A Comedy of Errors
Part Four
It keeps growing, now half the size of the entire palace. The platform of the balcony has long since buckled to the Darg's great weight and leaves the behemoth perched on the mountainside like a gargoyle spat out of Hell itself. It crouches there, bellowing and scrambling towards the peak as the tiny human, robot, Gadgeteer, and Org continue an unsteady pursuit.
Clemett breaks away and tries to find a steady vantage. He kneels and hikes his cannon onto his shoulder, refusing to use the little scope on the side of the weapon as he lifts the barrel. He lines up the shot a little ways over the Darg's head, unleashing a few heavy rounds that leave bright red chem trails in the air before they crash into the side of the mountain. The monster reels, shrieking as it staggers back, chunks of stone beginning to tumble towards it. The boulders crash into its feet and ankles, putting it off balance and sending it falling backwards.
The ground shakes -likely all of Wyldern trembles- when the Darg's body strikes the ground, sliding back towards the palace, the smaller beings jumping and scrambling to avoid being pulled under it. Before it can come to a stop they move against it. Harv leaps atop the creature's body, swinging his scythe hard from behind and plunging the curved blade into its body, hooking the weapon on what could only be described as a rib. Pitch black talons come down on him, giving the automaton a split second to react before being crushed. He jumps away, leaving the weapon to be pushed further in by the Darg's haste to be rid of him. Just as the monster realizes how its done more harm to itself than good, it gets a second helping of Clemett's cannon to the face, nearly a dozen rounds. It moves to cover its face, scythe still stuck in its chest.
Both Harv and Mezzick jump onto the Darg and grab the stock of the weapon, not pulling it out but pulling it downward, one great heave from them enough to slice through the bone and tear open a great hole. They were expecting blood to come spurting out, as it would with anything even resembling a living thing, but that isn't the case. Something else bursts out of the wound, something sentient and with thrashing limbs. It happens again as Stinger takes his cutlass to the monster's wrist with everything he has, one hard swing to sever the limb, and the stump opens wide into a mouth full of needle-like teeth that lunges after him.
This is how it intended to spread, to consume everything until it was all that remained. Like a hydra; cut away one head and two more sprout forth. A tainted cradle full of blighted seeds.
The Darg's skin solidifies into the most flesh like substance yet, the wound in its chest closing over whatever is trying to wriggle out. It begins moving to right itself, on hands and knees crawling towards the top of the mountain again. Stinger spits an oath as he goes after it, taking a running start before leaping forward to snatch hold of the end of its tail. Before he starts slipping he plunges the cutlass as deep as it can go for the extra leverage it might give him. The others are quick to follow suit, or to try at least.
()
Within the black aether the maelstrom grows, the source of the Darg pitching and teeming in its realm as it tries to decimate those that dare attack it where it lives. Where it reigns supreme. With all its unbridled rage it lashes out at them, able to snatch up the weakest of the three with one of its slick black tendrils. It starts pulling what little mana the aged Archmage has in her, only consuming a little before that damned Undrashi bastard cuts through the limb with a glowing scimitar.
That sensation, that horrible sensation! What is it?!
There it is again when the she-Org hurls a ball of burning light at its eye, sparks searing the manifestation with a resounding, corrosive hiss. She is much too spry for it to grab, so the Darg summons but a small burst of its incredible power to fill the space in a swath of bitter cold, shards of ice cutting through the air in a downward cyclone. It likes watching them struggle against it, to watch them twist at the pain, it's beautiful. But the beauty is short lived as the Mage Warrior doubles back with golden light and magic swirling all around him. It can't withhold a shriek of dismay at the sight of the golden light coalescing and separating into four separate accumulations, each morphing into a shape resembling a human. They take on the visage of a past Mage Kings, noble and powerful, those horrid creatures that had once tried and failed to snuff it out. Failed by only a breath's width of a margin.
With a sweep of the scimitar the summoned spirits come upon it, and with them a visitation to a half-millennium old horror and pain it has never been able to fully forget. Its frantic shrieking fills the aether, a shrill and shattering cry. The sound morphs between fear and agony as it feels the spiking energy of another conjuring, its bulging eye sliding in the slimy socket to focus on something else that has materialized in its realm. A great wyrm of fire and light coils upwards and swells from the Arhcmage's raised hand, jaws snapping and amber eyes ablaze. It lunges for the Darg without warning, bringing with it the horrid sensation of being ripped apart by red hot talons. Then, before it can even comprehend it all, the she-Org follows suit with a barrage of arching light, heavy bolts of raw energy raining from above.
The pain...THE PAIN. STOP IT. STOP IT NOW.
"It's faltering!" Xero's voice is now full of confidence, sensing the creatures exposure. "Keep pressing, we can finish this!"
FOOLS. I WILL SUNDER YOUR SOULS INTO OBLIVION.
Windleaf feels her insides lurch with a hard jerk, like something trying to turn her inside out. Her concentration disintegrates as the pain spikes and her body tucks inward, arms folding over her stomach, mind white washed by a fresh horror of feeling something moving beneath her skin. There's the burning wetness of hot tar against her forearms and she finds them dripping with pitch as she pulls them away. The hot stickiness spreads, beginning to fall from her eyes and leave an acrid bitterness in her mouth. What is happening?!
YOU WILL SERVE ME, ARCHMAGE. SLAY THEM OR PERISH.
A devil's bargain at best, not that she would ever take it. She will die either way, though she thinks it better to do so with a clear conscience. Over the roaring of pounding blood and swirling air in her ears she can just make out Xero, certain he's calling to her. Even if he isn't, she responds.
"Destroy it! Give it everything you have!" she cries, and does her best to focus through the horrible twisting working on her insides to keep fighting. But when she tries to conjure again, she feels the distinct crackle of mana turning against her.
DO AS I SAY.
She knows too well where this is going; she wouldn't be able to act unless she did so against her allies. Otherwise the Darg is going to immolate her with her own magic. The threat of it bubbles under her skin, like acid in her veins. But she isn't going to give in this time. Regardless of the cost, she will not betray them twice. She spends the last drops on her mana on a healing spell, trying to brace herself for whatever would come next, but it also leaves herself powerless to further harm the Darg.
YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN THE LAST. NOW YOU SHALL BE THE FIRST. YOUR DEATH WILL BE SLOW. A CENTURY OF AGONY.
The pain spikes, almost blinding.
()
The monster perches atop the mountain now, having sprouted four incredible, leathery wings that drip with black slime that eats away at the stone below. Its shadow cuts the entire realm in half.
Stinger tries to catch his breath, stuck on his butt for the moment with his chest heaving and sweat rolling down his mud and blood streaked face. Thank goodness his legs are spread apart as a glob of that black ooze the size of a small dog splashes onto the ground in front of him.
"You all right, slim?" the Gadgeteer pokes his head out from behind a large bolder.
"Y-yeah, just fine." it's a terrible lie. "Can you see the others?"
Clemett jumps over the rock and lands beside him, staying low and out of sight. "Last I could tell, they're still alive."
Stinger nods, swallowing hard. "How the hell are we supposed to beat this thing?"
"To be honest, captain, I think we're more meant to keep it from beating us. Just buying the others time, if you catch my drift."
Now his head shakes, rocking back and forth against the rock. "To be honest, I dunno if I've got any spare gold left in my pocket."
"Then we just need to shake that fancy coat of yours a little harder. C'mon," he reaches into one of his many pouches and pulls out a glass phial, passing it to Stinger. "Just once more."
Feeling as though it's against his better judgment, he nods again and takes the phial. He empties it with one hard tip of his chin, clearing his throat as its contents settle in his stomach. With a sharp crackle of pain up his spine he forces himself to his feet, cutlass still in one hand as he peers around the rock.
The Darg had left its tracks along the side of the mountain, almost smooth platforms that could be easily navigated to the top. He spots Mezzick doing just that, moving from track to track in an untraceable manner. Anything to keep the monster above them from being able to faithfully focus on him. Its wings snap outward, straight and rigid, flinging globs of that pitch ooze into the air. Stinger thinks this as good a time as any to advance, watching the ground as well as the sky as he works towards the first platform. He feels some of the slime just miss his face, hissing in his ear as he jumps aside.
A silvery glint at the corner of his eye draws him to Harv. Even from here he can see that chrome body covered in small and large pock marks, the corrosive goo having touched him. Still the harvester is up and running so he files his worries to the back of his mind where they belong. Hopefully there will be time to repair him later -hopefully there is a later.
One more push, he chants to himself, jaw tight as he draws closer to the Darg. Just one more push.
()
The metaphysical Darg has thrown a barrier around itself, the magic wall flashing bright violet whenever something strikes it. But it won't hold much longer. It's vulnerable now. The wild red eye trembles, searches madly in the dark for...who knows. It's afraid.
Xero can feel the Darg's weakness. But it comes perilously close to matching his own. He must hold his scimitar in both hands, just able to stay upright and appear steadfast. If he didn't have to worry over the barrier, he would have erased the devilish thing by now with what little mana he has left.
"We must end this now, Xero! We will not get another chance." Jirina calls to him.
"Not while it walls itself in."
"Then we must bring it down."
"How? All of my spells have been thrown back at me thanks to that bloody thing!"
"Then we stop using spells!" Jirina throws herself at the Darg and its pulsating wall. Like the magic she bounces back, but she redoubles her efforts and attacks again. She pounds the barrier with heavy fists, hooking her fingers like claws as if to take hold of it and tear it down.
NO, STOP. STOP IT. ORGISH FILTH. I WILL FLAY YOU ALIVE.
"Then do it!" she dares. "I will still fight you, even when all that remains of me is bones!" She feels the sudden, lancing pain of talons in her skin, invisible hooks pulling at her, but she presses on. She will bring this damned wall down if its the last thing she will ever do.
Pinpoints of light start hanging in the air, blossoms that spread wide and burst into angled spiderwebs as the barrier begins to crack. This spurs Jirina on, forcing her to hit harder, again and again until it finally caves into a yawning hole. It sputters, flickering, then dissolves into a veil of dying embers.
"Now, Xero!"
The last of his mana comes spilling out of his hand in the form of a rapid, arching violet light.
()
A heavy round from Clemett's cannon strikes the Darg soundly in the chest, the earth shaking with its impact. It shrieks, clutching at its body, its own claws sinking into its flesh. It starts tearing away at itself, losing its balance as its body flails beyond its control. The sucking chest wound is tearing wider, seemingly on its own, and ooze and the remains of countless creatures that were living within it come spilling out. The Darg topples on its side, starting to slide down the mountain for the last time.
They run. There is no other choice but to run. Clemett snatches the young Org about the waist with one arm as he passes, thinking it faster just to carry him. The four of them make it to the bottom, scrambling back inside the palace with a frantic hope that it won't come down around them when the creature finally comes to a stop. It comes terribly close, mind you.
It crushes the outer wall of the throne room, pushes it inward with enough force to bring it all the way down. Being a circular chamber, the remaining portions of the wall lurch forward, a jagged seam forming as it is pushed back several forceful inches. The lot of them huddle together in the entryway, the most stable place, those of them that can praying that they haven't come so far only to be smothered to death.
In through the great opening of the wall comes a rushing torrent of black water. The more that spills out of the creature the smaller it becomes. Shrinking like a leaky water skin until it completely disappears, disintegrated. There are things in the water, just as there had been things writhing inside the creature. Some of them move about, the last throws of something dying, the rest are still debris.
Then there is the distinct, echoing sound of someone gagging.
Up out of the filth rises a human form covered in black grime. On hands and knees they shuffle about, looking for something they cannot see. "Blast it all," they spit, "horrid bastard had to have the last -pfft- laugh!"
Stinger jumps to his feet, everything now still enough for him to no longer fear being crushed. "Xero!"
The Mage Warrior rubs his face, hoping to clear some of the slime from his eyes. "That you, lad? You made it after all?"
The good captain runs to him, mindful not to slip as he tries to help his friend stand up. "By the skin of our teeth, we did! How about you, old man, you still in one piece?"
"So to speak," he spits again, flinging much from his hands. "Although, were I not, I could surely adhere myself back together with all this refuse!"
"And the others?"
His bright purple eyes blink wildly for a moment, then he starts to turn his head this way and that. "I...they were here..."
"We're here!" Jirina manages herself out of the mire, arms occupied with a body. Her stone feet have little traction on the slick marble, but thankfully she doesn't fall. She sees the look on the human's face and continues with "She lives, though she is weak. We need to get her as far from this place as soon as possible."
Stinger's heart falls into his boots at the sight Windleaf unconscious in Jirnia's arms. Some of the age has faded from her face, but he sees the blackened traces of the Darg's magic on her. He can't find any words, so he silently offers to take her.
"How far is the nearest friendly town?"
"On the other side of the mountains, it would takes us days to reach it from here. Which is time I don't believe we have. I doubt she would make the journey, in any case." Jirina shakes her head. "Where ever we go, it must simply be elsewhere."
"I daresay she is likely right." Xero agrees. "I doubt lingering about this mess would do us any favors."
Stinger searches his mind. "Nagruk's camp. It's empty."
"And still in one piece." Clemett adds. "Should be a fine place to hunker down once we sweep a few bodies under the rug." Personally, he thinks it's a great joke, but no one laughs. So neither does he. "Let's just mosey then, eh?"
The hours it takes to reach the camp drag on, the lot of them so tired now. Thankfully they encounter no trouble, no linger splinters of Darglings. Perhaps they all dropped dead, or better, the essence of the madness left them as they once were. Who was to know? The place is still, quiet, just as they had left it with bodies still littering the ground where they fell. They go unnoticed for now, perhaps to be piled up and incinerated at a later date. They make their way inside after knocking down a locked door.
Most of them take one corridor, looking for the barracks, while the Orgs and Xero take the other, convinced they could smell traces of food. Stinger won't admit that his stomach is almost in cramps he's so hungry because he's far more worried. Windleaf hasn't moved at all, save for the slightest rise and fall of her chest as she breathes.
"Over here, captain." Clemett waves his gloved hand after sticking his head in and out of a door.
Inside the walls are lined with bunk beds and hammocks, some made, some an absolute mess. Stinger finds the closest one that isn't a wreck and sets Windleaf down, finally relieving his back and shoulders of her usually manageable weight. He's so tired, his mind accepts it, and it takes everything he has not to just drop into a dead sleep in the middle of the floor.
"Just take it easy," the Gadgeteer urges him, "you look like hot crap. Get a few winks while I patch up the harvester, okay?"
He has no means to argue, fatigue running through him now and making his limbs shake. "Be careful." is all he can say as he shakes his head, dragging his feet in pursuit of a bed. He winces out of his coat after Clemett and Harv have gone, standing only a moment longer to drape it over the comatose Archmage before flopping heavily onto his sore backside.
Stinger will get a solid hour of rock bottom sleep before he's rudely awakened by the thump-and-screech of something kicking the leg of his bunk hard enough for the wooden legs to scoot on the stone floor. His hair is in his face, his hand swatting it away as he jerks into a half-sitting position.
"What's wrong?" he can only imagine the worst. Slumber blurred vision focuses on the she-Org
"Here. Eat." Jirina passes him a wooden plate and a metal cup of cool water.
He takes them with a nod, clearing his throat before he speaks. "Thank you. Any trouble yet?"
"It's quiet still."
"How's the kid holding up?" He sets the cup at his feet after an initial sip.
"He will sleep soon as well, I think." she nods slowly, crossing her arms. "The mechanic tells me he fought well...he's earned the rest."
"Boy's a hellion." Stinger laughs a little, trying not to choke on the small bite he has taken. "He'll be something else when he gets older."
"I'm pleased that he actually has that chance now."
Stinger can't see it, but he can almost sense her brow furrowing beneath the metal visor. "So what is next for you? What will you do?"
"I," she pauses, mouth half forming the next word, "do not know for certain. It's been...nearly twenty years since Wyldern was last free...I honestly did not think I would live to see it."
Now he senses her discomfort. "Well...thanks for the grub. Maybe you should rest a while yourself."
"I'm not as fragile as you humans." she counters almost gently. Strange.
He chuckles. "You've made that abundantly clear."
"Indeed." A sharp nod. "There is more food if that is not enough to satisfy you. And be sure to let us know if she wakes," Jirina tilts her head, "she will need to eat."
"Of course." he watches her make for the door. "Jirina,"
"Hm?"
He's almost surprised that she actually stopped. "Thank you."
"There's no need."
"No, I mean...you didn't have to. You could have let her die or killed her yourself and no one would have been able to stop you." He can feel her scowling again and sees traces of it in firm lines forming around her mouth.
"I know. But don't bother thanking me." the tightness in her jaw is audible. "I didn't do it for your sake." and then she went on her way.
He had expected an answer like that, actually. In all honesty, however, he hadn't expected it to come so civilly. He was expecting to be missing a few teeth.
Stinger finishes the small meal and the water only to lie back down and fall back to sleep with no effort.
()
The mess hall is typical. A dozen long, roughly hewn stone tables are lined from wall to wall, wooden benches situated beneath them. There is the faint smell of something cooking, something Jirina faintly recognizes. She spots Mezzick at the end of one stretch of tables, hunched over with his head down, tucked within his folded arms. Fast asleep, as she predicted. She passes him on her way to the kitchen, picking up his empty plate.
"I never had you pegged as the domestic sort."
"Eh?" Xero twists his head around, looking away from a boiling stock pot, spotting the she-Org entering the kitchen. "Oh, well, as a member of the Undrashi royal court, I was in need of many such talents." he laughs a little. "Though I will admit I'm at somewhat of a loss with most of these ingredients."
"You're doing fine, old man." she smirks when he looks away. "Where is the mechanic?"
"Still repairing Harv, I would imagine." he can hear her moving about the room. "Looking for something?"
"Yes." Wooden barrels file along the wall and she pops the lid off of each of them to peer inside. Finally she reaches into one. "Sweet Orgran, thank you."
"Oh? What have you found?" He watches as she reaches shoulder deep into one of the barrels, pulling out a handful of small, blue capped mushrooms that she piles on the plate in her other hand.
"I haven't had these in fifteen years." she takes a few between her fingers and puts them in her mouth.
"That rare, eh?"
She finishes chewing and swallows. "Somewhat. They only grow in a few places."
"I see."
"Might I have some of that stew as well?"
"Of course."
"What's in it?" she pauses briefly to ask, having snatched a large bowl from the counter.
"Perhaps you can tell me." and he laughs.
"Well...at the very least it smells edible." Not willing to bother with a ladle she dips the bowl in the pot to fill it almost to the brim, catching what droplets fall away in her mouth as she goes to the nearest table. She snatches a spoon that was already there, within arm's reach, and takes a few hasty samples of the soup. A nod of approval just as she dumps the lot of blue mushrooms into the bowl.
"I can't recall ever having seen you this hungry." Xero laughs a little, sitting across from her with a smaller bowl in his hands.
"I can barely recall having food this good. For Darglings, I'm impressed."
For a moment he says nothing else, just watching her shovel it down as fast as she can without choking. It almost makes his stomach lurch, especially the loud slurp as she drinks the last of it.
"Goodness." is all he can manage, brows uneven and the edge of his mouth kinked downward.
A satisfied growl and a ginger pat of her stomach. "Seconds." she decides with a curt tip of her chin. Jirina fetches another bowlful as well as more mushrooms and returns to her seat for a repeat performance.
"Sweet saints, girl, did you even taste it?"
She almost smiles, evidence of it trying to upturn the corners of her mouth. "That's why I couldn't stop."
He laughs a little and finally gives himself leave to eat. Wyldernian food isn't something he is familiar with, but finds something about the earthiness he likes. The soup is full of cubed roots and bits of meat, neither of which he knows the origin of. Still he eats.
"I thought you didn't have to?"
"Hm?" brows lift. "I don't, but I enjoy it every so often. It's more of a comfort of sorts." with a partially artificial body he had no need for many typically human things. Not to say he still didn't appreciate them. "It's been a long day."
"Indeed."
"Now all I need is some mila tea and I would be quite happy."
As he eats quietly his eyes slip away from his food and to the Org-Ta across from him. She simply sits still, seemingly relaxed but with a sort of muffled tension. Not a single stray movement. She was thinking about something.
"Mayhaps it's just me,"
"Hm?"
"Something wrong?"
Jirina doesn't respond quickly, which only lends a certain validation to his question. Her stone fingers fold together in front of her, resting together against her chin. "No."
One snowy brow spikes. "Come now."
Were it not for the visor, he would have seen how her brow bunches in the middle, her eyes closing as a shrug works through her. "I am...disappointed."
"Oh? How so?"
"I wanted to kill him." she admits, tone plain. "I wanted to end his life with these hands. Make him swallow what he forced on me."
Empathy comes over his features, a mild sadness in his violet eyes. In this moment he realizes it wasn't all about vengeance for her. In part, no matter how small, she was seeking closure. Something -anything- to soothe some of the horrific pain she had endured. And not just as the result of Windleaf's treachery, but at Hokum's tyranny that had begun when she was but a small girl. Jirina's home, family, innocence, and for a time her sense of self, had all been snatch away. Yet all she had wanted in the end was to hand down that bastard's death sentence which he so richly deserved.
"I'm sorry, Jirina."
"As am I." she frowns behind her hands. "But I suppose that's just the nature of things. Nothing to be done about it."
But oh how he wishes there was.
()
Stinger doesn't know how long he sleeps this time, though it's long enough for him to rouse himself with next to no trouble. A few more hours at best. He grunts with a big stretch, a few joints popping to his satisfaction. Soreness still lingers, but he's rested and can handle it better. He stands up, cringing only a little before he moves quietly to the other side of the bunk across from his. He kneels down, tugging his coat a little higher to lay over her shoulder. Brow furrowed, he pushes a few stray strands of white hair away from her face.
"Grover,"
His blond brows jump at the muffled sound of his birth name. "Wind? You with me?"
"Where are we?"
He takes a breath, relief surging through him as he exhales. "We're safe, don't worry."
"What happened?" the last thing she remembers is the screams of the Darg echoing through her mind like nails on a blackboard.
"The palace is trashed, but..we did it. We beat it."
She exhales, eyes opening and focusing on him. "Thank goodness. What about-,"
He smiles. "The others are fine. A little busted up, sure, but we've been through worse. Once we've rested up we'll start thinking of a way back home."
"Cartoff. It's the only other way out." a slow blink, like it's a serious effort. "I can't...I don't think I can conjure anymore."
"You're just worn out. Give it a day or two and I bet you'll even be bossing me around again."
"No...I think my magic is gone." her eyes close, tight lines forming as she sucks down a sudden urge to cry. She feels an emptiness where that almost endless wellspring of power had been, it hurts.
He tenses, quietly stunned. His mouth hangs, working without the formation of words. Stinger gives up on it and instead shakes the leather gloves from his hands, letting one rest carefully against her cheek. His body stiffens again when a set of her fingers curls snug to his wrist.
"What am I going to do?" she whimpers, almost too quiet to hear.
He takes a breath. "For now...just take it easy. Sleep...as much as you can stand. We can worry about all of that later. There'll be time for it." A slow nod, as if having convinced himself to do the same. "You hungry?"
"No." she answers after a hard swallow.
"You should try to eat something."
"Not now. Doubt I'd keep it down." she protests again. "I feel terrible."
"Well...if it's any consolation, you look better."
"Oh?" a pitiful. "Must not look a day over seventy for you to say that."
"I'm not pulling your leg, Wind, you're looking a lot more like yourself." he smirks a little, nodding. But the expression fails after only second. "Why didn't you tell me what would happen?"
"What do you mean?"
"Whatever it was that turned you gray...you knew about it, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"So why didn't you say anything?"
"It wouldn't have changed anything. I just would have had to stomach you bitching at me not to go. We didn't have time and I didn't have the patience."
"But-," he stops when she shakes her head, pale strands twisting against the pillow. "You really haven't changed all that much, have you?"
"Suppose I haven't." she almost laughs, but yawns instead. "I'm sorry."
"No need, you must be exhausted. I should let you rest." he shifts to stand up, pausing when he feels her grip tighten.
"Stay a little longer."
()
Wyldern in strangely quiet over the following few days. There are no riots or commotion from splintered cells of Darglings. It's as if the entire land has gone to sleep. The old council building is empty as the lot of them pass through, not a trace of anyone or anything aside from bodies and crushed Vrita eggs. They take the road to Big Mesa, once a stone monument that had been the carved visage of the first Orgish emperor, now long since defaced to depict Hokum. As they ascend the roughly hewn trail to the top of it, Jirina quietly swears to tear the hideous thing down at the first opportunity.
They find the cavern entrance unattended, though there's evidence of someone having been here once. Discarded weapons and cookware. Whoever had been guarding the place must have left. Maybe gone home if they were lucky.
No trouble as they navigate the long passage to the surface, the cavern's mouth at the peak of South Cartoff Island. The bright crimson glow of late afternoon greets them as they emerge from the darkness. There is a resounding sense of relief among them, those that can feel such things.
"I'll radio Eyre, see when they can come grab us up." Clemett is fishing through his pouches and pockets. He starts wandering around the stone cap of the island looking for decent reception.
"I have to get back to the academy." Windleaf pushes a set of fingers through her hair, leaning against the stone. "Keerg only knows what's going on there now."
"You'll probably have some damage control to do, no doubt." Stinger crosses his arms, nodding. "I'll go with you if you want."
"I might need you to." she sighs. The Archmage is still so tired.
"I am to return to Metaboline then?" Harv whirrs.
"Probably best, let the queen know we're still alive."
The harvester adjusts his hat. "Will you be staying at the academy for long?"
Blond brows jump.
"That I might tell the queen whether or not to expect you. As well as your crew."
"Oh, um," he clears his throat behind his fist, "might stay a few days, yeah. After that I'll head to Karillon and pass on the good news. The Gadgeteers can pick me up there."
"Very well. Contact us as soon as you are able."
"Of course." Stinger rubs the back of his neck, shifting to face a different way. "Hey, Jirina?"
"Hm?" her reaction is quick.
"Will you be staying with us or...?"
"I have to go back. There's far too much work that needs to be done now for me to linger up here." Mezzick is just beside her, her little shadow, and he nods in silent concurrence.
"I would join you, if you would have me." Xero offers, though it seems like he doesn't want to appear too eager.
"What for?"
"Just an extra pair of hands, that's all." he shakes his head, one hand gesturing with no real intent.
"Actually, Xero, I was going to ask if you wouldn't mind coming to the academy with me." Windleaf speaks up.
"Oh?"
"I wanted you to take a look at the Etherwell. If there's anything...off about it, I imagine you would know."
"Hmm," he looks down, staring at his boots briefly, "perhaps. I'll consider it."
"All right folks," Clemett raises his voice, coming back to the group, "we've got the better part of two hours before Eyre arrives. Feel free to lay back, twiddle your thumbs, or whatever else trips your trigger to pass the time."
Author's Note: Still not quite sure what I'm trying to accomplish here. Maybe just something for myself, convince myself I'm not a hack or a washout. Just need a little happiness, I guess. And writing makes me happy. Hope it makes you all happy too.