremors of pain running up and down his spine as he lay on the ground. His sword had been knocked clear of his grip as the creature had rampaged past. The sound of his son's scream of pain and whimpering spurred him on, and he tried to shut out the suffering of his body as he climbed to his feet. His knees shook unsteadily, and it was through force of will alone that he remained upright. His face was twisted into a mask of pain and rage. The toe of his boot dug beneath the blade of his fallen weapon, and he kicked upward. The sword cartwheeled through the air as his hand shot forward and closed around the wire bound hilt. He was running before his fingers even tightened on the handle.

Ahead, Lillian dove forward her hand reaching for her own weapon, also fallen. The Cailpis screamed again, its thunderous voice stabbing at his ears in their horrible intensity. It was all he could do to continue on course, rather than letting the sword fall to the ground while he clamped his hands on either side of his head. Fueled by rage and driven by fear, Aiden opened his mouth and from it issued a war cry that turned his throat raw. His sword lifted above his head, ready to stab downward at the scaled hide of the beast.

Turning its head at the sound of his enraged shout, the Wyvern's tail whipped out. The impact drove the air from the Fell's lungs, and his sword was again sent from his grasp. The force of the hit lifted Aiden from his feet, and saw him flailing through the air chaotically. The world turned black as he crashed to the ground.

[Ataraxis]

It wasn't quite nearly in the nick of time, but Lillian had caught the glass weapon nonetheless. Its grooved handle pressed hard against her palm as Lillian used it for support, pushing herself halfway up as the blade burrowed deeper into the earth, doing her best to shoo the loom of a blackout. The heat had peaked into the unbearable, but the fact that she was doused in cold sweats did little to stave the threat of an heatstroke.

While she struggled on one knee, Lillian felt a rippling in the ground, rapidly followed by more until it became a mad tempo. Little cakes of dirt jumped and juddered with each quaking rumble, the swards of short and tall grass swayed like shaken tufts of shred paper. Head raised with a gasp of fear, Lillian watched helplessly as the primitive dragon tossed Aiden away with a cording arc of its tail, watched her friend skitter across parcels of tall grass like a hapless puppet disposed of in a heap of trash. Her train of thought had broken to a halt, as if jarring into a stony barricade. Why? she asked, unbelieving. Why wasn’t he standing up?

The son had fallen first, the father second. Now, on this wretched field, she was the last one standing, the last one left to face enmity made flesh. For the second time in her life, she felt the burden of solitude weigh on her, smothering her. It had burgeoned as simple disbelief, but with time, she presumed, it would blossom into a tangle of thorny vines, choking her in the darkness of her broodings, feeding on her will to live until she was nothing but a shivering husk. She had almost died, back then, when she knew her parents would never walk back through that broken door.

But this time, she knew that if nothing was done, grief would not be the one to devour her whole, and she would not be the first to be feasted upon.

“Get away from him.” How odd, that a whisper could carry like thunder in the blue. Aiden’s chest was already damp with the drip-drop of saliva, but before the Cailpis could sink its serrated fangs into the Fell’s warm and alluring flesh, it had become stiff, the faintest traces of a shiver bristling over its jade, as if soused by a riptide of cold. The purple psychosis that was the bird had suddenly become very quiet, perching itself fearfully atop the horned crest of the reptilian. The unnatural tension only hung for a second, however, and the mismatched duo threshed about again with renewed verve.

A second was all she needed. With only a prayer and a deep trust in the last masterpiece her father had crafted, Lillian let her arm coil back at an angle, thrusting it forward into a spring release, the pommel of the Cillu dirk slipping in between her fingers. Through the waves of heat it cut like a cold knife, tumbling on itself like a throwing axe until it sank through scales, skin and finally flesh, piercing the winged monster in the softer patches above its inner thigh. Its wail of hurt seemed to split the skies in half, but Lillian did not so much as flicnh. Wasting not a second, she turned around and slinked into a dash, ignoring the pain that seared down her back, feeling in the ground louder, heavier rumblings that quickly fell into her stride.

In its rage, The Cailpis forgotten that a meatier prey was already at its mercy, wanting now to sate revenge before hunger. Lillian scurried on, veering around the bend of the rocky knoll, cogs wheeling at full speed in her head to devise a plan of escape, of survival and hopefully, of triumph. But though nothing helpful had come to her mind, something unexpected had come to her sight. As she steered herself around the curve, she saw a tall shape emerge from the corner of the ochre hillside, hugging it closely for support as it limped. Lillian dug her heels into the ground, barely escaping collision with the man – or at least, such had been her conjecture until she saw his neck, where a gleam of silver scales had caught her eye. The Draconian was shambling on one leg, a great blue line trickling down an armoured thigh, his clawed hand clutching the wound to stem the enfeebling flow. Surprise creased his sweating forehead when his vitreous eyes, squinted in fatigue, chanced upon her huffing figure.

It wasn't hard to read that, in the blinking darkness of his look, he was debating what to do of her. Would he simply stand and stare in bemusement, or would he hack and hew at the dishevelled maiden, using the wicked-looking greatsword that he clamped against the rugged incline? Something it had noticed in her face made him lean towards the former option. “Are you crying?” he asked, the sandy grit of his wounded voice surprisingly soothing to her ears, as though she had desperately longed to hear the voice of another human, or anything close to one. The statement, however, had been unexpected, and she swept her cheeks with curiosity, feeling moist drips spread on the tip of her fingers. She hadn’t known. Only now did she realizehow afraid she had been. “Get yourself together, girl. Your fight is mine, now.”

He pushed her aside dismissively, speaking in a rush that bore not an inflection of fear, but one of duty. Expertly whirling his massive sword into a solid battle stance, he slammed the Wyrven's outreaching claw away with a wind-churning swing of the blade's flat. The limb was ground against stone so hard that green-smutted bones tore out of its skin like quills on a frightened porcupine. A sonorous bellow issued from its writhing maw in a shower of foul dribble, the deafening sound like a thousand pinpricks in the girl's eardrums; yet the draconic warrior had betrayed no nettled wince, stepping into the creature’s guard without a moment's relent, as if all agony in his leg had subsided in his storm of righteous fury. In the time of seven blinks, he had clipped its bat-like wings with surgical swaths and calved its tail, watching it slither messily to a still. Unfortunately, the ongoing barrage of arcing edges and destructive sweeps was broken when the Cailpis backtracked clumsily, moss-like blood spewing from the gash Lillian had inflicted as turned tail.

Before going on its pursuit, the warrior advised her sternly, not even sparing a glance at her fallen frame. “Run like a coward or fight it like a fool, I don’t give a damn. No matter what you do, I’ll be the one walking away with its fucking head.”

[Chance]

Pain throbbed in the boy's arm, a sickening sensation that left his stomach roiling and churning. He fought the vomit that rose in his throat, and inhaled deeply to force it back down. His entire left arm, from shoulder to wrist, was a vivid lavender. The only feeling left in it was an extreme pain, far too strong to be ignored. It stabbed at his consciousness, rendering his attention far less than what it normally was. He could barely breathe, and when he did it felt as if he would die from the agony. It was unbearable. He whimpered, though he fought to keep it locked in his throat.

Had he not remembered his father being struck down by the forceful whip of the giant beast's tail, or the danger Lillian was undoubtedly in, he certainly would have laid there unmoving. Instead, he slowly forced himself to his knees, his right hand steadying himself. His broken left arm was held against his chest, and throbbed with pain. As if in sympathy for his arm, Chance's head had also begun to ache.

When at last he had gained his footing he wobbled precariously, but still managed to hold his balance. The world around him seemed to spin and tilt, as if he was standing on a collapsing table. In the distance, he could see Lillian standing beside another figure; one that he recognized as Draconian. Closer, his father lay still on the ground. Running as fast as he could without falling, the boy stopped beside his father only long enough to make sure he was still breathing, before resuming his sprint toward Lillian. She was all he could think about, all he cared about. He couldn't bear the thought of the creature doing to he what it had done to him. He'd sooner let it break his other arm, than touch her.

As he halted behind the creature, he could see Lillian only fitfully through the flailing limbs of the ferocious monstrosity. Through the few glimpses he obtained, he made out the fear on her face, and felt it fill him with a fiery passion to save her. Lifting his right, unbroken arm, he pointed his palm toward the beast's back and began concentrating. Within, he felt a force of will building, waiting to burst out of him in whatever way he commanded it. Closing his eyes, he envisioned a long jag of ice forming near his fingers. With all his emotional strength, the boy forced it into existence. In front of his palm the air swirled, like water going down a drain. A great gust of cold air washed over him, ruffling his hair and clothing as it launched the newly formed frost projectile.

A piercing scream accompanied the sound of the icy spear digging into the Cailpis' scaled back.

"Run Lillian." Chance screamed over the bellowing beast. "Run!"

[Ataraxis]

Who the hell was that? Lillian’s only thoughts revolved around this singular question, the wires of her brain streamlined towards answering it, in dismissal of any other important matter at hand. The austerity of his forked tongue had struck a sensible chord in her ego, irking, angering, offending. What exactly in his words prompted this thunderhead of emotion was still a mystery to her, but she found it unsettling to discover a side of her own psyche, driven by prideful bone she had never known. When no answer came to light, Lillian chose to put this particular concern on hold, so that she may focus on more pressing ones. Though her thoughts were a jumble, there was one thing she was sourly aware of, and that was the Cailpis Wyrven, falling back to the open field where lay her wounded friends.

Around the hillock, the olive tip of its horn inched into view, followed closely by a triangular snoot that was flaring in exhaustion, the unrelenting assaults of the Draconian whittling away, piece by piece, what might the beast had once possessed. The warrior wasn’t exactly faring like a champion, unfortunately, with deep gashes inflicted by the razor-sharp sweeps of its claws, bubbling with a midnight fluid, and oozing bite marks that tore through his shoulder guard like a red-hot knife through a scrap of paper. The warrior was pushing his limits, the feathery silver of his mane matted down with his sweat and mixed blood, brandishing a blade that became heavier with every sway. It was then that the very air behind had become a mystic funnel, and from its heart erupted a glittering javelin, resplendent in the twilight, even as it was soaked in the blood of its foe. A familiar voice called out her name, one that made her skip a breath.

She may have been overjoyed to hear Chance, but she wasn’t about to heed his warning, not with this golden opportunity staring her straight in the eye. Crouching into a dash, she sped her way to the creature’s feet, ignoring the tearing sensation that burst in her spine, leaping to grab hold of her embedded knife. Splotches of viscous green gurgled over her as the blade was drawn out, but she spared no time to cringe her nose or fight the rise of bile. Letting herself drop from the ledge that was its thigh, she rolled over a crisp patch of grass in front of the wyrven, evading the flailing of its smaller arms in her descent. Her whole body jerked into a roll, and as she passed between its feet, the dagger sought out flesh once more, this time finding a decent deal of bones as well. Its toes had been stabbed, sending unfathomable pain that racked at the creature’s feeble brain.

Its mass seemed to sway in the wind, and Lillian knew that it could no longer balance its massive corpulence over a wounded foot, and she had only an inkling at what kind of suffering it was going through, recalling how much she cried every time she stubbed her toes in the past and the present, then imagining that pain increased exponentially. It should have been a reflex to roll out of the way, but as it was, the Cailpis would fall over the Draconian and flatten as thin as a pancake, but a lot messier. In an instant, she weaved a lean rope, modifying the magical formula of its making by a variable, and threw high over the reptilian’s head. It dropped limply over its flat forehead, but with a tug, she knew the end had adhered.

“Heave!” she hollered, expelling all the wind from her coffer as she pulled the rope. At once, the Wyrven’s head tilted backwards, increasing its imbalance. She was amazed that her spinal cord hadn’t rupture yet, but with the torture it was going through, she was afraid the outcome of this fight would leave her a cripple. Still, it seemed more appealing to live as a cripple than to die digested in a reptile’s belly. “Ho!” This was the final yank, one that seemed twice stronger than it should have been to the girl. The beast let loose a stentorian roar as it toppled over, sending shivers through earth and stone as it crashed. Pebbles rolled from the rocky hill, pegging the sounded beast on the nose. Lillian crumbled to the ground, drained physically of course, but also mentally by the hurry in which she had weaved her spell. She heard a faint shuffling behind, and was surprised to see Chance, out of breath, his hands tightly wrapped around the black cord. With her girlish voice, she murmured a thank you to the boy.

Spurting noises wormed their way into her ears, mixed with gurgling wails as the beast was crudely silenced. She gulped back a ball of disgust, lodged in her throat. It seemed that the Draconian had stayed true to his words, from what gore she could see splattered across the foot of the hill. A pool of gurgling green blood was stretching across the soil, beneath the oozing stump of the beheaded Cailpis Wyrven. Its scaly head was now loosely screwed on the stabbing end of the Draconian’s greatsword, its forked tongue drooping sloppily from its gaping mouth amidst streamers of blood and saliva that further stained the tall grass. The warrior dangled it about like a trophy, back and forth motion and from side to side, with an air of undeniable victory splayed on across his visage as he began a march of triumph around the massive corpse of the Cailpis. The warrior's smile was all bare fangs, but he beseemed more a child brandishing a very large and frightening lollipop, with spritz of lime-filling splurging out with each jolly wave.

The ridges of her nose creased, suddenly catching an intrusive odor. When she looked down, Lillian fought against the rising illness in her stomach. Her beloved white dress was in a pitiable state, tainted from hem to hem with splotches of green gunk that looked no better than a soup of stale asparagus. In an effort of dismissal, she looked away, but watching the Draconian shimmy around with the dragon-head on a stick did nothing to help. Lillian felt just about to ready to hurl.

[Chance]

Sparing only a glance for Lillian and the seemingly insane Draconian as he dangled the dead beast's head through the air, Chance turned and sprinted back to where his father laid on the ground unconscious. As he approached, his fear flared again to see his father laying motionless. Dropping to his knees beside his father, the boy shook him with his right, unbroken arm.

"Father?" Chance shook him again. "Father!"

Aiden stirred, and Chance sighed in relief. The man's eyes were slow to open, but as soon as they did, they focused on the boy. Though worry clouded the man's eyes, they left the boy long enough to sweep over the scene and take everything in. When he was apparently satisfied with their safety, his gaze returned to his son, and the obviously broken arm. His hands took hold of the broken arm carefully, and his father closed his eyes.

A tingling passed over the boy's arm, and he felt the shattered bone slowly mending. He turned a shocked glance toward his father.

"Bone Melding. I've never done it on another before. It will take some time. Don't move or use your arm if you can help it." His father smiled at him, and Chance grinned. Already, the horrid bruise had faded to a sickly yellow.

When his father had climbed to his feet, both he and Chance made their way to stand beside Lillian.

Examining the dead animal, Aiden spoke to Lillian and Chance while rubbing his head. "You guys did good. I'm proud."

Tilting his head to the side in an endearing manner, Chance listened quietly. His sandy blond hair was ruffled by a sudden breeze. "What was that?" He asked, looking toward Lillian. "Something moaned."

Though he was interested in the girl's answer, his eyes always wandered to where the girl's dress was damp with sweat. Lillian's boobies are pretty.

[Ataraxis]

“Thank you.” To hear such praise from the mouth of Aiden had made her infinitely bashful, and Lillian had only mustered the tiniest of voices with her reply, the girl scouring with her eyes the plot of grass in which she had collapsed, in search for just about anything that would keep her face hidden. She didn’t want the man to see her pleased, and especially how happy she was that someone was pleased with her. It was a weak side of her psyche, she thought, one amongst many vestiges of her unfulfilled childhood.

Acquaintances were annoyed by her timidity, colleagues were confounded by her lack of confidence and friends were burdened by her jarringly low self-esteem. Betimes, it felt as if she was the same little girl who cried her nights away, the same tortured soul who grieved and grieved, curled on the cold bareness of her house, as empty and windswept as her heart had been. Yet, she believed she was changing, little by little, shedding off the husk of what she was. It was blatantly obvious, now. Lillian was stronger than she had ever been, in both body and soul. Brushing off the last of her tears, she repeated, resolute. “Thank you.”

Chance seemed deep in thought, or perhaps listening for some far off noise, but it was his expression that made Lillian chuckle, as she found it awfully charming on the boy, for a change. The shock of his following statement, however, had jolted off all calm from her face, leaving nothing but alarm as she listened for the source of the noise. The girl fumbled in her attempt to stand, but she did not permit herself to fall. Instead, she scuttled on, crawling on all fours, then her knees and soon crouched on her wobbly feet, ignoring the pain that sparked down her back.

Her dash came to an end when she fell down beside what she had first believed to be a corpse, the blue mass that had slid off the Wyrven’s teeth when she had first seen it. It was another Draconian, shorter in stature but of smoother features than the one who had just stepped into view, slightly leaning over his fallen kinsman. Half his face was covered in cerulean scales, the other smeared with a blood of similar hue, blood that Lillian could see seeping through the chain links of his vest, or rather, the gaping holes with which it was riddled. As he was, the Draconian would take his last breath in a matter of minutes. In a hurry, she lay her hands on his chest, apparently trying to staunch the flow of blood.

“Fearthainn, listen to me, and listen well.” The silver Draconian had put one knee to the ground, and one hand on the shoulder of his companion. “Before crossing over, before undertaking the trials that lead to Parthas, know that the deed is done.” To Lillian his parting words sounded surprisingly solemn, the girl having expected a rough tap on the cheek and a string of words only one with true machismo could ever summon. He picked up his greatsword from the ground, bringing the cross-eyed head to dangle over that his friend.

“You took its… fucking head,” the dying warrior murmured with a toothy grin, his body jostling with laughter.

“Damn right I took its fucking head.” There was an eruption of laughs, unsettling by the reptilian snarl behind it. Both Draconians were chortling without control, and Lillian could even see a tear form at the corner of the blue one’s eye, knowing full well how painful such a thing would be in his state. Still, he laughed on, patting the back of his friend’s hand. Men, all the same. It was still impressive, as she realized that the tension of death was all but gone.

“I’ll deliver it to the Fae as soon as I return home. With this, she’ll be able to make enough. With this, your son, and many more, will be saved.” Stowing away the monstrous head, the Draconian leaned further down, and began muttering strange words she knew to be their native tongue, spoken in some sort of mantra or prayer. The gears of her mind ground to a stop, and she understood this to be a rite of death. Fearthainn had hastily tugged in his companion’s arm, interrupting the ritual, and murmuring words of his own to the ear of the silver warrior.

“Saighneán is dead. His corpse lies on the other side of the hill.” Hearing the answer he had expected, the Draconian loosened his grip on the other’s sleeve, looking away with downcast eyes. The silver warrior knew what thoughts were plaguing his friend, knew that he was questioning the gods. “Your brother died a warrior. He will no doubt succeed the trials, as will you.” It was little comfort, but comfort enough. Though his friend still could not bear that the younger brother had left before the elder, he knew that Cosain and Alastair would welcome the boy to their paradise with pride.

“Girl,” he spoke almost as a snarl, but one neither angered nor vicious. At once, she jolted to attention, looking the warrior in the eye, wondering what he could possibly want to say. “I spoke the common tongue so that you may understand the situation, and to ask if you and your friends are willing to help me dig their graves?” The following seconds were hushed, and Lillian was both honoured and saddened that he would ask a foreigner take part in this sorrowful ritual. She was also amazed that neither he, nor his friend, had realized what she had been doing all this time.

“We will help you bury Saighneán, but I advise you against interring Fearthainn so soon.” The warrior stared her down, his face warped with indignation and his silvery mane bristled so intensely that it was akin to a burst into a white fire. Lillian started, but as he was about to denigrate her for denying his friend a proper burial, she scooted back, letting her back straighten up, extending her hand toward the Draconian’s chest. The mail vest was still inundated with blood, but there was no longer a steady flow, or any flow for that matter. All that remained was a curious glint of crisscrossed black, swirling over the wounds like new skin. “Graves are for dead, and this man – draconian – is very well alive. If he is to die, it will be unfeasible for me and my friends to help, as we will be most likely be worlds apart when that day comes.”

Lillian was positively certain that the silver Draconian was thrilled, as his stern features had melted into a confused yet ecstatic smile. Conversely, Fearthainn seemed to take the news quite glumly. She knew he was grateful for her help, and knew he was rather intrigued at how she had managed to stop him from bleeding his guts out with nothing in hand. Even after her voluble explanation, her retelling of the day in Scara Brae when she had drunken the blood of a giant spider by mistake and had thusly gained her powers, the poor fellow seemed just as nonplussed has he had been before, if not more. Her strings of words were all a tangled mess to him, and he would be hard-pressed to straighten them out, had he not darker thoughts that needed tending.

With the other warrior’s help, Lillian propped him against the stump of the Ferrion tree, before leaving for the other side of the hill. He had protested, wanting to see his brother’s face before it would be lost to the embrace of earth, threatening them to take him, lest he take his own life. Concessions were made, Lillian telling him they would bring back the corpse and bury it at the foot of the stump, a plan to which he agreed. For safety measures, Chance had been left behind to guard the Fearthainn, but Aiden may have asked this of the boy to spare his eyes from the dark sight of a warrior’s death, even if only for a moment.

After their return, they labored for an hour, under the watch of the stars and the moon, with only swords and daggers to dig his grave. The earth had been hollowed out, the excess dirt piled into small mounds around the deep opening. The result was much larger than she had expected; then again, it wasn’t a man they were burying, but a full-grown Draconian, far taller and of sturdier build than the warrior who beheaded his killer. Though he was massive, his countenance held a youth that endure even in death, the xanthous, almost golden shine of his scales giving him a sunny quality. Crestfallen, Lillian had watched Fearthainn mourn, even shedding a tear for his fallen brother, well aware that crying was a sign of weakness for the proud race; yet, the draconic warrior kept silence. He understood the mitigating circumstances, and what they warranted.

They were lowering his body into the grave when thunder rolled. A thin rain fell in lukewarm sheets, beginning to fill the hole like a well. They cautiously shoveled soil over the grave, but hasty enough to do so before the earth became damp. The silver warrior planted a spear as a marker, one that had followed the deceased every second of his waking hours, and one that would follow him even in his slumber. A flash tore through the night, and the clouds above growled with its passing. Lillian had learned the meaning of his name, and thus, had found it fitting that his guide through death had been lightning.

[Ataraxis]

The day had been long, and all that Lillian wanted now was an equally long night. The fallen tree had been raised into a makeshift shelter, and they were resting under its crimson coppice, through the storm that unfurled in the heavens. Stretched onto the moist ground, Lillian could not sleep. Her palm hung over her head, harsh platelets of cobalt scintillating between her fingers. There was some guilt in her heart, but she had only picked the scales from the blue Draconian’s wounds by accident. It was too late to return them, for both had left for hours now, Fearthainn being gifted with a constitution beyond reason, and an even greater strength of will. Even if she did catch up to them, he would have given them to her as payment, or even by the kindness of his soul alone, as had done the warrior in silver, Ghealach. The reward had gone unexpected, and she did not understand at first. The truth was that she had saved him, by tripping the Wyrven, and that had it not been for her, the shroud of night would have claimed three souls rather than one. Her first impression of the being was his overbearing pride and his foul-spoken mind, but her parting one was much kinder and sweeter, for she had seen in him unheralded finesse as well as true humility.

“I guess all we need now is a yellow scale for you, Aiden.” This wasn’t much of a pleasant topic for her, but the silence of her companions had become louder than the thunder that raged overhead. Lillian needed to hear a voice, any voice that wasn’t her own, that wasn’t inside her head. Unfortunately, the man was weary, and his only answer had been the stretching of a burly arm and sprawled fingers. It had only been an instant when he drew his arm back and rolled on the side, but Lillian had seen the golden speckles nonetheless. Her jaw dropped in outrage, appalled that he would think of claiming his due during the Draconian’s entombment. Alas, her outrage was quickly broken into fatigue, and the girl decided to postpone her fit of indignation for the fast approaching morning. In a strange way, she looked forward to it as much as she dreaded it. After all of this, they would return to Donnalaich, return to the Crystal Square, where they would finally receive their hard-earned rewards.

Today, I have fooled a feline, defeated two dragons and saved three lives. I should be proud, I should. Yet, for some reason, she wasn’t. Her thoughts had been hectic throughout the day, but in the last minutes before she yielded to the call of night, her thoughts had become a single stream, a single question she had always asked herself, but never truly considered. After so many brushes with death, I must have forgotten what it was to fear it. It was only half the truth, she knew. She had always feared it, had always feared her own demise, but it was what came after death that she had forgotten to fear. If it was the end, or only the threshold for a new beginning. If it was a void eternal, a hell of pain, or if it was like going home.

Thunder, rain, and thunder again. Lillian had closed her eyes, and let her stream of consciousness recede with the calming rainstorm. No answer had ever come, no answer would ever come. The sum of her knowledge, in that last moment of consciousness, was that the sun would rise tomorrow, and that she had but a night to sleep with the rain, the thunder, and the moon.



I hope you don’t mind the double post, I ended up doing the conclusion too. First of all, thank you for reading this, and I hope we did well enough to inspire some pathos.

Feels weird to do this after the ending, but as it is necessary… here are our requested spoils.

For Lillian:

5 Teeth from an Algora, 3 Eggs from a Sleamnaigh Wyrm, Pocketful of Ferrion Leaves, 3 Tri-horned Beetles, 1 Cleaved Forearm from a Cailpis Wyrven, X Silver Dragon Scales (as many as possible)

For Aiden:

X Yellow Dragon Scales (as many as possible), 1 Egg from a Sheadha, 3 Feathers from a Sheadha (inside the nest)

For Chance:

X Blue Dragon Scales (as many as possible, but at least three), 3 Snow Bugs, 1 Egg from a Sleamnaigh Wyrm

[Skie and Avery]

Story

Continuity: 7 - Good, good. You guys did a much better job this time around. Everything was explained, except one thing. Why are they looking for this stuff again? I've forgotten.

Setting: 8 - So much improvement here! You did so much to set the stage here that there was never a time where I felt like the characters were just moving in a white space.

Pacing: 7 - Very good here. There was a lot of action in this, but it didn't do anything to harm the character development. My only qualm was that the ending, once the Wyvern was dead, was a little rushed. So much new information, and it just was kinda thrown in a fastball and gone on with.

Character

Dialogue: 8 - I think both of you have improved here, especially on the part of Chance.

Action: 7 - You both play your characters very solidly, and their actions show that. I like how from the first Hunting, you can see how they're all starting to get more comfortable together.

Persona: 9 - Chance is turning into quite the little pervert, eh? =P I think simply put, the strongest thing you two have going for you in a thread is just how greatly established these personalities are.

Writing Style

Mechanics: 9 - I only caught one mistake. Both of you are very strong here. Keep up the good work.

Technique: 6 - Every once in a while Ataraxis would get so flowery that it bordered on a little confusing, but for the most part both of you have good, solid styles. DarkStorm definitely got stronger as the thread progressed, and you could see that sometimes you would falter and a post would be a little more forced an others had been. This isn't too big of a deal, and remember that you can always go back and edit a post when your muse has returned.

Clarity: 7 - This was great, for the most part. I have already mentioned that sometimes Ataraxis' style can be a little much, but for the most part that was just minimal. At the end, there were some things with the Draconians that weren't explained as much as I felt they should have been and that caused a bit of confusion.

Wild Card: 9 - The two of you have improved so much since the first Hunting. I'm really proud of you guys. *wipes tear away*

Total: 77

16Ataraxis lvl2 receives 2359 EXP and 493 GP. She receives all her requested spoils, including 5 Silver Dragon Scales.
7DarkStorm lvl0 receives 661 EXP and 215 GP. He receives all requested spoils, including 8 Yellow Dragon Scales.
7Chance lvl0 receives 661 EXP and 215 GP. He receives all requested spoils including 8 Blue Dragon Scales.

[Letho]

EXP/GP added! DarkStorm, welcome to the next level.