Open Chronicles A Light in the Looming Shadow

[Oriane]

It was with a frown that Oriane listened in to the conversation being had, the reality of where they all were marching towards added a weight to her shoulders and wings. Even at this pace on their feet, it was a step closer to the gravity of what they will face.
"Must be some army we are about to face." There was no word on the number this army consisted of, but The Spear was well versed in dividing formations. This enemy was one she would not engage alone, to not fly ahead of the Thirteen and become an omen for what was to come. The Avariels needed more information, a better idea of how best to deal with the inevitable.

"Do not fret, Ostára. Even demons can be quelled." She outstretched her arm and tickled the younger one's wings, doing her best to lighten the mood some.

 

[Tinúviel]

"We call them demons, yes, but..." in truth, there was far more to these beasts. It was far from so simple.

As simply as he could, Tinúviel unveiled what the Aerai knew of their predominate foe as it was now. Arkhivom's magic upon them was simple in its end - the utter, irrevocable twisting and reshaping of an entity's very being. Creatures of all kinds that once inhabited the forests of Aeraesar had been changed into things unlike anything that should be - monsters in every sense of the word, taking many shapes with claws and talons, gnashing teeth and bloodthirsty eyes.

"But also too, who we must be even more wary of... I Aica Aerai," the Fallen Aerai, "though we do not know what horrors have made them as they are now, you must make no mistake that they are no longer like us - kill them, if you have the chance."

In the beginning it was contested that such a thing could even be, that an Aerai's joined mind was too powerful and protected to become corrupt. That was until one was encountered, and all could be rest assured that they were no longer who or what they once were. Unlike the other machinations of Arkhivom's designs, their bodies were not so twisted and misshapen, but they were not without change. Thinner perhaps, but most notably pallid in complexion and expression. Their hair even, as well as their eyes, drained of all colour. They spoke not, and seemed even to breathe not, and even in the midst of struggle were their faces like stone. But they showed themselves only ever in dark and tattered cloaks, and their unveiling proved unsettling if not frightening.

They'd shown themselves at Qárele just days ago for the first time in decades. They had been seen only a handful of times before, and only ever in pairs. This time they appeared in number. The arrival of Arwyl's messenger and the news he shared with them only validated Tinúviel's concern. They looked elvish. Tinúviel thought quietly, very briefly.

"Engage them, and we will likely not be far behind for long," he replied, and sent Arwyl's messenger back with urgency, then he turned to Rûhn,"I bid that the Thirteen also go, for I fear Arkhivom may be nearly upon the city. There is a river in the meadow with three great bridges. We must cross it first."

It was hard to truly say what size of force that Arkhivom had amassed. But, he was someone with full knowledge that of the inhabitants of Sharyrdaes nearly all of them could fight, and many could fight well. The city itself, though in a terrible state of decay, was still an incredibly fortified position. He would have needed to assemble a great force indeed.

 

[Arwyl Minras]

They must have seen his group, Arwyl thought to himself, but the creatures did not seem to be organised on high alert. He had eyes on one small group, Elana on another.

Up close they were more human or orcish than elvish. Broad across the shoulder, sharp teeth rather than ears.

It made him nervous to rush into the unknown. The creatures were armed, but he had no idea how dangerous they were. If they were holding position despite seeing scouts closing on them they were either waiting for orders or confident.

Time to test them.

He gave the signal.

Arwyl was up on his feet and darting through the underground. He held his right hand out to his side and pinched finger and thumb together.

Arwyl drew a crack in the aether of the world and formed a blade of spirit glass.

The nearest creature looked up, reaching for a crude axe. Arwyl was quicker. The shimmer in the air that marked the passage of his blade, cutting through wood, flesh and bone in a swipe. An arc of black blood following his swing.

It turned out that they could die. Arwyl and his band needed to kill the small scouting group without alerting the others.

 

[Rûhn]

Rûhn bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from smiling at the blush that heated his daughters cheeks. She idolised The Spear so very much, he had no doubt she would be cursing herself for seeming to be afraid for the next few years if not longer.

"Of course," he inclined his head to the Commander and spread his stormy wings in preparation for flight. "We will hold."

---

The Thirteen raced through the skies towards the scouting party who had gone ahead and Rûhn wondered not for the first time whether he should have insisted harder that one of them had joined the Prince's group. If he had, would they have heard sooner? Would the situation be less dire? They were questions he would never find the answers to so he did his best to cast them from his mind when the battle finally came into view. Oriane had reached the part ahead of them and it was towards her wings he angled now.

"Spread out, protect the Prince. Tara stay airborne to provide cover."

 

[Ostára]

Tára's mouth pressed into a thin line but she nodded at her fathers order. She watched the rest of The Thirteen spread out amongst the battle; some keeping to the skies where their wings gave them advantage whilst others stood shoulder to shoulder with the scouting party. Her father landed beside Oriane who had positioned herself nearest the Prince in order to get an update. She suppressed a sigh as she drew her bow and one of the slim golden arrows and shot higher to stay out of the range of the enemies arrows.

Her wings unfurled as she found her position and settled into a steady rhythm as she began to loose.

 

[Oriane]

Oriane's speed was unlike any of the songs written about her.

Despite showing off with Ostara not too long ago, the Spear found herself launching ahead of the Thirteen, glinting golden before within seconds she was knocking down opponents with her strengthened wings. Joining the fray, Oriane did not soften as her legendary Spear materialised straight into her hand and was put to use, piercing past whatever she could find: armour, flesh, shields.

Her golden wings began to darken with the black blood, but she did not let up.

Let them see what the Thirteen have to offer.

 

[Tinúviel]

Bolstered by the ranks of the Thirteen, Arwyl's force was sure to make quick work of the scouting party that sought to gauge the assembled force. As they engaged the enemy's probe just a short distance from the main force's path, Tinúviel urged them to hasten their pace and push onward.

---

In the hearts and minds of Arkhivom's servants, or at least in the great multitude of them, there was no longer any room for anything other than what he willed. Of their scouts, one had been dispatched to return to their own encroaching army, and the rest of them remained to face the forces of light that came upon them. Even as Arwyl's magic tore them asunder and his troop drew their blood, even as the Avariel descended upon them to tilt the odds further, they ravenously and maliciously attacked, drawing as much blood for themselves as they could without a hint of reprieve.

The one, meanwhile, fled through the dark wood with as much haste as its body allowed.

 

[Arwyl Minras]

Arwyl knew they were marked now. The Thirteen had descended from the air and the enemy knew they had a skirmish line in the area.

What they did not know was that Arwyl had other, smaller parties working stealthily to find the enemy's true strength.

Even if the enemy knew that they were here, it was worth the risk to find out of this dark host was ahead of them. From what Arwyl had gathered, if they did not win the march and fortified a position then all hope was lost.

Arwyl backed out of his engagement. The foul creature was bleeding from several wounds. The spiritglass blades he had summoned cutting perfectly straight, impossibly thin lines through armour, hide, flesh and bone. The beast snarled, but had a spear driven into it's carapace.

He wasn't a fighter of legend. A fallen prince. A common street thug with a fraction of his family's particular gift.

"Well met!" Arwyl called to Rûhn and Oriane

"We need to finish these and visibly withdraw," he added. "Form a shield across these hills and make sure none of their scouts pass through."

 

[Rûhn]

"Well met, Prince," Rûhn called back as one would call out a greeting when out for a stroll. The hammer that he usually kept holstered at his hip was, for the first time since their joining the army, in his hand. The way he swung it was with the careful precision of a warrior who had spent hundreds of years honing the movement. The head of it slammed up into the soft flesh of the enemies throat cracking bone and splitting flesh. Before the hammer had finished its upwards swing, a flick of the Avariel's wrist brought it careening into the side of his foes skull. The monster crumpled to the ground unmoving.

"Tinúviel is not much further behind us. He bid us to help you hold the meadow, in particular the bridges," he nodded to the three in question to the western flank.

 

[Ostára]

Amongst the fury of the battle shimmers of golden light wove between the bodies. Arrows which had felled a warrior suddenly vanishing into a thousand tiny specs of light before twirling its way back towards the quiver at Ostára's side. With the fighting so close it was hard to use any of the other abilities her arrows provided and as such she felt... redundant. She could see the other members of her team weave through the throng doing far more damage than she with her single shots. Impatient in the way only youth could be, Tára blew out a frustrated breath and paused to needlessly check her arrows. In doing so, however, she caught sight of something peculiar. One lone figure slipped away from the thick of battle and ambled back into the forests from whence they had come. She knocked an arrow, pulling the string back taught, then... paused.

She glanced towards where she could see her father and could already hear the lecture for her reckless idea. But... surely getting information would be far more helpful than what little she could do here. Putting the arrow away she tucked in her wings and shot after the retreating enemy soldier.

 

[Oriane]

Oriane had not bothered to reply to the Prince, not when many of the assailants had turned towards her and took up her attention. She did not stop until they were all lying lifeless on the ground, their blood splattered across her form and her golden wings.

"Should we not ask the rest of the Thirteen to go on ahead of us?" Was all she could ask before her Spear was moving again, twirling in her hands to slice up an elven featured creature. It was the first time she began to recognise what it was they were slaying, and a sickening feeling stirred deep within her. Their black blood was enough to help distinguish that they were not allies, but it also changed the way she fought.

She had been vicious, eager to continue diminishing their numbers so that they could move on.

 

[Tinúviel]

Tinúviel was, likely, one of the longest lived of the Aerai who remained after Ohta Andúnë. With over a thousand years lived in this world, he had learned a great many things in his centuries. One of these things, perhaps one of the most important, was patience. It was a skill, more than a thing one knew, of course, one which he had tested and sharpened over his time. But here in these moments he felt his lack in this regard.

The army was moving too slowly, or so he began to lament. But he fought this inclination to despair, and held to his faith in Arwyl and his troop, to the Thirteen who had gone with him.

They will hold.

And this faith grew a little more as he saw the first signs that the forest, wretched and foul and encroaching as it was, would soon be at its end.

They would be in the open soon.

---

There, in the midst of the Thirteen, in the midst of Arwyl and his skirmishers, out through the trees from the other direction...

Mist.

None had noticed it at first, perhaps it crept in amidst the fray. But as the last few of their enemies were slain they descended into a plume.

A chill was found in the air, carried on a careful breeze.

And in the distance, a sound like cracking thunder. Beating.

Growing louder.

---

It ran with a swiftness liken to the elves, and though it had been clear it didn't notice Ostára give chase at first, it was clear it had by now.

Thunderous beats filled the air and a mist crept through the undergrowth.

It was when the Avariel seemed most likely to catch her prey that a sound came from the thing she chased. It cried out, not quite like any talking thing but not like any beast either. It was shrill and abrupt, like the sounds of sharpening steel paired with some screaming, gnashing thing. It did this thrice, each one piercing so much so as to alert those still lingering from where it had fled.

A rumbling roar came from ahead. The consistent beating in the air diminished, returned in two quick and heavy beats, and then resumed its pace. Another rumbling roar followed.