Planet Tiria
Continent of Perim
Age of Narggon
Kiru City
Kiru City is unconquerable.
These very words weren't spurred from a groggy, inebriated fool in a watering hole proclaiming pride in his own tribe before being pounced upon by surly others in similar states, or from a sneering tribal with embryonic throes of dogmatic fanaticism plundering a settlement of an enemy tribe, it was hard fact.
Situated amidst a series of plateaus and small knolls that stretched across the vast Norgi desert towards the arid plains of Nogsh that borders the myriad of the Overworld's forests, potent in Mugic and abundant in resource, Kiriu City is one of the most heavily-defended cities on the continent. Blessed by few avenues of entrance and provided an unobstructed vision from the massive mounts of rock encircling their home from invasion, the denizens of the capital, including many past and present rulers, seized upon the natural advantages of their land. A rudimentary series of forts and outposts were constructed over the centuries, each one serving as both an early warning system and base for fighters to harry the enemy to allow the people of Kiru to evacuate.
It withstood a total number of twenty-three sieges, seven invasions, and inscrutable incidents of plague and famine. While the lush land around it transform in brittle sand and roaming dust storms, the city prevailed, its lone citadel jutting from rock, watching, guarding for any that dare entry by conquest and blood like a fretful parent over its children.
But upon the hill were the might and hopes of the Overworld lay, cracks began to warp within, its structures bucking against each other. Worry and dread slipping through like light between the mullions. Deceit and secrecy once barred soon came into fruition.
Ensconced in a chair of the highest order sat the lone patriarch of the Overworld. Around the warrior and statesman was his office. The walls and tables furnished with a panoply of items of past glories, items once thought unobtainable now nestled amongst his many walls. Skulls of terror-stricken breasts orbit around him, their looks contorted in feign rage. A series of sizzles came from the nearby fireplace arranged in the far corner, placing itself as the only source of deferent against the darkness as the windows were all concealed by the curtains, obscuring the muggy light of Tiria's sun.
From his feet to his barrel chest, he was bedaubed in paint. Slithering across his ember legs towards his very face, the tongue-shaped forms etched into his very skin. The man was the maxim when it comes to masculine physique. Muscles taut and powerful dominate his frame, showcasing the years and a rigid regiment of obtaining the mantle of leadership of his tribe. Conjecture and prattle ring from the mess halls and taverns, from the awe and lustful lips of patrons, of his capabilities and his searing riposte to many who harm his tribe.
But like all men in his station, he was but a mortal, regardless of his accomplishments, subject to the whim of the few and beloved by the many. Countless times, he was approached by families with coin and learn in influence, proffering their daughters to him like merchants bartering their stock. From the tallness to the shortest, from lithe to ravishing, and from charming to the coquettish, he was offered a substantial amount for him to take and sire heirs.
But he declined each and every one of them.
As much as he likes to subject himself to the temptations of the flesh, his love for his tribe transcends boundaries, both physical and metaphysical. Like his father and father's father, towards the very first of his family, he protects his tribe from the day he first draws breath to cracking skulls and chitin with a ferocity that'd left those he cares shock, and enemies with boiling rage. To the tribe, they were his family. The men and women under his command were treated as if they were his own flesh and blood. Unlike the Mipedian's inflexible hierarchy of command, the Danian collectivism and aversion to individualism, or the hated Underworlders' single-minded steadfastness of smothering the earth in fire, and bludgeoning their enemies into bleeding ruins, the Overworld rely on cohesion and cooperation to get the job done. What the other tribes see as weakness from an enervate tribe, it is the Overworlders greatest forte.
Yet, from what he has heard coming from the person across his desk, that strength would be put to the test.
"This is troubling, old friend. Very troubling, indeed. Thought I'd never doubt you for a second, giving your deeds towards Kiru, but are you absolutely sure that these events are connected?" The inquire matched his personality, bold and devoid of brevity. The words bouncing off across the long-arched walls, allowing the source of his questioning to hear his answer.
The man sitting across from Maxxor was tired, haggard and fraught with exhaustion. The silvering lining upon his beard lost its verve, tussles of hair unkempt and unmanned, poking out in the light from the fireplace. His eyes were bloodshot red, jaded and drained of intellectual promise, replaced with qualm and fright. The color of his skin was to the point of ashen, color receding as if they were wiped away.
Maxxor's guest blink once then twice, ridding his weary eyes of dryness, then spoke gently, fingers gripping around his staff firmly in his lap, as if holding it for dear life.
"What I said is the true, Maxxor. Upon witnessing this…monstrously, the auroras of the lake plagued me with visions. Even with it careening down from the heavens, I saw what the future lay ahead for Perim. Dark times approaches us, old friend. I do not know when it'd come, and that's what scares me the most." Najarin confessed, uncertainty and dread lace with every syllable. It was a rare moment for a powerful mugician such as himself to be totally vague in situations such as this, even given his vast experience, he knew he doesn't have the caliber for this dilemma.
Maxxor clasps his muscle hands together, red eyes, crisscrossed with a tint of black, stare down the hulking appendages. The creasing of his left eyebrow highlights his contemplation, a familiar craft of statesmanship he had come to see as tediously unwelcome for a warrior.
He was a fighter. There was no question to that. From the day he first draws breath in an unforgiving world, he fought his way to the top. He overcame the annual plague that struck the city during his first year of life. It consumed the many, but not him. With a will stronger than the stones of his home, he surmounted it, the fainting blisters upon his back a sign of his first travail. When he took on the task of leading, his younger, hotheaded self didn't realize that guardianship of the tribe would not always result in the spilling of blood. Persuasion, conjuring, and the promise of something more was the battlefield of politics, scurrying away in back rooms from the open fields of combat.
Deep thought and deliberation wasn't always his strong suit. Though he has tempered his antipathy towards the more rigid and tiresome actions of his profession, he'll always favor his warrior roots. But sometimes, forward-thinking and musing over fists when comes to leading would provide a boon for his tribe.
Several minutes ensured by, but it pesters on endlessly for Najarin, the signs of exhaustion creeping around his mind, his heartbeat anticipating the awaiting response. The tapping from his clotted right foot making the wait jittery for the old man.
But the pause in their meeting was over. Maxxor unfolded his hands and look at Najarin, eyes of a warrior meeting the ones of an intellectual. Even before the leader of the Overworld worded his resolution, the wizard saw in his eyes the answer.
"I'll grant you this request, my friend, but the given what is transpiring on the border with the Mipedians claiming over our eastern lands, including Broken Edge, and the disturbances in the south, I cannot lend a large search party in search of this comet." Maxxor held up his hands, writing each and popping his fingers, then continue.
"But, I'm willing to allow one such team, a small one led by Intress." Najarin's eyes lit up at the mention of the name. Though he was never close with some of the prominent Underworlders, Intress was one of the few to earn his trust, and eventually his friendship. She was one of the most skillful and fiercest in the Overworld, an equal to Maxxor. Her fury in combat match only by her strength, able to overpower and fend off many Underworlders. Where she had come from was mere conjecture and speculation, even Najarin himself didn't fully know the details. Whispers spoke of her arrival years during the early reign of Maxxor. Emaciated and the sun burning away her flesh, the Guards on the Ancestor Wall took her in, one of them rumored to be a young Tangath Toborn.
What led down this path would be never be known. To the curious who solicited her on details, she bristly, but politely, did not answer, leaving only blank stares and flabbergast anger. The reasons that drove her into becoming second in command in Maxxor's sizable menagerie of trusted advisers and warriors was a point of consternation for the conservative and the paranoid, but her actions proved her detractors wrong repeatedly.
Najarin spring with new energy, his legs no longer jumpy, the weariness in his bones lifted. Finally, some progress being made into solving this blight of a mystery. Najarin looked upon the warrior with a look of gratitude on his worn features.
"Thank you, Maxxor. I'm relieved this trouble will be finally resolved." A bundle of discreet air passes through his mouth as he sits up. With a short 'thank you' and the shaking of hands, Najarin adjourn, and heads towards his room provided by the castle. A quick succession of snaps from Maxxor signaled the double doors to be open. Guards garb in light blue armor entered before the two, each one clutching a pyro blaster, waiting for further orders.
Najarin parted away, the sound of his staff tapping against the stone floor the only source of his presence. Until the sounds diminish in volume and consistency before finally ebbing away, Maxxor then turned towards one of the guards, eyes renewing themselves from pleasant to hard stone.
"Summon Intress immediately. We've lots to discuss."
Unknown Planet
UNSC Standard Calendar: December 13, 2552
1900 hours
Day 1
Grid area A13
"This is the spot, Chief."
A voice, soft and cultured, speak through the warrior's auditory speakers in his helmet. Hefting one of the last detection beacons off the back of his Warthog, the device weighing down on his gauntlets right before arranging and spiking it into the ground, feeling the slurry ground depress before the impact. The goopy mess of what was once staid ground stick to the Spartan's feet like mucus, thin blades of foreign yet familiar glass sway languorously as he turned the device on, slowing being pick up by the storm above.
The impending clash landing went better than what the Spartan expected. Once past the bucking and the torture scream of titanium, feeling the heavy G-forces pounding upon him as he held on for dear life, armored hands gripping the railing in the observation deck, distorting the very metal amidst glaring klaxons throwing up twisted and contorted shapes all around him, the impromptu landing by his AI companion heartening his chances of survival. When the anguish of screams from the ship finally passed when the last heaving quake came, Cortana set about assessing the damage wrought about by her genius maneuvering while John himself went about by securing the armory, provoking a snide but friendly comment by his digital ally.
Power throughout the ship was completely restored by the time he arrived. Already, the ship's limited repair bots were diligently alimenting any broken systems and the tax structural integrity of the Drawn with limited resources. Tapping the correct code to enter, the automatic bulk doors give away as he proceeded into the room, his rapid biological enhance eyes taking in the habitual surroundings of his temporary home.
Other than a few warped beyond repair, the majority of the Spartan's arsenal was relatively intact considering what the ship went through. He traipses around the room, inspecting the rows of deadly weaponry that bear the mark of his profession. He went on until coming across the stacks of Covenant weaponry cordially provided by their Elite allies, a species that once drown Humanity's colonies in its own blood, now offering the very tools that butcher billions, scarred colonies, and, in time, their very own.
He examined each crate for any deficiencies or, in the wrong case, defibrate sabotage. If even with the truce with the Arbiter, there was still many with hatred tailing behind them, regardless of necessity in waylaying the Prophets' foolish task of annihilating all life.
Done with his inspection, he popped the lit off one of the crates, exposing the powerful armaments within; Plasma pistols and Rifles, Carbines, even a few full-charged Fuel Rods and Energy Swords. The other crate provided a separate set, some even prominent during the invasion of Reach: Plasma Repeaters, Concussion Rifles, and even a single Plasma Launcher.
He picked up one of the Carbines, experience eyes taking in the smooth metal of its body. The religious markings that once befit itself scorched off, a final defilement from the Elites towards their masters. Wiping a part of it with his covered thumb and index finger, he set it down where it was, repeating the action repeatedly with each weapon until Cortana came through.
"The ship's systems are all green, Chief. The hanger bay is not obstructed by anything outside. You ready to explore our new home, big guy?"
A curve of a smile formed on John's face as he exited the armory, mindset towards establishing a base of operations around the ship and the immediate area until help arrives.
That was about a day ago.
The ship left a trail of destruction all around. Burned trees, churning earth thrown around as if some twister came through. The embers from the fires still burning through the night when he exited, showcasing the fallout left by the Dawn. When his eyes first came upon the foliage of this new world, he was struck by a sense of familiarly. Upon many of the worlds Humanity has colonized within its reach, spouts from its mother world coexist amongst the alien ecosystem encountered once a colony was established in its infancy, but the flora was different, familiar but abnormal. Taking upon himself with one of the few undamaged Warthogs, he was sent to reconnoiter the land, a land of unknown dangers lurking between the pale grass.
"Hey, wake up." A mock ersatz of a hollow knock sounded off in his helmet, cutting off his runaway thoughts, sloppy noises coming from his gait towards the rumbling Warthog.
"Yes." Pulling his hand near the left side of his helmet, his enhance eyes perusing the glade in a sea of trees, the beacon's light blinking in the background, lighting up shapes all around. Even if it's in the morning, the storm hasn't let up. Dark storms swelled above the warrior's head, rain decanting in torrents upon his metal skin, as if cleansing it away from the muck and grime, purifying him of his sins. The forest stood passively by as the Spartan took in everything.
He headed back towards the Warthog, already drenched in rain, its metal skin giving off a sleek look as water runnel off. As he hopped in the water-proof seat, Cortana answered.
"The grid around the ship is completed. Except for this gloomy weather upon us, everything around the ship is clear." She finished as John revved up his vehicle, its hydrogen-powered engine bellowing in the rain, forward lights shattering way the dippy darkness.
"Any abnormalities?" The Warthog give one more howl of power before heading off, its super-augmented driver returning to dried shelter.
"Other than the natural carwash you are getting, nothing. As you had asked the past five times."
Ever since he stepped foot on this planet, before his boots couldn't even have the chance to imprint itself in alien soil, strange readings coursed through his sensors in his suit. Nothing dangerous to himself, but it was something he or his AI partner couldn't identify in the records. Flecks of this unknown energy materialize around the greenly before diminishing; in some of the areas around the Dawn, hot concentrations of it would leave a certain static in the sensor net.
Chief turn a hard right as he came up towards a new direction, following the map his hub on the shortest route back to the ship. The branches of the trees around him whipping up, shaking up the sprigs as the worst of the storm came to past. Coiled in unrestrained power, flesh flashes of lighting touch the bruised sky, framing a latticework of nature's wrath upon the blister on this world.
The outline shape of the ship came into view. Another stuck of electricity highlighting the sheer dwarfness of the ship over the vast forest, it silent engines sticking out like an affront on this sullen world. If John had any bearing in mysticism before being erased in the name of duty and survival, it was as if the very world was trying to expulse this trespasser.
Rugged terrain soon gave way to destroy. The charred earth now turned into a brown, swampy soup of nature's detritus, holes left by uprooted trees long since form into little ponds, gushing outwards onto the already sloppy surface. Chief's warthog speeded by, mud being lobb by war-torn tires. The once pristine olive coating soon gave way into a new color, it being flung around as the Master Chief pressed on.
A groaning of metal heralded one of the ship's few openings. An extended ramp appeared as the Spartan came to stop, another batch of lighting accompanying behind as it touches down. A shaft of light spear away the darkness around the Spartan as he ascended, the growl of the storm becoming more incessant as the ramp closed behind him.
Away from nature's anger, John stepped out, wet feet pattering on the dried floor as he retrieved his weapons from the back of the warthog, its muddy appearance a clear contrast from the ones inside. The hangar around him was huge for its size in a frigate. Even at its height of its full operational peak, the Spartan would have heard the clamor of war-machines roaring, sparks of repair tools from both man and machine, the constant chatter of UNSC service men and women performing their duties febrility.
But now, the hangar was cold, desolate, tools put away and the few warthogs tucked in the small motor pool, the two remaining Pelicans suspended pendulously from their docking clamps, secured until they're needed. The filth still partially clung to the Spartan's armor, the refuse dripping large prints on the polished floor.
"You are getting dirt on my ship, John. What did I tell you about playing outside?" A few feet away sat the pedestal that held the source of mock irritation. Luminous like a shaft of moonlight sat the skimming form of Cortana, her two arms crossed as she waited for his excuse, a jabbing smirk on her heart-shaped face.
The super soldier looked back towards his Warthog then to himself, head leaning downwards as if like a child realizing his mistake. His gauntlets and greaves slathered in brown mire, some of it pattering on the sterile surface. The Spartan then twist his head back to his Warthog again, then to himself. After a minute of consideration, he offered his riposte in a way that would seem inconceivable to people below his station, or not delve in the deep intricacies of the Spartan program.
He nonchalantly shrugs.
"I'll clean it up."
Cortana tittered, the faux cadence of vexation wisp away, as the Spartan stride towards the armor disassembled bay. Still, mechanical arms whirred into life when they detected his presence. Cortana sprung towards another nearby terminal, observing her Spartan getting into position. Gashed gauntlets and lacerated greaves were the first to be removed, then came the breastplate, the arms groaning by the weight of the multilayer alloy, exposing the onyx armored bodysuit underneath.
The battered helmet was the last to be pick. With the delicate precision that only a machine could perform and with a hiss of air, it came off effortless. Hard blue eyes blink in rapid accession before acclimatizing beyond the protective sphere of his visor. The automatic arms carrying the armor pieces whirred once again as they settled the parts on a nearby workplace. Taking one puff of fresh air and exhaling from his perfected olfactory receptors, John hopped off the booth, popping his neck in the process.
"Any changes?" He asked, disking out a washcloth from one of the tables, mopping away the thin sheet of sweat on his pale brow. Cortana rolled her eyes as she appeared again, navy hands hook on her hips.
"As in the couple of times you've asked me, the answer is still the same. This unknown energy is still affecting the forest around us. Both gamma and x-ray radiation are both off the charts from one of the plant samples you took, but there isn't any solid deterioration in the generic level."
The lights in the workshop died down as several charts materialized in front of the Spartan. Lines highlighting predicted points of emission outbreak. Others displaying mathematical calculations while three-dimension profiles of the native plant life circle around, various points of data streaming beside each.
"What am I looking at here?" He asked, wiping away the remnants of sweat on his face.
Cortana groan at the caveman's lack of scientific proclivity. Thought fiercely intelligent over most of humanity given by the vigorous education received by the UNSC, the sweet nectar of blowing things up prove to be more succulent than the dry facts of scientific discovery. Though in his defense, she herself had indulged in the ebullience of destructive purposes through her long journey with the Spartan.
"If only the brightness minds of Humanity could've taught you instead of people who concurred that bullets solve everything, this'd be less difficult." Her voice came out from speakers, her timbre the sound of vexation, but it was not genuine. It was another example of the bond they shared, regardless of the vast difference between them. Humanity's savior and Humanity's creation, their roads leading to the one path that intertwine both, allowing them to surmount the fiercest foes set out against them.
The cresting of a smile appeared on the stone façade of the Spartan. He was well used to her childish scolding, but it was something he found the best in her. The unremitting chatter during their time together was a stark contrast to his interactions to non-Spartans. With the exception of Dr. Halsey and Chief Mendez, the haughty AI proved to be a kindred spirit. Even when her message about the Ark was met with denunciation and slated, he stood by her, proving to even John himself that she was special to him, the same emotion he felt for Blue Team and the many other Spartans under his command.
Cortana's voice broke through his deep muse as another series of charts and drafts surfaced before him.
"The plants on this planet, especially from the Embryophyte tree, are different. Both the photosynthesis and nervous system are f on the surface, but recent probes deeper have discovered something I didn't expect."
Both the charts and drafts dispersed, permitting only a single image of a cellular cell.
"I've checked, double checked, and there isn't a single reference of this totipotent cell anywhere, not on Earth nor the colonies. Even what is the most interesting of this is that is emanating the same energy we've uncovered earlier."
The Master Chief just stare as the newly-revealed information was digested. The lone rag in his hand long discarded on the workbench, fully transfix on what this would lead.
After a long moment of silence, with only the quiet humming of the 3D projection, he spoke plainly.
"Is it safe?"
With a flick of her hand, the projection shuts down and she answers.
"Yes, it is. I took samples from our supplies to test its effects on the plant life from a different ecosystem. No ill effects so far. And before you ask; Yes, the atmosphere is not dangerous. So, don't-"
Her words petered off, silence crawling back after a brief relieve. John's eyes were laced with concern, trepidation saturating his mind as the AI stood there, indolent to external activity. He has seen this before; either something caught the AI full attention like this, which it will usually involve him doing something very dangerous to the point of impossible, or a big discovery for her to fixate her mental processes to uncovered.
"Cortana…" He spoke up, hoping his rough voice would break her out of her quiescent. He felt relieved as she was jolted out of her petrified state, either by the acknowledgment of his voice or finally discovering what coxswain her from their conversation. Artificial eyes twinkled in the light as her processes came about, her brow crinkled in fascination before caning her towards the Spartan.
"Sorry for the worrying back there, John, but one of the recon drones pick up something that might complicate our stay on this planet."
Reprieve flood through the super soldier thoughts like molten lead, feeling the tingling of relaxation lowing his guard, iron discipline settling the concerns about his close friend, but in the end, it was all sweep aside when a live video popped before him. The Spartan's countenance was of solid stone as his arithmetic eyes swept across the image, heartbeats thumbing quietly in his chest.
Spread out across the vast land were wooden structures, lazily placed around meadows of cultivated fields, either food or cash crops. Beyond the antique farms was a nearby river, its tributaries breaking off into two separate directions, but each side clustered with buildings, stone replacing wood.
Like the rest of the region, the village was no exception when it comes to the indignation of nature itself. The storm was letting up, a torrent of beige waves crash against the only bridge connecting the other half of the town, foul muck spaying the battered stone. Small granaries with windmills pierce on top buckle under the tumultuous wind, howling like the wolves of old earth.
The Master Chief stare at the live feed, his mind appraising the recent intelligence, sturdy arms cross as he lingered, eyes barely blinking. After a long while, he finally spoke, a hard edge bespeaking his military background creeping upwards.
"Are they hostile, Cortana?"
The AI paused the feed, staying an image of a central square in the middle of the village, before replying.
"The drone did pick up life signs from the buildings outside of the village apart from the ones huddling near the riverbank. Other than that, it is a simple farming community from the looks of it, Chief." She assured him, but by the tensing of his arms, he still has his doubts. Even if her assumption was right, John would never let his guard down. The years of human rebellion and the cremation of a hundred worlds by a genocidal force that made the very stars themselves bleed with mercy made even what is to be perceived as peaceful can undoubtedly unleash horrors that could leave mutilation on the soul.
John unclasps his arms, his façade unreadable to the untrained, but not to the superpowered AI.
"I know what you're thinking, John. I highly doubt anyone living there could possible posed a threat towards us, giving the technological level they live in. But to appease that paranoid mind of yours, the village is only seventy miles away from where we are."
"I'm sensing an extra 'but' in that sentence." The Spartan said, his ultramarine eyes now turn towards his companion.
Cortana shakes her head. "Even if we isolate ourselves from the natives, it'd only be a matter of time someone founds us. Our crash wasn't exactly subtle in a way."
'That is true.' John thought. The ship blazing through the skies without anyone seeing would have been difficult, impossible even. Hopefully relying on the newly-discovered inhabitants' superstitions would placate any from searching, but he himself would know it will be only a delaying action. Someone will come to investigate, whether they'll be peaceful, or bring fire in their wake.
"You suggesting we make contact?" The question hangs in the air between them, but the Spartan already knew the answer.
Cortana nods her head before speaking.
"Bingo, partner. I know you don't like playing ambassador, but we've no choice in this. The storm outside will recede in the morning. So, I suggest you get some shuteye before we meet our neighbors. I'll be working on fixing your armor." And with that, the projector shuts down, leaving the Spartan shroud in obscurity before the workshop's lights came back.
He left before the starting cacophonous of machinery pronounced itself, his light, padded feet drowned by the noise of Cortana's work, his direction leading him towards the armory on his checkup of ammunition and weaponry. Like all Spartans, John wasn't the one to partake what other people take for granted. He was raised and trained by the fierce Chief Mendez, educated by the intelligent Dr. Halsey, lest his duty falters in the face of war, losing what fragments he has left of his previous self. Deep down, he still kept his promise to Johnson, one of the few that truly earn his camaraderie, that he'll keep Cortana safe, a lasting shard of the humanity he has within him.
Passing the last of the hallways leading to his destination, John stood at the entrance. Punching in the password on the keypad next to the gun-metal door, it swooped open, revealing the perfectly stacked weaponry, both human and alien alike. Huffing up the familiarly of scented oil, he went about with his checkup, his mind in a state of tranquil as he hefted one of the assault rifles nearby. The Spartan felt the smooth metal under his palm as he cross-examines it, scrutinizing any deformities on its surface. Contented with its condition, he walks over to a nearby table and begins the process of taking it apart, but even before his fingers touch the barrel, his hand took the direction of the nearby intercom system.
"Cortana, would you please play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata."
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Planet Tiria
Continent of Perim
Age of Narggon
Pouril Village
Day 2
She could smell it all. Laughter and jeers crowd around her as she pondered her next step. The table she currently resides was old, splinters of wood protrude outwards and dried remnants of past occupants marred it like an oversoaked sponge, revealing what transpired through the essence of smell. It was her many talents under her liege's service. When sound and perception fail, it was the smell that accomplishes it. She can tell a lot by what is jostling in the air, a thousand aromas and flavors of various kinds overwhelm her senses, but her experience of tacking prevented the odorous tang from striking her throat and gagging on its contents.
Fires burned in the background, waxing up a foggy haze in the inn. The pungent taste and scent of succulent food hitting her at all sides, a ligneous bowl sits in front of her, pieces of overcooked beef idly stirring in the acerbic muck, but she longed lost her appetite.
A soft appendage touches her shoulder, her sharp claws unfolding. Expecting one of the patrons to pathetically come to woo the tigress, she glanced over her shoulder to dissuade the intruder with a harsh stare. Instead, vehement eyes softened upon recognizing of who came to her.
"Intress, Attacat and Lomma are back." Annoyance recoiled from her mind, relief flooding in to replace it. The barking of laughter around her creased its shimmering importance as she stood up from her seating, turning her body to face her foster daughter.
Garb in a suit of light-fitted armor, she stood amongst the many in the tavern. The fires around glistening off her cerise skin. An elegant loincloth parted between her legs, highlighting the intricate runes of her home tribe on her legs, inching down towards her greaves. Apart from her stomach area, her torso is completely donned in the finest armor she bought with her on this mission. Long two strands of braided hair reached down her lithe back, presenting her beauty to all. Some of the nearby creatures cast eyes towards them, some with leering gleams, but the two women pay no mind, their attention focus elsewhere.
"Have they found anything along the main road to the forest?" Her student chews on her multicolored lip, but she gave her an answer.
"No, Intress. The road is safe. Lomma said that there aren't any roaming bandits or tribeless along the route, but…" Aivenna lips paused, trying to filter the words to her mentor.
"But what?" Intress was baffle. This wasn't like her apprentice to stutter words like this.
Recomposing herself, the young elvish girl continued.
"Lomma reported sawing several Rardao herds passing through the forest. She and Attacat weren't spotted by any of them, but given its migration period for them, our journey will be complicated."
Complicated is an understatement. Rardaos were considered to be one of the fiercest animals on the Norgi. Large, lumbering beasts adorn with spikes and festoon in fur that matches the land, with teeth sharp enough to gore flesh and destroy encampments. It was the reason why there were few settlements and fewer rest-stations out in the open. Impervious to light attacks, the Rardao can stampede any opposition in their path. A stygian nightmare for passing merchants, too parsimonious to afford protection, explorers with more courage than wisdom, and weary Overworld soldiers who wish they were somewhere else.
Dour thoughts surface the Overworld lieutenant's mind, mulling over this new complication. It was only just a day earlier that she was chosen for this mission. Like many, she herself witnessed the casting star fall from the heavens, its tail of fire carving a path that left the nearby stars recoiled from its dreaded luminescence. From the endless chasm that is the Passage, she and Zalic stood awestruck, the contour of the entrance to their hated enemy briefly skim from its light, ousting the light from the torches set on every alcove.
As soon it passed by, it ended. Both heed no mind to what it entails. Another omen from the heavens. Good or bad? It did not matter to her. Wars still ravage the land, crops withering to the point that nothing can be salvaged, the people craving for an insouciant deity to heed their pleas, but in the end, no answer, just silence while the world destroys itself around them.
A day later, a message burst through the command tower, carrying a message that bears the mark of Maxxor. As soon as she read its contents, she sprinted off, leaving off a bedazzled friend that had no time to question what was in it. She answered his summons, appearing before his chamber hours later. Her lungs balloon in and out as they desperately recuperated lost air. Muscles raw and aching, indolence setting in on her mind, but she forbore herself until she was called out.
Greetings were exchanged, clasp arms meeting each other in amity, but Maxxor fervently got straight to the point, not one with idle chit-chat. Gone was the jovial tenderness of his personality, chiseled with the sternness of the warrior. By the time that refreshments were ordered, she was warned of what had transpired during the night. While she slumbered away, the Forest of Life burn. Maxxor reiterated reports from the few scouts that were nearby, speaking of the devastation that accosts the virgin forest. The hackles of her fur stood erected as he recalled what Najarin divulged to him. If there was any skepticism left in her when dealing with sorcery, she would not have believed it coming from the brave leader sitting across from her. Yet, considering the information that was obtained by one of the oldest and inscrutable creatures that can weave reality with fickle hands, it burned away any remains of it when she accepted the mission.
After completing her next course of action, she opened a brown pouch on her left side, spooning up a few coins, a jumble of silver and gold, the mark of the Maxxor Family incise on both. The clinking of coins resounded from the impact on the table, but barely put a dent in the raucous chorus around them. Passing by drunken vagrants with her apprentice tethering behind, leisurely following but conscious of her training.
But before she had the chance to exit, the entrance door burst open, revealing a familiar figure blocking the path. Pillars of light sprinkled all around from the broadness of the individual's shoulders. Flaxen fur covered sinews of muscles, impulsive vitality wafted off from exposure from the stifling sun outside. Bovine hooves thundered towards her before ceasing to a stop, the gargantuan creature's horns atop its head shining from the fires.
"Intress, we've a problem." The words were coarse and hard as oak wood, slamming the fragile phlegm in her mind. The aromas from the bar whilst away, instead replaced by the vile fetor from the creature in front of her. The armor garbled around his torso heaved tightly as if struggling to escapes from its bonds of imprisonment.
"Arias, what is it? Why aren't you guarding the Valgusvihku?" Intress questioned. Besides her apprentice when it comes to commanding, Arias was her second in command. Chosen for his superior physique and reputation in combat, but with it, his hubris and bashfulness, his pompous drenching off ever since the mission began. The bravado around him only a shield that shrouds the truthfulness of his character. Behind the haughty eyes show a nobleman who sees a cause worth fighting for; a proud man who faced death and survived, triumphing against the many that accosted his road to achievement.
Regardless of his least-pleasurable qualities that crystallized around his personality, the air of seriousness that cut across his countenance permitted none of the frivolity.
"One of the herders from the outlying farms came running into town, spouting about a group of UnderWorlders heading towards Pourile Forest." Arias snorted derisively, repugnance pouring from his words in pure disdain. The mere mention of their hated enemy sends a tailspin into Interess's mind. A low growl emanating from her throat emphasizing her discomfort that they weren't the only ones searching for the falling star.
Sure, when the burning star appeared over the skies, it was only a matter of time before someone would come combing the ends of the earth for it. But this quick? and already in OverWorld territory? Something doesn't quite add up.
A soothing hand sheathes in armor perch on her right shoulder, relieving herself of her agitation from this new revelation. A ghost of a smile pulsed through her lips. In spite of how much she witnessed and endured, her apprentice proved to be an equipoise to her caustic personality. Whether she sees strangers with blooding suspect, awaiting to reveal their allegiance, and keeping most of those she considered to be friends at arm's length, Aivenna demonstrates to be the opposite. The roseate ideas of civility and knighthood encompass her every step, every action considered in the name of her adopted home. Whereas Intress can be silence to the point of taciturn, choosing action over words, Aivenna can be loquacious to others, whether friend or stranger; she can be very voluble unlike the harsh acerbic elocution of her mistress. Unlike the tigress, Aivenna wasn't fettered by the harsh lessons that her betters brave against, the idealism coursing through her thoughts, unaware of paths best left not taken lest she suffers the same mistakes Intress had taken.
But the woman wasn't naive like the other single-minded fools who traipsed the same path to glory. Behind the shining buoyant personally was the heart of a warrior, a brimming reflection of her mistress' teachings and tendering. The battle scars occluding under her ivory proved testimonial, vindicating that the purports of idealism clash with the discordant chaos of the world around them.
Giving a muted appreciation with a simple motion of her touched shoulder, she curved her attention back towards Arias, his animalistic traits basking from the blazing sun outside.
"Aivenna, gather everyone at the transport. We are leaving now. Arias, I want you to inform both Looma and Attacat to scout out ahead of the convoy. If there's a single trace of anyone other than OverWorlders, they're to report back straightaway. No engagement until I say so."
Both convey her orders, one giving an obeying salute, a ramrod rappel of her chest from her right hand, the latter exuding a sharp, frivolous snort of confirmation before departing, leaving behind their lone leader to dawdled and contemplated.
Thoughts danced through her taxing mind. Reassurances, fears, and contingency tickle her psyche, sieging against her mental fortitude as the weight of it all splash against her. The concurring jollification behind her lost whatever relevance it had to her, even it had any to begin with. Straightening her mind and refocusing her priorities, she stepped out, away from the pulsing, spirited fete from behind.
But the shadow of ill-doubt and timorous pall still stalked her path. Sublime and frightening in its execution, it leaked itself into her subconscious. Ever since the day that she had been befallen with the recantation of what Najarin's visions held, descriptions of the perils that had struck his mind with petrifying terror, hound her with tempestuous wrath upon her every waking moment.
Whatever the outcome of this venture, brought about by the damning words from Najarin, it'd prove to be one of the most arduous, a formidable journey since the five-day siege of the Passage. Though her capacious years of service, Intress had come across many things in her travels, some that'd leave a lesser being splintered into a jittering mess, but the fearful words spur by Najarin hurtled upwards to the forefront of her mind, reminding her that there is still secrets out there best left unburied.
A tall, terrifying creature of ineffable might, wrought into virescent armor that can slough even the most devastating attacks, trailing each confrontation that results in ichor gushing the ground. Each description of its exotic capabilities endows her with perturbation, a feeling that made her claws unsheathed to phantom dangers that didn't exist, senses that she relies on going into overdrive, perceiving amidst the concurrence of drunken fools for the dull, scaping of knives.
Curtailing any further introspection, Intress set aside the suspicions and inquiries that her mind can't answer. It'll not be until the very source of her inquest and Najarin's fears that her eyes can see, fulfilling what she was set out to do.
In the rare instance of negligence on her part, she didn't spot the lone pair of slithering eyes peering from a tiny alcove near the back of the Inn, indiscernible to many but feasible for the figure to perch when observing what is transpiring all around, especially the lone huntress.
With a slight ruffle under the table, the lone figure put out an incandescent crystal, brimming with mugical energy. A quick succession of jagged taps from his serrated fingers caused the fervid crystal to spark with power, dousing the shadows nearby to be vanquished. The end results broadcasting a Feminine countenance that was awash in a myriad of colors, an after effect from the mugical essence use in communication, but it did not dissuade the iniquitous scowl that is toggle on her lips.
Horns of a demonic heritage protrude from her glaucous forehead. With the exception of the expression marked on her lips, her face was vacuous, but her eyes tell a different story. Acute irises shine deeply like burning coals, damnation scratch within. Behind those damnable eyes, a whirlwind of chaos and degeneracy swirl around her mind, a savage and brutish one that leaves no one for pleas or clemency. Beyond her baleful facade, she was a woman to be feared, shunned by the most civilized sapient in the other tribes, but is celebrated by Underworlders under Chaor's rule. A disgusting echo of the depravities condone under the name of her lord, she reserves no empathy nor offers mercy for those cross her in her path of savage gratification.
What felt like an eternity for the spy under that gaze, it only took a second for the she-demon to respond.
"Report."
A single word, but the sprinkle of inflectional virulence choking it spur the resurgence of fear into the informant's spine, carrying it into the fuggy milieu of the tavern. Gathering the newly shamble remains of his bravery, the reptilian began to divulge what he knows, conceding to the growing, devilish smile as he relayed everything he knows.
Author's Note: I'd like to apologize for the long, inexcusable wait I've put you through. Problems in my home life, along with work and a simple case of procrastination, had left me delaying it for some time. Next chapter hasn't begun production yet. I've other projects that need attention, but this doesn't mean this take another year or so. Please report any grammar or spelling errors while reading. I'm still using Grammarly for editing.
Have a great day.
-AustinGamer 117