Open Chronicles Awakening…

[Charlemagne]

For once in his life, Charlemagne was glad for the magic. He could only blink in momentary confusion as the flames fired toward the crocodilian beast. The smoke the follower, blinding all parties, filled his lungs and forced a hacking cough from the mercenary. He waved it away as best he could, relief following Phallendarr as the spirit's arrival drove back the worst of the fumes.

His strange companion's logic was impeccable at the moment. The beast had far more of an advantage in this relatively small save. Charlemagne couldn't swing without abandon as he normally would here. He could only play on the defensive and react to the creature's movements; there simply wasn't any room for anything fancy.

The scent of roasting meet intermingled with the smoke and made Charlemagne scrunch his nose up in disgust. It grew evermore overpowering as the monster charged again, its massive bulk blocking the entirety of the deeper passage. A brief glance around revealed there was no room at all to swing the greatsword. Cursing under his breath, Charlemagne instead stabbed the massive blade into the darkness toward the flickering light. The blade was not designed for such maneuvers, and he couldn't get much force behind the blow, but steel met flesh all the same. Sparks flew up as his sword darted down the back of the beast's skull and further toward the nape of its neck. The scales parted somewhat, though the creature's natural armor did more than to reflect any serious damage.

It was all Charlemagne could do to let one hand free of the sword and raise it to protect his face. There was a monstrous snapping as the beast's guillotine of a jaw slammed shut over his gauntlet. The metal bent inward with ease, some of the teeth sinking into his wrist through the steel. Pain shot freely up his arm, its intensity dulled somewhat by the adrenaline coursing through his veins and the fury at being struck by the creature overtook him. Fury intermingled with hate as he roared back at the monster, free hand crashing the blade of his sword into the side of its underbelly. The softer flesh split easily, blood flowing freely through the gaps and the monster relinquishing its grip in momentary pain.

Charlemagne took advantage of the moment, slamming his steel-toed boot into its midriff. The two blows sent the creature reeling for a moment, its arms flailing wildly as it tried to regain its balance, only its tail succeeding in keeping it upright.

Not one to wait for death, the mercenary turned on his heel and darted as quickly as he could manage back toward the mouth of the cave. He dare not look at the state of his wounded hand - if he focused on the damage sustained by his body in combat, the would subside replaced by fear for his own mortality. To do so now would mean death.

The fog of the swamp had thickened in their time beneath the stone. Charlemagne marched back out into the muck, lingering on the bank of the morase for the crocodilian beast.

"Fucked up my hand pretty good," he growled, waving the crippled limb at Phallendarr to emphasize the point. Within the cave the beast screamed again, the sound of its heavy footfalls rumbling from the cavern's mouth as it marched toward its attackers.

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

Its death will be quick than.

Phallendarr stepped to the marching beast picking up pace into a sprint, it only matching their speed. It raised its arms and opened its jaw preparing to clamp down on the tall being. But when they were face to face with the abomination it stopped moving, it didn’t halt, nor fall. It simply couldn’t move it’s limbs, like it was paused in time though time wasn’t effected. Phallendarr split, two versions of himself. One naked of armor nothing but the silk skin thin humanoid body, the other being the original with armor. Both dashed either direction of the beast, claws forming from their hands in which they used to rip into the under belly. It’s intestines falling through the incisions, dark red blood covering the marsh and poisoning the water.

Finish it while i still have a hold!

The wind yelled to Charlemagne as Phallendarr merged with the copy of himself. Pain growing over their body as the use of their power took its toll. They felt the warmth of the pain, forcing weakness upon their limbs falling to a knee as they pushed their limits, it felt as though they were being crushed by a gigantic hand. Terrifying to say the least.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

It seemed his knowledge of the magical arts was still woefully slim. Charlemagne's rage was momentarily replaced by confusion as Phallendarr split into two forms. He'd never seen anything of its like nor heard any such stories. For a moment, he had to process whether this was his strange companion at all, or some other malignant force choosing to interfere in their contest.

His mind reeled as ethereal claws tore through the beast's stomach. It did not react, simply floating in place as its innards spilled into the swamp. The words on the wind quieted his reeling mind, primal understanding urging his limbs to action.

He kicked up mud and bouts of water as he sprinted toward the beast. He only had one hand to work with here, and he swung as hard as his muscles would allow. The blade found purchase in the crocodile-thing's neck; Charlemagne pressed his pauldron into the edge of the sword and threw everything he had into his push. The effort gave the blade greater purchase, bits of tendon and bone snapping in the beast's neck as Charlemagne gave on final desperate push.

The head came free, plopping down into the mud, the body falling separately shortly thereafter. The mercenary shoved his blade into the dirt as he fell with it, catching himself and hanging there on the pommel of his greatsword as the creature's body twitched in its death throes.

Heavy breaths wracked Charlemagne's body as he stared at Phallendarr with a mix of caution and curiosity. "The hell sorta magic was that?!"

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

As the beast fell into the murky waters Phallendarr regained himself, throwing his head back to the sky in relief. If they had lungs there would be a a deep sigh.

My body is not like yours, i don’t have organs, i don’t have blood. I am of pure magic… so my body isn’t held by physical restrictions. I can shape shift, and use magic to copy myself.

Phallendarr stood up regaining their form looking down at the abomination.

Your quite curious, when you regain yourself I’ll be sure to tell you everything you want to know

Perhaps in exchange for experience I’ll give him knowledge. He is quite ignorant after all. Phallendarr walked over to Charlemagne looking at the mangled hand.

I may be able to repair your injury as well.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

The explanation was brief and satisfied few of his curiosities. Curiosity, however, was not at the forefront of his mind right now. Whatever Phallendarr truly was or what had forged it into being, right now Charlemagne only needed to survive.

He glanced down at the wound, grievous and gushing red. Likely a few bones shattered to. It would take weeks to heal, perhaps even months, and that was discounting the terribly high possibility of an infection. Most importantly, he couldn't properly swing his sword with only one hand.

The prospect of accepting supernatural aid was anathema to the mercenary and yet it seemed the wisest option. Magic, as he understood it, carried a price however: one he was wont to pay.

"I may have to take you up on that," he grunted, staring painfully at his gnarled hand. "But first, I have to find the coin." He wandered back into the cave, teeth grit as his hand pounded with pain. It did not take long to find his quarry. A small chest sat near the mangled corpses within the stomach of the cave. A quick opening revealed several stacks of gold coins, enough to pay for this venture and more. All of what his creditors had sought.

He wasted little time in stuffing the lot if in his coin purse and travel bag. When he returned to the mouth of the cave, he stared Phallendarr down, wounded hand outstretched. "I understand magic has a price." His gaze dropped toward his wounded limb. "What price would this be?"

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

Phallendarr simply glanced at the hand back at Charlemagne.

The price would be mine to pay not yours, tho I wouldn’t know. Magic doesn’t give you an estimate.

They walked forward to Charlemagne and crouched down to get a closer look at the mangled hand.

In order for me to, fix your hand I’d have to replace it rather than heal it.

In other words Charlemagne would have to have his hand chopped off. It would be replaced with a artificial hand woven from the same magic Phallendarr’s clones are made from. The only difficulty would be the human’s hands complexity. Bone, and muscle all artificial, veins as well. Phallendarr could only hope that the human would accept the change as well as the possibility of using morphing magic could factor in. They could only hope.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

Charlemagne listened idly to the words upon the winds as he lingered over the corpse of the crocodile-thing. It was a simple thing to tie a bit of rope about the monster's head and tie it to his belt. It weighed far more than he'd expected, unpleasantly so, but providing proof of his kill would likely smooth things over with his creditors. They'd not seemed the amicable type.

He was legitimately entertaining Phallendarr's suggestion despite his prejudices and reservations. He'd never personally relied on magic before. The sword had ever been his way: it and the sheer willpower of his spirit. Never had he cheated the whims of the world or engaged with the supernatural in any way other than outright rejection.

Well, until now anyway. He supposed accepting Phallendarr's company somewhat broke the conviction. Indeed, it was only the mentioning of the price that gave the mercenary pause.

"I appreciate your offer," he grunted through grit teeth as he rose back to his feet. "Can't take it. My flesh is my flesh. It may take months to heal, if it does at all, but it is still my flesh." He would not implant himself with the curse of magic. Not rely on the defiance of nature. His hand throbbed dreafully and blood yet gushed from the wound, but he would endure it as he had endured so many other grievious injuries.

The mercenary took to removing his gauntlet as best he could. The shattered metal fell apart the moment he started pulling at it, revealing the grisly sight beneath. He quickly reached for his wineskin and doused the wound in alcohol in hopes of cleansing it, then bound it with a string white cloth from within his pack.

Still hurt, still ruined, but it would do.

"My creditors' ship is waiting for me at the mouth of the bay. I don't intend to remain here much longer." His labored words carried quietly over the frog-calls and cicada rhythms of the swamp. "What will you do?"

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

I hope that option works well for you human.

They said as they looked to the butchered beast, it’s blood still leaking into the murky waters. Scavengers lurking within the trees and air, just waiting for Charlemagne and Phallendarr to leave.

Phallendarr could barely understand the human’s reasoning for the rejection. It was either to stupid or complex of a human nature to grasp. This is after all still Phallendarr’s first day of consciousness in this time. They had much to learn.


I suppose find something that is of interest. My voice is not the only one the wind carries. I hear of something like that of a guild residing in these lands.

They looked right into the foggy distance. Echoes channeling into his head, his interest spiking.

perhaps something of Interest lies there that I can explore.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

Charlemagne sniffed, then snorted a bitter laugh. "It isn't about working well." He grunted, flexing the mangled fingers to see if moving them at all was still possible. "Just working." That they did, though the action was immensely painful, and he immediately regretted it afterword. Fears of an infection were very real despite his cleansing of the wound. Here in the swamp, all it took was a slip-up and his open wounds would be soaked in swamp murk.

"More of you?" He began to ford the patches of shin-deep water in the direction he'd initially come from. Seemed Phallendarr had other business to attend to, though if he chose to stick around longer Charlemagne would not protest. He could only do so much on his own in his current state.

"Strange place for any kind of guild that isn't up to underhanded business." The mercenary muttered as he reached for his wineskin once again, this time taking a long swig of it. The bitter grapes distracted him from the pain for a moment, and its warmth might well dull it if he was lucky.

"I saw you didn't have a face," the beasts of the swamp converged on the remains of the crocodile-man's corpse behind them. Among them was a far more normal crocodilian that took no umbrage from cannibalizing its cousin. "And you said you were a 'being of pure magic'? Hell does that mean?"

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

Not of my kind their voice emits from their lungs, humans perhaps.

It is a strange place indeed.

Phallendarr stepped in the direction of the voices only stopping when Charlemagne asked his question.

Yes, I don’t find faces particularly
beneficial and quite complex, so I choose not to have one.

They gave a glance back at the man over their shoulder. Taking note of the human’s curiosity he proceeded to answer his question.

I am a kouzelník, a being made from magical residue that has been left behind in large events. I’m neither truely alive nor dead. I am simply magic with a consciousness, and as far as I know the only one of my kind.

Phallendarr glanced down at the gauntlet that covered his silk like skin. It was still at this time a bit hard to understand what they were themselves. They didn’t follow the rules of nature. No organs, no physical brain, no blood, no soul. They understood they were a rare phenomenon, but never understood why.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

He was about as excited to deal with other human beings as he was another spirit of Phallendarr's make. At least with the latter he might be able to negotiate. It was difficult to imagine that anyone in this feral part of the swamp would have anything other than foul intent.

"This world in itself is strange. Twenty-five years I went without seeing much more than spells to light campfires, and within these last months I've met devils and monsters alike." Charlemagne grumbled. His mind still reeled when he tried to put some level of comprehension over all he'd seen this past year. It seemed as if every legend and every ridiculous tale he'd ever heard could be true now. Truly, nothing was impossible.

"Kouzelnik," the word rolled strangely off his tongue. "If you're the only one, did you pick that name out for yourself?" A brow was lofted, and wine warmth flooded the veins. The terrible ache in his hand was now a slightly less terrible ache; enough that he might carry a conversation at the least.

"I was not aware magic could have any sort of consciousness. Then you're not some sort of spirit or demon," didn't do much to lessen his worries. "What event birthed you?"

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

Phallendarr looked forward resting their hand by their side, they began walking in the direction they faced.

I did pick out the name, though perhaps in the future it’ll change through the tongue of foreign people.

Spirit or demon. Certainly ignorant. They thought to themselves carrying on in their stride.

It was The Battle of the Arts. A battle that took place when this land was not a swamp, but a kingdom of mages. Sparked by men corrupted by magic, whom attempted to become demons in hope for more power. The remaining men that didn’t stray down the dark path used their magic sacrificing their lives to trap the abominations. Thats when i was born.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

History was well beyond Charlemagne what he know of the world came through hearsay and stories rather than textbooks or any proper instruction. If you asked him, the world had been as it was for time immemorial. Kingdoms rose and fell yet people remained the same, and the races continued to contend with one another for supremacy. Sure, at times they tended toward cooperation and a better understanding of one another, but those times were brief flashes in the pan. Ultimately finite.

This 'Battle of the Arts' seemed to be another of those lost kingdoms. Magic, ever the object of his persecution, had proven itself a monstrous force that could not be trusted in the hands of mortal men. That this swamp might be the result of that same failing was at both times grandiosely shocking, and laughably predictable.

He let that much be known as he barked another bitter laugh. "You see why I do not want you replacing my god-given hand with a magical construct then?" He raised the gnarled hand to emphasize his point. "Better this than having something that might explode if I flex it wrong, or gods forbid, crush someone's arm in a handshake. I don't know if anyone can ever truly develop the discipline to control such a force. Not a man anyway."

He paused, halting at a treebank. "But then you're not a man then are you? How long has it been since this battle. How long have you been here?"

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

I understand

Phallendarr said glancing over their shoulder to see the slab of meat and bone still described as a hand. It further made Phallendarr confirm that this not simply a man, for a human would’ve begged for a new hand. This one is special.

I’ve had no since of time since the events that took part here, and the only thing left here that could give a clue where I reside. The Burbon Tree, the very tree that was enchanted to trap and hold the abomination’s spirits.

Phallendarr turnt their head forward steps creating disruption in the water. Beast moving in response, avoiding them. The creatures here either were not threatened or feared Phallendarr enough to not attack, hard to tell which quite honestly.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

He reached desperately for his wineskin once again. A few drops remained, nothing more. Desperation gave way to frustration as he peered into its darkness, lips pressing into a thin line upon the realization that he was well and truly dry. The wine-warmth still flowed through his veins and dulled his agony, but it was a temporary thing and soon the terrible nature of his wound would make itself evident once again.

"Fuck." He grunted, still listening to Phallendarr as the magic-thing spoke upon the winds. "Probably a long time. This has been a swamp for my entire life, though I'm only twenty-five and truth be told, I've only left the mountains to the northeast for the first time this year." He heaved a grunt as he stepped up out of the swampy miasma unto the muddy gravel of a long-forgotten road.

"You think they're still trapped down there?" He asked, a brow lofted. "The spirits, I mean. If you're the result of this battle, perhaps you yourself are those spirits finally unsealed?" An honest curiosity. Phallendarr was still an enigma. The being had opted to help him of its own accord, and he'd not observed anything particularly evil about it, but then evil was just a word, wasn't it? The darkest of men often thought themselves to be saviors and their actions sanctioned by the greater good. Only in the eyes of their victims were they ever 'evil'.

In the far distance Charlemagne could make out the movement of figures. They were in the way, but he wasn't about to go trudging through the swamp again. Besides, even with one hand he could fight, and his strange companion seemed more than capable of making up for Charlemagne's shortcomings.

Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

Phallendarr could tell the human was in pain, and bleeding profusely. The natural of this swamp carried the worst of diseases even in the air that filled their lungs. If they don’t run into a doctor of some type soon surely the wound would greatly hinder him.

I theorize that, the beast here are the souls that seep out of their imprisonment. Though the worst of them still trapped in the roots of the tree. It’s only a matter of time that they to reach freedom. I merely feed off the magical energy that the prison gives off.

Phallendarr glowing eyes managed to Catch the same movement, this was the source of the voices. Perhaps they weren’t of malicious intent, it’d be helpful seeing as Charlemagne was injured. Phallendarr wouldn’t let this man die without getting what they want.

Charlemagne

 

[Kallach]

Kallach's large form whizzed through the air like a dart, propelled by his familiar at speeds his legs could only dream of. Wind smashed against his face with such power that fat rippled across his cheeks, turning him into a spouting seal for a brief moment.

"Hoo-haa!The swamp may be butt-ugly, but the low tree density makes flying through it a treat. Over, rather than through. I'm sure you understand what I'm talking about."


The male issued a wordless command to his cloudlike familiar, which then, as if compelled by an unseen force, slowed down to a more manageable velocity.

Kallach overheard himself conversing with.... himself? He had a habit of doing so, and he could easily disrupt a conversation at any time. Why wouldn't he, after all? For miles around, no one could hear him.

As their humanoid forms glided around the borders of his vision, he saw glimpses of the couple. The cloudlike thing made a sudden turn and moved in front of the pair. It came to a halt half a dozen meters away, floating half that distance above the mud-slick ground.


"Eh?"

Kallach's round, cobalt-blue eyes looked at them, boyishly curious. Whoever the strangers were, they appeared to be in much worse shape than he was.

Truth be told, it was the second set of folks he had encountered on the less-than-ideal day. These were fewer in number than the first, and the second appeared to be in the process of succumbing to a gruesome injury.

The feathery wings of his familiar stilled to a leaden beat, displacing a quantity of muddy water just below them. Kallach leaned forward, digging his fingers into the mass of cotton-esque material. It was both sturdy and firm to the touch, contrary to its external appeal.

"Hello there. What are you guys doing here? I don't remember seeing you around."

Dragoon
Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

"What happens when there's no magic left for you to feed on?" An absentminded question that Charlemagne suspected he already knew the answer too. Phallendarr might have been a magical entity, but all living things had to consume something to subsist. It was the unfortunate way of the world.

The question of sealing these 'abominations' away was an honest one, but not one Charlemagne intended to ask. He was in the business of coin, not the business of philanthropy. Whenever those things bound within the tree were finally free, well...then they would be someone else's problem. The stars knew he wasn't equipped to deal with the supernatural.

But then he'd been dealing with the supernatural quite a lot lately...

"I-" the words died in his throat as something strange flew above them. It was unlike anything Charlemagne had ever set eyes upon before. A floating cloud that sprouted wings like that of the angels spoken of in the old folklore. His initial response was to undo the metal chain that clasped his greatsword to his back and wrap his good hand around the hilt of the weapon. Every 'new' thing he'd come across that far had either tried to kill him or someone else. This one was certainly prettier than the others, but beauty did little to tame malignance.

That was, at least, until he noticed the man atop the cloud-thing. "Uh," the mercenary's brow furrowed with confusion. He looked to Phallendarr to see if the being might have an actual understanding of just what it was they were looking at.

"Meeting every manner of fairy tale apparently," came his reply, fingers loosening about the sword, though not relinquishing hold just yet. "Is that a cloud?"

The pain in his hand was forgotten for the moment.

Dragoon, Kallach

 

[Dragoon]

“I wish I knew”

Phallendarr would often ponder the question theirself, but there is no books, history, nor folk lore that mentioned any being like them. So many things about Phallendarr was unknown to them, such holds a plethora of thoughts and emotions that couldn’t be evaluated by mere logic. A struggle.

Through the walk they took their head shifted up at the cloud, utterly baffled. Phallendarr usually makes use of their elemental abilities to sense changes in the environment around Them. But they sensed nothing, it put Phallendarr on the defensive prepared for sudden and threatening movements, their left foot sliding back through the mud holding the same form similar to a boxer. With their hands resting by their sides.

They could feel Charlemagne eyes laying on the back of their helmet.

This is a first

Phallendarr held their ground at the sound of the creature’s question.

I reside here, the least could be said by you I’d assume.

Charlemagne
Kallach

 

[Kallach]

The cloud dropped itself even further, allowing its master to simply hop off, landing feet first in a little puddle.

Kallach's boots made a loud splash when they hit the water. He laughed at himself and whipped his head around so that Charlemagne was the focus of his attention.

He pondered Charlemagne's question, gently stroking his beard. The strange hair growth curved forward in a mock crescent moon shape.

"Kinda-sorta, but not quite. It's a familiar. One that I manufactured entirely out of my own imagination! To be honest, I find it easier to deal with. Summoned familiars are a pain in the bum. So I tell ya."

Kallach raised an eyebrow as he stole a subtle glance at Phallendarr's looks.

He then abruptly shook his head and sighed, dissatisfied with the findings. The creature wasn't the one he was looking for. More precisely, it didn't fit the features of the particular CATEGORY that he was interested in. The realization left him mildly disquieted, but Kallach masked the letdown, grinning all the same.

Kallach took a step closer with his arms crossed, approaching them with an intrigued and inquisitive gaze. He was dressed in a robe that hung loosely about his heavy frame. If it weren't for his languid facial features and vividly colorful flower patterns he was sporting, his height and brawn would have made him intimidating.

"I'm an explorer from the city of Elbion, serving under the Grand magical academy's jurisdiction. I came here to record a number of supernatural phenomena. Have you happened upon any of those?"

Dragoon
Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

Of all the things he'd come across in this godless swamp, this was almost the strangest. Charlemagne was growing rather accustomed to dealing with the more unnatural nature of the world, and though the cloud-thing was certainly strange, a man in flowery robes in a place like this was stranger still.

The stranger approached as friendly as anyone might. Charlemagne continued to stare at him, his worries not assuaged by Phallendarr's own lack of understanding. Indeed, it was his desire not to force a fight rather than any lack of worry on the stranger's part that he redid the clasp of his sword and set it back in its place upon his back.

"Never met anyone from Elbion. They all have winged clouds too?" He lofted a brow and moved to fold his arms over his chest instinctively. The movement proved to be profoundly painful, and he bit back a curse as a shock of pain fired up from his wounded limb. His arms fell uselessly to his sides.

To the man's question, Charlemagne only needed to jerk his head in Phallendarr's direction. "A few. Phallendarr for one. Crocodile-man-monster thing back there," he gestured with a thumb toward the way they'd come, then patted the rather large crocodilian head hanging from his belt.

"More of the supernatural than the natural in this swamp."

Kallach, Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

Phallendarr relaxed in response to the thing’s answer drawing his foot back under him.

A familiar as unique, created through imagination?

The many voices in the wind trampled each other in dominance, they had gone on repeating what the creature said. Slowly they formed into one. Phallendarr was still young and immature in the control of their abilities, after all their first steps were today.

They regained focus slightly raising their chin from the daze they were in.

My apologies…

Why do they take interest in these swamps?

The wind spoke. Phallendarr had little knowledge of the outside world. It was best to learn quickly.



Kallach Charlemagne

 

[Kallach]

"Hah-hah. Conjurers normally choose familiars that have a more frightening appearance. Think of slavering, monstrous hounds, giant spiders, demons with red hides and whatnot."

It occurred to him that he could be disclosing a little too much about his mission. Kallach shoved the line of thought aside, snuffing it out. He required further details. If for no other reason than to see if these two could or would genuinely assist him if he asked for it.

"Me, on the other hand? Well, I like them with a personal touch added!"

Kallach delved inside his long sleeve and rummaged through its contents until he found what he was looking for. He took a step back and pulled out an ancient wrought iron smoking pipe.

My apologies…

Why do they take interest in these swamps?

Kallach Charlemagne

Kallach shrugged his shoulders, rolling them forward. It took him a moment to get over Phallendarr's obliviousness.

"You don't know, really?" He asked aloud, half-joking and half-serious. The words seemed to stretch into infinity, accompanied by a tight lipped smile. Kallach had to restrain himself from laughing, and it showed. The corners of his mouth drew his lips into a thin line.

"You are in the middle of a goddamn 'thinny'. It's much surprising that you haven't perished yet. A lot of the locals already did."

Dragoon
Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

The good candor of the stranger was a stark contrast to how Charlemagne was feeling at the moment. The wine-warmth was beginning to wear thin, and with it returned the steady throb of pain from his hand. He cast another brief glance at the wound. It wasn't bleeding nearly as much as it had before, though the bolt of cloth about it was a deep crimson now.

"Familiars," he mumbled the word, lingering on it for a moment so that he might better ignore his private agony. "I'd heard tales of them though I've not seen one. Till now anyway." They sounded rather unpleasant. Granted, to Charlemagne just about all forms of magic seemed repulsive: better left out of the hands of mortals.

"A thinny?" A brow was lofted, jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed from his physical irritations. "Dunno what that is, but I've come across plenty of dead folk. A monster too, though we dealt with that accordingly." He grunted, "I've found I'm rather hard to kill fortunately. Seems my companion here is too."

Not much time for talk, but then the boat wouldn't be arriving until the morning. He doubted there were any healers in the area worth looking for, so there wasn't much of a point getting caught up in a rush.

"Your name?"

Kallach, Dragoon

 

[Dragoon]

The locals are simply livestock to the creatures here. Their numbers will increase as men with broken ships come here in search of refuge.

Phallendarr turned their head over their shoulder at the injured man glancing down at the beast’s head.

It’s not hard to survive here, though no normal man has.

They reverted their head back at the being.

When you mention thinny, do you refer to where the beast are coming from?




Charlemagne Kallach