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The two longtime bonded companions practiced different techniques mimicking the maneuvers seen by the others all learning to fly along with their new found allies.
Now up!
Whitecap hears Marco's thought and immediately reacts. The pair dart straight skyward spinning and twisting as they rose. Whitecap having now felt the streams and currents in the air has become quite proficient at manipulating them to his will. Taking a page out of Aoife's playbook, Marco unclips his tether to the harness, breathes deep and leaps from Whitecap's winged back.
"TARGETS OUT!!"
With that command, Whitecap summons a swarm of rats mid air as he speeds down keeping pace with the freefalling fearless foxlike fellow. Seeing his newly found prey and feeling something reaching deep into his primal animal hunter genetics, Marco rapidly fires bolt after bolt into each individual rat as he decends closer and closer to the now widening landmass from whence they began. With barely a glance toward each other, Marco positions himself ready as Whitecap spins into range. The Kitsune floats onto the Eidolon with ease, clips back in and with a eye popping rush back upward, the two recovered from the dive with barely 5 meters to spare. The the two take a stabilizing bank and return to the training site where many of the adventurers have come to rest.
"I tink dat we chall call dat de Aoife Assault, what joo tink?" says Marco and to Ishbaad with a wink to Aoife.
Whitecap having a new sense of confidence in his winged abilities, smiles and the comment from Marco.
"You're lucky I'm a quick learner! A couple of days ago I would not have been able to pull out of that dive so fast...you would be as dead as those rats," Whitecap says with a thumb over his winged shoulder.
Bodies of freshly arrowed rodents begin to drop here and there with a now steady plopping sound.
"Dis is true yeah, but I knew joo haditin joo! Dees wings are a part of jor body, eh and uh like jor once new legs, joo become one with dem, and as such jor mind, as charp asit tis, will make dem and moving dem as simple as taking breath. Joo know dis to be true!"
Calissus flies calmly by Marco and Whitecap. "You definitely have the hang of flying now," Calissus notes, letting out a spurt of icy energy from her maw in approval, "But solo flight is very different from team flight. Now let us see if you can manage to fly in unison with me."
"I recommend we take it easy and try an easy move first, but it's your choice..."
"It does sound like something we will coordinate, with all the airborne units, we can't be flying into one another!"
The two bounce to the air alongside Callisus, but as they begin to form up, the new updrafts formed by the other unbalanced the already shaky Whitecap. To make matters worse, when Whitecap attempts to correct the new lift, his wings strike his companion's causing a disastrous overcompensating tailspin sending Marco and Whitecap downward out of control.
Marco seeing his fate spiraling down groundward as Whitecap struggles to regain loft, he unclips his harness and dives aiming toward Callisus, arms wide in some aire of gliding rodent fashion.
"STEADY JORSELF CAP AND GET READY CHOO SAVE MY HIDE!!"
As Marco closes in with Callisus, the dragon kin sees him and gambles to his intent. He flattens his back and expands his wings to give Marco plenty of surface area to make his play. With a flip and a dash, Marco lands feet first on the now wide dorsal surface of his comrade, takes another few steps and jumps back up into the free fall facing Whitecap.
Now unburdened by Maroc's weight, Whitecap twists away from the formation, regains his loft and dives toward the crafty Kitsune.
"I GOT YOU MARCO!"
Whitecap soars down scooping up his rider and gently floats back down to ground. Slightly disappointed, Whitecap shakes his head.
"Guess we need to spend some more training in formation..."
Half laughing to shake off his near death experience, half trying his to ease Whitecap's damaged pride.
"'Tis just a minor setback asit tweer. I may have used a few lives had I been a cat, no!" chuckles Marco seeing that he has a new found confidence in his own "flying" ability.
"Excellent recovery!" Calissus calls out of the sound of the rushing wind, "You need to learn to anticipate my moves, though, if you don't want to get caught in my updraft. Let's try again..."
Calissus twists and turns and enters another dive, inviting Marco and Whitecap to follow...
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With new resolve, Whitecap dashes upward, hearing Marco's thoughts encouraging him as he gains altitude and gains rank in formation. The turbulence hits but this time with expectation Whitecap synchronizes his wing strokes with those to his side.
Just when Whitecap thinks he has hit the perfect cadence, a large beetle like creature swiftly lodges itself directly into his right nostril causing him to sneeze forcing the insect thankfully straight out of his nose but regrettably the exudate and phlegm flying forward inevitably returns full force into both his eyes, blinding him in burning snottiness.
"ARRGHCK!! ACCKK!! GOOD GODS OF FIRE RELEASE MY FACE!!!
Relax my friend, let my senses guide joo, let me be jour feelings and eyes until clear dey are once again
Marco's thoughts enter the startled mind of Whitecap who in turn lets go of his burning pain and begins seeing and sensing through Marco. His flying becomes stable as he rejoins the flight pattern. They circle and dive and move as a unit until they return to the ground where Whitecap immediately wipes his face free of the firefly splatter.
"Well, ah, yeah, I guess zit tis good to know dat in a pinch, should we need, I can fly for joo, by bond of ours to zee rescue!"
As the snow crunches beneath Eoferwic's feet, he nods in the direction of Commander Pharamol. Talsune, towering over all the other dragon kin, snorts at Eoferwic's as they walk side by side.
"It is odd to see weakness from you, giant-kin." comes the dragonkin's verbal jab.
Throwing down his enormous hammer like a petulant child, Eoferwic eyes blaze as he rounds on the dragonkin. ""
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"Ha! Then tell me why you have not spoken to your companion Ishbaad? We talk, us dragon kin. We know of the bond you all shared, especially the one you shared with the child-warrior Aofie and the stone-warrior Ishbaad. You hover over the child-warrior like a wet nurse, but you avoid your warrior-in-spirit-brother. Why? How does this make you brave?" the dragonkin ends in a serpentine smirk.
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Bending down and bushing off the snow that covers his hammer, Eoferwic looks at Talsune. "It is not weakness. Ishbaad was friends with another. Who is me, and is not me. We are brothers, but he is a stranger. I feel a need to protect. But more I cannot say. This is not fear, or cowardice, or weakness. To not act upon something that is not there, 'tis but life." the white crack lines that cover Eoferwic's skin glow pale against the blue of his skin.
"To fight well, we must be as one. To have to avoid our comrades, the ones we trust with our lives, make us weaker. need to make us stronger. Talk to Ishbaad. Before it is too late and the skies are filled with blood and death." the dragonkin implores Eoferwic.
"You speak wisely, as all dragonkin have since we arrived. The time is not yet right, but will be soon. Come, let us once more take to the skies to show all how powerful the bond between warrior and dragonkin can be." grinning in anticipation, the large half-giant flips his hammer head over hilt
"Will you two stop bellowing?" comes Pharamol's voice from below, "At least try to establish your telepathic bond so the rest of us can concentrate!"
Despite his harsh words, the Triaxian Commander is grinning broadly.
"Death and destruction. We shall make the Drakelanders pay for every inch of land and sky." the dragonkin agrees. Crouching on all fours, Talsune makes ready for Eoferwic to mount up
The large half-giant vaults impressively into the saddle, hefting his hammer high in the air. ""
"Sigh."
""
The pair ascends quickly into the skies, soaring high above the others.
Everyone is spending some time coming to terms with aerial combat. Flying with their mounts, shoes or eidolons is proving tricky in and of itself. Bonds are being made, however, and each of the unlikely companions - all carrying the flame of the Riders of Baba Yaga - feels that they can now fight while in flight. As for coordinating flying efforts while in the sky with a larger army... they are less sure.
There is a rumbling coming from beyond the walls of Spurhorn, and suddenly the floor beneath the companions trembles. Chunks of rock and ice break free as something unseen thuds into the mighty citadel atop the mountain.
Nevra, the blue dragonkin who has been bonding with Aoife appears before the six companions, waking them from a much-needed slumber. "It has begun," she says ominously, "Commander Pharamol wants to see all of you at the council chambers immediately." Her tone is cordial enough, but each hero assembled can tell that she does not mean this as a request. Nevra smiles at Aoife and waits for her new rider to get ready, impatiently tapping her foot all the while.
Ishbaad lays in his make-shift accommodations, staring at the ceiling. The voice of Nevra flows into the room following the reverberations of the assault happening outside.
Slowly, he swings his legs over the edge of the frame. He sits hunched over for a few minutes, allowing a relatively new ache in his left knee and the stiffness in his back to subside before standing up to his full height. Worn hands rub a weary face before swinging back and forth across his chest, attempting to loosen his muscles and mind.
"Norman. If you would, please." Ishbaad's face is stoic as always. He walks over to where his pile of armor sits and begins to sift through his belongings, laying it out in the order in which it will be strapped, with young Norman's help.
Another impact sends sand and stone raining down from the ceiling above them while flecks of snow hidden in the crevices flit down from their perch, prolonging the ominous nature of the reverberations that echo throughout the compound.
Norman throws his elbows up high, pulling his head in towards his shoulders and ducking instinctively with each rumbling impact outside the walls. In order to keep his voice from quivering and cracking, a sure sign of the fear he feels, he simply doesn't speak.
It has only been a few days, but in his time assisting Ishbaad and Cindrix, he had quickly memorized the order in which each piece of armor was fastened on to the stone man's body. He tries his best to shake off the fear growing in his heart and focuses on the task in front of him.
He lifts the first piece to Ishbaad's thigh and reaches up to snap it in to the belt and chain underlayer when an explosion rocks the room directly above where the companions rest. Before he can stop himself, Norman has completely turtled, kneeling on the floor with his head between his knees and arms covering his fur covered head. Thankfully, no Triaxians are there to remind him later just how high pitched his squeal was.
Staring ahead, Ishbaad does his best to ignore the child's reactions to the commotion around them, seeing the shame in the boys face and not wanting to draw attention to his cowardice, hoping to spare the boys feelings some. When the first thigh piece of his shiny, red enameled armor goes clattering to the stone floor, the Oread finally looks down.
"The enemy is not in this room, Norman. Get up."
Pulling his head out from under his crossed arms, Norman looks up at the stone-faced inquisitor. The fur around Norman's eyes are moist, and the skin beneath them has a reddish hue that isn't normally there. He quickly scrambles back to his feet, hurt and confusion on his face, now unwilling to meet eyes with the man he is helping. A forearm wipes away a line of snot and tears from Norman's nose and he picks the piece up that he dropped.
This time when an impact hits nearby, Norman hardly flinches when the pebbles and snow rain down over the two of them. His eyes are narrowed in frustration.
"You are afraid. You are ashamed for that fear, and now you are angry at me because I have seen it in your face."
Ishbaad speaks plainly, then doesn't say another word for nearly two minutes. Leg plates, greaves, and other straps move quickly and methodically into place, with no sound coming from his de-facto squire.
Ishbaad helps lift the heavy breastplate up and holds it in place while more straps are efficiently threaded, pulled and locked in place.
"You fear for your home. You fear for your life. Perhaps you fear for a friend. Perhaps the friend you fear for is a young woman who has captured your heart."
The next strap gets suddenly over-tightened, causing Ishbaad to wince from the unexpected pinch. He takes a deep breath, then continues. "You are afraid of what you might lose. I will not hold it against you for being angry. I know deep down you are not angry at me."
"Where I am from, there are very few like me. Humans are the most dominant race. Well, you know Aoife, so you know humans. In many ways, Triaxians, like yourself, are nothing like the humans from my home world. Most of those differences are on the outside, I think. But in the ways that are perhaps the most important, Triaxians and Humans, and even myself, are very much alike. We get attached to things, to others. We feel things keenly. Love, hate, fear, sadness, joy. But do you know one thing that we do not feel?" Ishbaad looks down to the boy.
Silence fills the room while Ishbaad waits for an answer.
Norman, having put the last of Ishbaad's armor on, holds the oread's gauntlets up while waiting for them to be taken. The silence in the room is deafening. Each panic laced heartbeat of the triaxian boy thumps in his chest and rings in his ears as loudly as the stones crashing against the walls of his home. He feels keenly the overbearing eyes of Ishbaad, boring into his forehead.
Norman lifts the gauntlets higher, hoping they will block the penetrating stare.
When it is long past the point of realization that Ishbaad is still waiting for an answer, Norman finally speaks up.
"Compassion? Ye dornt swatch loch ye feel anythin' if aam honest. Ah huvnae seen ye smile ur froon ance."
The boy is relieved when Ishbaad finally takes the gauntlets, and moves to grab his helm.
Ishbaad slides each fur-lined gauntlet onto his hands and then crouches down to look the boy in the eye, face to face, much like he has done with Aoife many times.
He paints a smile on his face, perhaps the first the boy has seen from him, perhaps not.
"Compassion is a choice most of all, but it comes from something you first feel. That is what causes you to care for someone," Ishbaad pauses for effect, then turns towards the door where Cindrix waits on the other side, "or something, even though they might not deserve it. No, Norman. Compassion is not the answer I was looking for."
Ishbaad takes the helm in his gauntleted hands. He slides it down over his head while Norman walks over to grab the greatsword leaning against the wall. The boy runs his fingers over the engraving along the blade's edge, sanctus custos.
"Courage. Courage is the answer, and is not something you feel. Courage is the choice you make despite the fear in your heart."
Ishbaad stands and takes the greatsword in his hands, feeling the weight of the blade and inspecting its edge. He lifts it over his shoulder and slides it in the sheath that is strapped to his back.
"Courage is not simply one of the virtues my boy. Courage is the form of every virtue at the testing point. This is but your first test. Do not be afraid for what you might lose. Be afraid of living your life having done nothing to prevent losing who and what you care about most."
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Norman watches the imposing figure turn at his last word and walk through the door. The early morning light reflects off of the pristine red enamel of Ishbaad's armor, highlighting his form against the stark, white frozen backdrop. Cindrix bounds into view through the portal, running a circle around the armored man then putting her large head under his hand and nearly knocking him over to nuzzle against his side.
The saddle Norman taught Ishbaad how to strap on sits perfectly on the dragon's shoulders. Ishbaad's magical spear is tightly strapped to the side within easy reach in case the rider loses his main weapon.
To his relief, there is no one else in the room, the rest of the alien's companions having already left to meet with Commander Pharamol. No one to see, and therefore no reason for Norman to have to swallow his pride and admit the alien was right out loud. Something about his presence, perhaps. Or something in the words he said, but Norman couldn't deny the swelling sensation in his heart.
Ishbaad and Cindrix leap into the air with a powerful stroke of the dragon's wings, disappearing from the triaxian boy's sight. Another crash echoes through the chambers, but Norman doesn't even flinch this time. Instead he smiles, clenches his fists, and sprints for the armory.
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I spent so much time breaking Cindrix in these last few days that I haven’t had much of a chance to get to know the new guys. I think the whole group took the news of not being ready to work efficiently with the larger combat force pretty well, and I’m glad they didn’t make a big scene and feel insulted. Granted, Commander Pharamol delivered the news with practiced diplomatic ease. It also helped that he was right. Still, you never know how a warrior might react when someone tells him he isn’t good enough to do something, especially a warrior you don't really know the way I knew Jorvik, and know Aoife.
In hindsight, I would say that Commander Pharamol’s decision to turn us into a strike force turned out to be a tactically brilliant move. As always in any military operation, genius levels are relative to the success or failure of the decision, regardless of whether or not it was the best decision at the time. This one certainly fell in his, and our favor.
Our first task was holding the south wall against a group of barbarians scaling it. A few of the enemy had breached the edge, but not so much to overwhelm the Legion soldiers in the area. The problem was with a group of Frost drakes being ridden by drake-lander barbarians. They harried the wall defense enough that once the main force of Triaxians scaling the wall made it up high enough, there would be no stopping the wave of invaders. The Spurhorn defense forces in other areas would find themselves hard pressed to hold back the main assault if they had to divert more resources to a south wall breech.
This would be Cindrix and I’s first real combat together. She has come a long way in the week or so leading up to the assault, no thanks to Norman’s indecipherable accent. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t apprehensive, but there was certainly no way I would let anyone see that in my face.
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The long, pearly scaled dragon stretches her hind legs out on the floor behind her with her head curled back into her forearms. An icy draft leaks into the room where her obsidian skinned master and his companions are resting. She delightfully curls up over the rend in the wall, effectively blocking the chill from entering the room. Wisps of frosty breath roll out between her deadly teeth in rhythmic puffs, causing a myriad of crystalline shapes to form on the floor, only to melt in between breaths and reform at the next.
The fact that her master enjoyed such awful warmth was easy to overlook. Beyond Commander Pharamol, he was the first to affirm her, encourage her, and care for her without beating or ridicule. She could deal with his incessant need for heat. As she rests, the scenes of the previous battles play back through her dreaming mind, perhaps a bit colored by her own biases.
She screams through the air, across the line of the wall and towards one of the brutally viscous frost drakes. Darting and ducking her agile neck, she smashes her open jaw against the beast’s neck, tearing open a grievous wound. The statue-man on her back sinks his puny weapon deep into the creature’s side, just to the left of the other puny rider. Magnificent white dragon and black rider streak by, leaving the frost drake writhing and plummeting to the depths below in their wake.
Another drake unleashes a wave of frozen breath, but Cindrix laughs, bathing in the cool breeze that tickles her scales. She holds back the urge to launch at the beast, waiting for her master to give her the signal. Finally it comes, and the two dart back and forth across the sky, dropping the wicked bullies like lambs at the slaughter.
With a slow groan, Cindrix rolls over on the hard stone floor, involuntarily reaching a hind claw up to scratch at an itch near her shoulder. In her sleep, she sneezes suddenly, splotching a hunk of slimy ice against the wall merely inches from where Ishbaad sits, scratching some strange book with a tiny stick. Her sleep remains uninterrupted, however, as her dreams shift to the next battle.
Thank Sarenrae for Kheycear. I chuckle writing that, knowing that neither of us worship her. His healing bursts might have been the only reason I am still alive after flying so close to the barbarian riders. Cindrix was amazing and eager, but I nearly got cut in half as we charged back and forth.
Charged back and forth, through the air. Something I never in my wildest dreams thought I’d experience. What a fantastic and freeing sensation to soar on the back of this creature. The two of us are like Yin and Yang on the outside, but with more similarities on the inside than perhaps I might care to admit. An unlikely harmony. I think I used that Tien term correctly. Jewel would be proud that I even remember what it means.
I must say how impressed I was with Eoferwic and Talsune. They are kindred spirits in every aspect. Back on Golarion I might say that Talsune was Eoferwic’s spirit animal. I’m pretty sure on this planet it might be the other way around. I still can’t shake that nagging connection with Eoferwic, and his rambling about being the same but different makes even less sense.
It makes me miss my friend.
Around Eoferwic I feel comfortable, as if Jorvik were still here, yet he feels as much a stranger to me as Kheycear and Marco. Perhaps that is what he is getting at when he rambles. I still don’t think I understand, and perhaps I never truly will.
With the resounding success at the walls behind us, we soon learned that it had been merely a diversion. Two gigantic Hydras were pulling a massive siege engine towards the gates. Such a structure didn’t look like a building that should ever move no matter the means of power to pull it, yet here these behemoths were, 14 heads in all, pulling with all of their considerable might. It was only a matter of time before this contraption would lay waste to the gates. Spurhorn would be overwhelmed in minutes by all of the forces incapable of flight.
A guttural, stuttering throaty growl suddenly escapes from the mouth of the white dragon in the corner, now laying completely on her back with her head and neck curled back along her body, and all four legs sticking weirdly into the air. One wing is splayed out on the stone floor while the other is tucked neatly by her side, adding to the oddness of the strange contorted sleeping position. As the noise rumbles out of her maw, the splayed out wing and the opposite, rear leg begin to twitch and move as her dreams play out in her mind.
Two ugly frost drakes move to intercept her flight path to the many-headed beasts of burden below. Her jaws snap and Ish the puny rider makes tiny cuts with his blade. A drake falls lifelessly to the ground far below. The others will take care of the last drake, for the Hydras are close now.
The monsters strain against the massive ropes, pulling the tower closer to Spurhorn, but Cindrix is there to defend her unlikely allies and their home. She folds her wings to turn into a dive and claws at the air, allowing gravity to pull her down to her enemies. She crashes in hard, jaw and claws flailing. She does not know how she managed to cut the heads from the body, but still they fall, just before the first beast collapses from her brutal assault.
Ish on her back seems to be doing something, since she can feel the pressure of his legs on the stirrups, but clearly she is doing all of the heavy lifting. She eyes the second beast and a meaty spot under one of it’s legs, pulling at the ground to bring herself closer for another strike.
One thing we all must learn in this group is this: If you want your blade to have a say in the fight, you had better make use of it quickly. The brutal efficiency with which we cut down the Hydras was a sight to be seen, never mind my ineffectual harvesting of the creature’s heads. Even in that moment, however, we began to harmonize wonderfully as a team with Marco searing the wounds closed with fire, preventing more heads from growing back. Not a word was spoken in advance, it was as if we just knew our jobs. I am glad for it, yet as I write this it makes me wonder back to what I missed, or how I messed up when we encountered Vsevolod in the Crone aspect. Maybe Jorvik would still be here had I done my job better.
I mustn’t keep dwelling on the past. I cannot change it now. Of course we hardly could dwell on the victory then before Commander Pharamol informed us of another infiltration attempt. Barbarians were attempting to break into his quarters, located at the highest point of the tower. We raced back into Spurhorn to deal with this new threat. We could immediately tell that one of the barbarians was a spellcaster of some sort. Unless we dealt with him first, it was going to get tricky.
Kill them! Make them pay for their wickedness! I shall reign my terror down upon them and rend their frail bodies! I will crash down from the heavens and crush their bones to dust! I will breath death upon them, and should they have any strength left they will flee from my presence, and cast themselves upon the rocks, for that quick death will be more merciful that what I shall do to them!
A pained grunt is followed by a huff of cold air from the sleeping dragon that fills the space with tiny crystals of frozen water, suspended in the air for a few moments before dissipating from the latent heat. The scales and spines along her back raise up as the muscles in her body tense for a moment, before relaxing again.
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It was not the first time we had attempted the maneuver, which is so aptly named ‘Death from Above’. We had practiced before with Norman and a wagon full of hay, but I wasn’t able to walk without pain away from any of those attempts. It worried me to try in the heat of combat, but there was definitely something different with Cindrix this time, perhaps a spark of anger in her heart, for she pulled it off brilliantly. We arced down from the sky, and my heart leapt into my throat. My stomach felt like it was turning over inside my body for the few, interminable seconds of the dive. Then suddenly every internal organ of mine was in my feet as our combined weight crashed down on the body of the unsuspecting drakelander barbarian. As if that wasn’t enough to add insult to injury, she quickly reached down and yanked the poor soul from the ground, flinging him into the air. I’ll have to tell her about the look she flashed me when I cut him in half with my sword.
Sometimes she seems like there is an understanding, intelligent mind behind those eyes, and other times I swear she couldn’t be more clueless about anything around us. They beat her for being simple, but simple is as far from the truth as it could possibly be. There was a sinister and satisfied grin on her face when the last Barbarian flung himself off the wall to his certain death rather than face our strike force after the sorcerer was cut down by Kheycear’s bullets and Eoferwick’s hammer. It was as if she was placated, watching his choice in death with the knowledge that there was no logical alternative for him.
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It’s been some time since I have penned in this journal. Our journey has been a solid march of inevitability. I often think back to the moment we met the dragonkin rider, oh what was her name? Curse my memory for forgetting. We could have very easily mistaken her for a threat because of the dragonkin that bore her. We might have just as easily made the same mistake with Cindrix, had circumstances pitted her against us in the wilds of this world. What a pity that would have been.
Though now we march towards Ivoryglass, the stronghold of the Drakelanders, with violent intentions. What if we had gone the other way? What if we had allied with the Drakelanders, unwittingly helping the other side? Would their tyrannical ways have made us pause and question our decision as we laid siege to the citadel at General Malsinder’s side?
That last bit made me chuckle out loud and woke up Cindrix, to her annoyance. I’m mostly sure she was being playful when she made her annoyance known, though I’m glad she ate the spare journal that still has blank pages. Or did she eat that one on purpose?
I laughed because I rest easy on my moral high ground. Defend the righteous against the tyrannical! Set right the wrongs and the good guys can prevail and rule this world! Don’t mind us though as we continue to gather the keys we need in order to release Baba Yaga, the queen of tyranny. Oh Jewel, times like these I am glad you have been spared the cruelty of this existence. I don’t want to deal with what you might think of me now.
We rest now. We have defended the Citadel against the invaders. We have obliterated their General and have scattered their army to the four winds. We have traveled far at the head of an army, set to lay siege to the Ivoryglass tower. In our travels we have met a native to this world, a werewolf shaman, searching for a hero of her people. She is leading us into a crevasse that will both take her to her destination, and take us to the door of ours. The strings of fate dance in the master puppeteer’s hands. Soon we will face one tyrant in hopes of freeing another. Perhaps fate will allow at least one more entry into this journal. If I am lucky, I will continue to keep it from the gullet of my dragon as well.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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In our travels we have met a native to this world, anwerewolfshaman,
Foolish Oread. For as unlucky as I was that she read my words over my shoulder, I am equally lucky she is kind and forgiving for the insult I unintentionally hoisted upon her. Adlet is a much more fitting name for Baknarla and her kind. Graceful and natural, as opposed to the twisted forms of the werewolves of Golarion. I shall endeavor to both take better notes, and do a better job of referencing them as we make ready to breach this fortress.
Thrice now I have stared into the soul of a White Dragon. The first time was marked by arrogance and death. My arrogance, and Logrivich’s death. The second time I was introduced to Cindrix, and saw one of many things that give evidence that this is an alien world. I saw hatred and pain in there, and a longing for acceptance. A longing so strong, she was willing to throw away her natural evil, feral tendencies.
The third time, well, I am still unsure how to describe it. I have heard many a bard spin a tale, and so I shall try to do the same, in hopes that I can unravel these emotions that threaten to spoil my calm façade.
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Audience with a Tyrant
Great forces march forth with songs on their lips
A lord’s attention they seek with scores of spear tips
Malcinder is dead, now the siege will be turned
Lord Yirrax the Tyrant, his gates to be burned
Wild storms rage and bitter winds blow
Blood blankets the ground as thick as the snow
Ivoryglass tower looms o’er a crevasse
Baba Yaga’s new champions look to trespass
Winter-born keep the Howling Storm’s door
Friend or Foe they inquire, from inside the moor
‘Parlay!’ he doth hail, the kitsune’s appeal
Instead we parlayed with arcane and steel
Draconic guardians amid lush gardens
Twisted and cruel, still listen to bargains
‘An audience!’ We cry, the beast acquiesces
His own fate is sealed, still cut to pieces
Golems of fossil patrolling the ground
They endlessly march, old bones circle round
Unthinking wielders of carnage and death
Returned to the dust, no life in their breath
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Trespassers delve further with violent intent
Companions are lured by a sensuous scent
An aspiring chef who longs affirmation
Bound to the tyrant with forced obligation
Her spicy dish proves pleasing to palette
A shawl she desires, her freedom to get
She tells of the one who might let them pass
The lord’s hidden chamber to face him at last
A pit made for fighting, blood sport for kings
Pristine and well-tended, no battle cry rings
Forgotten, discarded, no longer viewed
A queen hones her art in quiet solitude
Lust for perfection of body and mind
A youthful indifference for what’s left behind
Now age and neglect hide soft desperation
A challenge she craves for self-validation
Her challenge steps forth from amid the contenders
Valorous and brave, deceivingly tender
A child of nine winters, should she be here?
Nine lifetimes of pain, this child without fear
Two warriors square off, begin trading blows
The child closes in, a windpipe to close
Absorbing the onslaught, she squeezes a hip
The monk blinks away, escaping her grip
Spinning around, the child changes course
Fight fire with fire, she punches with force
Gauntlets of legend meet royal resistance
The queen is laid low at the child’s insistence
Two warriors step back, respect in their hearts
This vict’ry is won by the pint-sized stalwart
True to her word, their fates tied together
The queen stands aside, the way now unfettered
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An audience chamber as grand as can be
Fit for a tyrant, majestic to see
More golems to guard from unwelcome guests
Of glass and of stone, destroyed like the rest
Illusory walls made for hidden ingress
The Howling Storm Lord to impress all his guests
They press to beyond, small antechamber
Covered in ice, a frozen king’s lair.
Large iron doors are all that is left
‘Tween raiders unwelcome and ruler recessed
The hammer of doom raps once, twice and thrice
The portal swings open, rent clean from its ice
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The majestic chambers are hidden from sight
A harsh winter blizzard rend’s everything white
Your downfall is nigh! The oread provokes
Your judgement at hand, his challenge invokes
An evil laugh echoes, an invisible foe
Followed by breath of Ice and of Snow
Invaders weather the deadly onslaught
Spring quickly to action in viscous assault
Summoning help from planes far beyond
The Kitsune dispels, the blizzard is gone
Giant and small fry press in at the sides
Trade blows with the tyrant, fight for their lives
The press from the front seems doomed to soon fail
The priest grabs the judge, through dimensions they sail
Appearing behind the white beast they press
Weapons of legend mar his pearlescent chest
Beset on all sides, the great beast doth flail
The judge is the target of teeth and of tail
Some blows turned aside, the heaviest land
Stone body is rent, life hangs by a strand
Death almost surely is moments away
But Apsu’s great servant has not had his say
Calling the power of healing divine
Torn body made whole, as well as his mind