Though the night air was still, Korakai’s feathers still rustled as if in a light breeze as he leaned on his staff and finally arrived at the mountain’s summit. The climb probably would’ve been easier if he hadn’t eaten so many skewers, but what was he to do? He’d reached the mountain trail after a long day’s travel, and he very well couldn't ignore the delicious smells and clinking glasses from the homey tavern tucked to the side of the road.
Korakai had to respect the location. He clearly wasn’t the only one who’d found the good food and drink more appetizing than an arduous hike, and like his family’s own restaurant, this tavern had been abuzz with the easy energy of a community that knew each other. One thing had led to another, and Korakai had ended up trading recipes with one of the regulars, an elderly spice merchant.
The night had devolved into an impromptu cook-off, and it would have been impolite for Korakai to not sample every combination of skewer and dipping sauce that had filled the table—as a professional courtesy to a fellow cook, of course. Korakai couldn’t believe the merchant had never heard of yuzu, though. He’d managed to whip up a substitute from lemon and orange, and though he knew his father would roll his eyes when he found out his only son had butchered a family recipe, Korakai thought the mix had actually turned out rather well.
Sighing contentedly, Korakai pulled a worn map out from his pack, shaking it out as his ever-present static clung the parchment to his feathers. He reflexively moved his talons, tracing symbols to conjure a light, but stopped as he realized he could make out the map just fine in the red glow of… Korakai turned around and his heart froze. In the valley below, he could see the tavern to his right, and creeping towards it, the glow of burning trees to his left.
No matter how quickly he ran down the trail, there was no way he’d make it around the steep switchbacks before the fires reached the tavern. Which meant… Korakai paced back and forth on the mountaintop for a few precious seconds, fidgeting and clicking his talons together. He wasn’t going to like this next part
Korakai recalled the words his grandfather had told him when he was younger. “A tengu belongs to the sky. A tengu does not fear the earth. A tengu belongs to the sky. A tengu does not fear the earth. A tengu belongs to the sky. A tengu does not fear—” Korakai clenched his eyes tight and leapt from the edge of the cliff, opening them again only when he felt the four winds catch him and carry him gently from the mountaintop.
Smoke stung Korakai’s eyes as he looked around a forest bathed in orange and red. Something felt wrong about this blaze, but he couldn’t quite place it. Soon enough, though, he found its source in a clearing before him: a pack of fiendish beasts slavering infernal fire that dripped to the group, setting the brush alight: hell hounds, four in all. Korakai’s legs locked. Had someone summoned the foul creatures here?
Before the fiends could notice Korakai, he tried to weave magic to shield himself, but fear had reduced his voice to a stammer too feeble to sustain the incantation, and the spell collapsed. As one of the hounds sniffed the air—how could it smell anything, when it reeked of brimstone?—Korakai wheeled around a tree and made himself as small as he could. He held his khakkhara staff close to him for comfort, for once happy that the heirloom was broken, as his trembling would surely have made the staff’s jingling rings give him away, were they still intact.
Maybe he could make a break for the tavern and warn them to evacuate? No, that wouldn’t do. Right now, the hounds were traveling in a pack, but if they split up, they’d set the forest on fire even faster. Even if everyone could get to safety—questionable, given the state some had been in when Korakai had left the tavern—it would take the owners forever to scrounge together the coin to rebuild it, and there’d be no replacing the memories it held.
No, he had to stop this here. Korakai breathed deep, trying to steady his trembling hands, and sank deep within himself. In his mind’s eye, he saw it standing there, unchanged since the day he’d swallowed the sea: a massive floodgate of salt-encrusted stone and metal. Even with the gate closed, Korakai could feel the ceaseless surging of water—six swelling waves, then a crashing seventh—the storm of creation just beyond. The hounds were powerful, yes, emissaries of the gods and rulers of the lower planes. But Korakai too was connected to gods, spirits, and myriad other sources of divine power—eight million or more—as numerous as grains in the sea. He had nothing to fear. Korakai stepped out from behind the tree and opened the floodgates but a crack.
Illustration by Valeriya Lutfullina. Korakai channels his inner tempest to douse his enemies in water. Tap into your own oracular mystery with the Pathfinder Advanced Player’s Guide, available everywhere July 30.
Power welled forth, coursing through his veins and churning in his lungs. The hounds noticed him, snarling. As the first of the pack leapt forward, Korakai swung his khakkhara in an arc, feeling the deities of wind and sky—good and evil alike—guide him. A gale surged, catching the hound in midair and sending it careening into a tree, where it exploded into embers.
As his beak opened in a grin, Korakai felt the unleashed energies swirl, their opposing currents clashing in a turbulent whirlpool. Winds howled as a sacred storm spiraled forth, and Korakai winced as electricity danced across his feathers. He had known it would happen; this was the price of drawing on the tempest, of opening a door that led somewhere unknowable.
The second of the hounds took advantage of Korakai’s distraction to circle behind him. In response, the tengu willed the floodgates to open even further, and this time, the spirits of rain and waves passed through. Water collected in Korakai’s balled fist, and with no more effort than it took to splash in a tidepool, he blasted it at the hound, where the torrent met its pelt with a hiss of steam. For a moment, it seemed like the fiend would withstand the deluge, but less than a heartbeat later, the lightning that wreathed Korakai’s body found its way through the waters, extinguishing the hell hound in a spray of saltwater. The backlash was immediate and fierce. Rain fell despite the cloudless sky as the winds around Korakai accelerated into a fierce hurricane.
Enraged, the two remaining hounds inhaled, chests distending as they stoked internal hellfire before breathing out twin gouts of flame that met in a burning wave. Korakai laughed, feeling for a moment oddly at home—he knew how to meet a wave. Recalling childhood lessons learned from his mother in the island surf, he dove forward, tucking his head under his arms, and the deluge of his storm protected him from the worst of the heat. Emerging in front of the shocked fiends, Korakai gave himself fully over to the tempest and brought his hands together in a thunderous clap. A deafening peal dispersed smoke and steam alike, shaking leaves from the trees, and when the sound cleared, the hell hounds were no more.
Audible in his mind, even amid the echoes, Korakai heard the floodgates slam shut. Though the energies he’d already drawn forth continued to rage around him, he found himself cut off from the primordial storm, unable to gather any more from the other side. It was a humbling reminder that he was a conduit for its power, not its owner. Once again, he was just Korakai, nothing more.
As he stood at peace within the hurricane, Korakai leaned on his staff again and let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. With a bit of meditation, he’d be able to quell the storm somewhat, but as he looked at the flames, he realized he might have use for it for a little while longer. He’d let the revelers in the tavern keep enjoying their night while he searched for who, or what, had summoned the fiends here in the first place. Rains and wind quenching the flames with each step, Korakai walked into the burning forest, trembling no longer.
About the Author
James Case is a developer at Paizo, where he helps to bring Golarion and the Pact Worlds alive as part of the organized play department. James has also edited manuscripts for scientific researchers, translated materials for music labels, and written for various RPG products, including the Pathfinder and Starfinder game systems. You can find him (and his thoughts on comma usage) on The Twitter at @toriariaria.
About Iconic Encounters
Iconic Encounters is a series of web-based flash fiction set in the worlds of Pathfinder and Starfinder. Each short story provides a glimpse into the life and personality of one of the games’ iconic characters, showing the myriad stories of adventure and excitement players can tell with the Pathfinder and Starfinder roleplaying games.
