Fable - Ask Compassion's Calamity

[Erën]

There was a loud crack.

Erën's eyes looked up. There, at a blazing fire several meters away were several men gathered around, just finishing up from fetching wood for the night. And from the dimming light, not a moment too soon. Erën turned his head back down to the blackened Aeraesarian armour on his arm, pulled on his gauntlet, and then reached for his sword belt, which had been laid atop a large, flat rock just in front of him.

He could see his breath while he worked.

He looked up, higher this time. Above: the mountains of the Spine.

There was something here... something he needed to find, only, he knew not what. But after the vision he had been given in Bhathairk, he was compelled to follow whatever seemingly benevolent whispers had come after, and were guiding him.

Wolves howled in the distance.

Duranleau, one of the men in company, spat something about a bad omen as he walked past with a few of the others, all headed toward one of the now several fires lit.

Erën turned and watched them for a moment, listening to them for a time...

The total decimation of home and livelihood had left many of Bhathairk's people displaced, and many seeking new homes or new lives. Paired with a few friendships forged on the field of battle, Erën was able to rally these hundred some men and women with him on his journey to the mountains. He knew many only wished to leave the horrid memories behind, and he wondered what would become of them now, taking up a life by the sword as he had. Men and orc and dwarf and others - a testament to the multiculturalism Bhathairk had grown into through the years.

He looked around.

Their camp, fit with wagons and horses, was a bit scattered due to the incline of the terrain, which the road had no choice but to follow. They were not spread too far, but it was difficult to keep proper watch with some of their group hidden downhill behind the many tall pines or another wagon. Firelight showed the place, but... a patrol would need to be kept when it came time to rest.

As for their journey, encroaching on them as they progressed were two abrupt rises, leaving ahead only a narrow path for them to continue on. Having stopped now for the night, they'd be through by tomorrow's eve, and from there...

...he was not sure.

Lower Camp

​

Night had fallen, but the night was still young. Duranleau, rotund and gruff as he was, let out a loud and almost abnoxious laugh. His friends, Jarod, an orc and former blacksmith and Edwin, once a bartender, had all been enjoying their mead for the better part of the evening and thought it best to find themselves a little closer to their place.

At the rear.

Whatever.

They sat themselves down near a fire, and shared fond memories of the home they left behind.

Upper Camp

​

Lazule, Caliane, himself and a small handful of others lingered near their fire placed at the head of their troop. Erën stood a few meters away, his shoulder leaned against a covered wagon. He peered out into the dark with no particular aim, and his mind wandered.

There was quiet, for the most part, but the ambient noise of the wind through the tops of the trees dampened his hearing. Ahead, torchlight came into view. Just before nightfall he'd sent a few ahead to get a read on the terrain, and now they were returning... with haste. Erën stood upright, anticipating them.

"Sire," one proclaimed as they came near, "we've found something."

He was handed what appeared to be a torn tunic, and it was stained with old blood. Erën examined it for a moment, then his eyes met again with the scout.

"A small camp. Whoever was there is now..." they swallowed, their voice trailing off.

Erën's face curled into a saddened frown. He looked once more at the tunic, it was small. Then he turned to look to his friends.

Caliane Ruinë | Lazule​

 

[Lazule]

Lazule came at Erën's behest. Pursuant to a vision was he. Yet even without this vision, Lazule would have come; his work was done in Bhathairk, these displaced travelers required guidance, and above all it was Erën's mere word that compelled him.

The world was rife with monsters to slay. And walking this violent road was quantifiably made better in the presence of they who he could call friend.

* * * * *​

Lazule sat before the campfire of the Upper Camp. Sat on the strange heels of his armor, his body straight and rigid, the visor of his helm downcast and the light of the fire reflecting off of it as he gazed in. Watched each writhing crackle, each undulation, each twist and turn of the ceaseless motion the flame was engaged in.

He thought about how wonderful it would be if that flame was alive. Like him. If it was alive and if it wanted to speak with him and if it wanted to know the insights of the manifest world in which it found itself. If it upon gaining the sapience of consciousness would see in Lazule a kindred spirit, the sole other of its kind, and regard this peculiar quality of being as truly special. He wondered if the flame, should it be given spontaneous life, would feel as Lazule felt when first his life had begun in Lena's body, there in Father's Tower and opening eyes that unbeknownst to him (her) were not truly his (her) own and staring up at the man whom he (she) would regard as a God. Neutral of all things, devoid of the knowledge of good and evil, and staggered by the immensity of nothingness becoming everything.

Yet. If such a thing did happen, that flame would at least not be alone.

And Lazule as aware as well how much this pondering of a living flame was reminiscent of Caliane's Soulfire.

Sire, we've found something.

Some of the men of the traveling troop returned from their scouting. Lazule stood in a single smooth motion, faced about and walked toward the gathering of these scouts and Erën. He regarded the bloodstained tunic for a moment.

Then to Erën: "Did you expect something of this manner?"

A direct reference to whatever so guided Erën again toward the mountains of the Spine, wherein he, Lazule, and Caliane all had experienced significant strife.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Caliane Ruinë

 

[Caliane Ruinë]

At least she didn't have to hide her wings any longer.

The men and women that Erën had chosen knew what she was and who she was. When she passed by a few murmured soft words she didn't quite understand or bowed their head in reverence. Once, she had lost a feather and some young soul had sought her out to return it to her and when she had insisted he keep it he had nearly gone white from the shock of it. It was an odd thing to have gone from hiding in the shadows and under cloaks to being able to reveal in what she was. To not hide. Yet this new freedom came so soon after she had been made to feel for the first time in her life like a true monster. Up at Benjamin's Tower when she had seen the fear in the acolytes eyes, Caliane had wanted to tear her wings from her back. So to now be so openly loved for them sat uncomfortably on her shoulders.

Despite it all she made the camp more... homely for lack of a better word. There was just a way she had with people to put them at ease and make them laugh or sing or want to tell some tale of an adventure their mother had once told them in their childhood bed. The mood, despite her friends brooding silences, was actually pleasant. At least, it was until the scouts returned.

The small little gathering about their fire was made up of an odd ragtag group of different ages and races but they all looked a little afraid when they saw the bloodied tunic. Silently she stood, her white wings beginning to glow as the Soulfire crept quietly to the forefront of her consciousness. It outlined her silhouette against the falling night.

"Is this to do with that... that demon we had visions of?" goosebumps broke out over her skin as she stepped over to join her comrades in arms, though her wing brushed quietly over Erën's back.

 

[Erën]

Then to Erën: "Did you expect something of this manner?"

"In truth," he replied, "I am not entirely sure what to expect."

"Is this to do with that... that demon we had visions of?"

Erën offered her a weary smile, "what I was shown in Bhathairk was vague, and... unsettling. But what leads me here is something different, or so I thought..." he looked at the tunic, pulling it to drape over his arm more loosely. It looked less like tears from swords or axes and more like those from claws or teeth, "but perhap-"

Erën's train of vocal thought was broken by the sound of a horrified scream, somewhere downhill.

Lower Camp

​

It had been fun hearing about some of the strange people Edwin had encountered in his time. Having been born in Alliria and moving to Bhathairk much later in life, setting up shop in the orc city had been a drastic change. His experiences were far more interesting having such an outsider's perspective. And in truth, his start-up had been difficult, having very little understanding at first of just how the city had operated at the time. As for how it did now...

They didn't dwell on it.

Jarod was quieter, but really what all did he have to say? He was a blacksmith, and weaponsmith. His life had largely been spent hammering down on an anvil, born and raised in the ill-fated stronghold. He did have a few interesting pieces he'd made: special, unorthodox requests that he recounted, but he was mostly content to sip on his drink.

So as time went on and Edwin and Duranleau exchanged tales of their time, they failed to notice Jarod's disappearance until... who knew how long?

Turning his head with laughter to see him did Duranleau make the discovery, and abruptly he shot up from his seat. He wobbled and blinked, his vision gone blurry for a moment. Edwin rose and steadied his friend, before releasing him, certain that he would stand on his own.

"What should we do?" asked Edwin.

"He's... probably just gone to... uhhh, do whatever orcs d-"

A twig snapped.

Bushes rustled.

The two drew their swords.

Duranleau stepped forward, moving so the firelight would reveal the way in front of him. There was nothing there.

Another sound to the side. Duranleau whirled around, and... Edwin was gone.

Duranleau whirled around again, meeting two bright, glowing eyes, staring unwaveringly at him. His chest became tight. He froze.

Then, the fire went dark and he screamed - briefly - out into the night.

Lazule | Caliane Ruinë​

 

[Lazule]

Erën did not know. Insight would be required to assess how congruent this discovery of the tunic and the violence it alluded to was with his vision.

Their vision. This detail was one to which Lazule was previously unaware, that of Caliane also having experienced a vision. The same, so she had implied. Or perhaps it was the vision they the three of them had experienced during their battle with Anur that Caliane spoke of, not of one that happened more recently in Bhathairk. It remained unclear, but this was irrelevant. Any demon from any vision was to be slain as soon as it crossed paths with them.

Yet clarifications would not be coming at present. From downhill came a scream.

Lazule snapped his helm toward the sound, whirled about with a precision that had finally come after spending much time becoming acclimated to the armored suit.

The fire from the Lower Camp had gone out. And this was not optimal. The single greatest weakness of Luminomancy was this: night. Darkness. Lazule could not manipulate light that did not exist to be manipulated.

Lazule diverted from Erën and Caliane. Hurried to the campfire of the Upper Camp, the selfsame that he had been gazing into and pondering about, and procured a dry branch from the tinder pile and shoved it into the flame. Waited for the end of it to catch. It would not be much, his magic would be weak, but it would be useful nonetheless.

Then with his ad hoc torch he turned and started to descend carefully downhill. Likely behind Erën and Caliane, given his necessary preparation time making the torch.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Caliane Ruinë

 

[Caliane Ruinë]

The red-headed Avariel was airborne within seconds of the scream. She had wanted to ask more questions about what Erën had thought the threat would be. Anything that he could have told them even if it was only a hunch would have made them a little more prepared for what they were about to face. It seemed as though whatever it was, they were going to be facing it far sooner than they had expected.

The impact of her wings as she took off flattened the grass beneath her and buffeted against clothes; some of the soldiers even raised their hands to shield their eyes from the bits of dirt that was blown up in her wake. The fire that she had been sat by went out for the briefest of moments before rekindling with a new vigour, burning almost white in its brilliance. In fact every little flame Caliane swept over took on this new brighter light causing men and women to jump back with a start until they saw the Avariel with wings of white flame.

When she landed beside the now empty camp circle the first thing that burst to light was the still smoking fire casting the whole area once more into light. Her green eyes cast around piercing into the darkness but she couldn't see the men who had screamed nor the thing which might have taken them. A trouble look crossed her angelic features turning it into a thing of sorrowful beauty. Her thoughts were only disturbed when she heard Erën and then Lazule making their way down to where she was standing.

"What do you think we are dealing with, Erën?"

 

[Erën]

Around them, the entire camp burned brighter, and many people gathered together around the light in fear, drawing weapons, whispering amongst each other. Whatever had caused such a stir was bold indeed to come close to a camp of this size, lit as it had been, early in the night as it was. Erën, with Lazule close behind, made haste through the camp, coming to Caliane and even drawing a few more curious sword slingers.

"What do you think we are dealing with, Erën?"

He was unsure. Nothing had given him reason to believe they would face any remarkable trouble along their journey. However... fate it seemed, had other intentions.

Distant whispers grazed his mind...

Beware, First...

...the shadows of the past cling to each of you...

...equally.
​

Urgency washed over him, and he reached for his sword. A sound in the dark, they all surely heard. And he whipped around, drawing his sword, and stepped from the way of the light. And there, he beheld it, and heard its hungered growl. And, it stayed itself for a moment... a brief, chilling moment. Then, with speed frightening for it's size, it lashed forward, bearing grevious claws and ravenous teeth.

Caliane Ruinë | Lazule​

 

[Lazule]

The torch was to a degree rendered unnecessary. Yet redundancy was advantageous, should either Lazule's own torch or the campfires strengthened or reignited by Caliane were to fall again to the darkness.

Lazule reached the Lower Camp behind Erën and well behind Caliane, him and several other fighters of the Upper Camp. Whatever had caused the disturbance yet to be revealed by the renewed light of the campfire. And here Lazule was struck with a thought, as once again a threat lurked in the dark to imperil those righteous, those innocent.

Ever since Caliane had helped him reforge his way of being, Lazule had yet to apply it. The Amalgamation, Anur'Ephal, the Black Dragon Neha--all needed no discernment to determine if they retained the sanctity of personhood. Their wickedness was manifest. Father's Way, in each aforementioned instance, was the proper answer. Caliane's Way, thus far, had proven...insufficient. Ineffective. For every foe encountered since the adopting of her Way was possessed of abject evil. Where were the exceptions to Father's decrees? Where were the vampires, the werewolves, the dragons--all these and so forth--who were not monsters? The only exception thus far was Caliane herself, representing this sole exception for the Avariel.

Whatever was obscured by the darkness at the edge of the campfire's light...it would be no exception, would it? Father's Way would be proven correct. Once again. Whatever representative would emerge forth would only prove Father's decrees as further sound. And against those decreed monsters by Father, those whose wickedness was beyond doubt, violence was the immutable answer.

And there it was.

A werewolf, or werewolf-like creature. Lashing forward. This representative of all werewolves no exception, requiring no discernment. Requiring only a lack of mercy and its scalp to be removed from its head.

The ambient light of the campfires would produce weak to moderate results for Lazule's Luminomancy. Unavoidable. The lethality of his Lance, Javelin, and Needles would suffer the most. But perhaps disorientation would suffice.

Tossing the torch into the campfire, Lazule prepared two orbs of white in his palms: a Flashbang spell. He flicked his hands and the orbs flew toward the werewolf. One burst in a silent but blinding flash of light, bathing a wide swath of the area in its brief lifespan. The other orb burst at the same time, the light contained therein rapidly heating the air around it, a snap increase in temperature in the tiny space the orb once occupied. And this superheated air expanded and pushed out in all directions, the shockwave producing piercing sound: the bang to accompany the flash.

Lazule could have tried one of his lethal spells. But, deep under the righteous compulsion to duty, he was...

Curious.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Caliane Ruinë

 

[Caliane Ruinë]

Caliane's elven ears twitched a second or two before the creature burst from the undergrowth. The Hunter Angel was more comfortable using a bow and arrow than she was a sword but since acquiring the crystal katana from the odd Loot Runner quest she had attended with Willis, she had begun to grow more comfortable with a blade. Despite it, she didn't draw it like her companions drew their weapons. There had been werewolves that Caliane had met who had been unable to control who they were in the fur but had mourned their deeds when the moon had waxed and waned.

There was also the feeling that something else was going on here and this creature might have been their only way of finding out.

Her white wings snapped out and between a blink of the human eye and the next the red haired Avariel was airborne just in time to avoid the first sweep of the creatures claws that passed harmlessly through the space she had been occupying. With a grimace her fingers twitched towards the blade but still she didn't draw.

"We should try and chain it," Cali called, eyes casting about for something silver.