Fable - Ask On Toward the Burning Dawn

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Ripples between the waves... that was the best they could do.
While an Aerai's mind could reach far for one of their own, it wasn't easy. It took time.

Little more than inclinations. Nothing truly coherent.

Only the most entuned could ever tell - and thankfully, by Astra's grace - they did.

And so a council of many came together.

Scout parties were sent, swiftly, by boot and wing, heralding upon their return exactly what had been feared.
​

---

From far out in the dark, what could only be trebuchets or something of the like, great orbs of fire were hurled toward the city. Great magicians, masters of magic, channeled their strengths together to thwart the coming threat. It was revealed high above, swirling as a whirlwind of light. The monsters' fiery attacks struck against this light with great flashes and arcs across the sky, then fell to the ground in harmless, smouldering heaps.

Soon enough, the smell of burning flesh filled the air, and it became apparent what the projectiles being launched at them really were.

Upon the wall, Erën stood upon the battlements, donned in new armour, sword in either hand. One, curved and elegant, but dimmed by the other: fashioned of enchanted steel and crystal, burning with magic. Helm upon him, visor set, he peered out over the great flatland before the city. Their enemy's herald was a thickened fog, masking any approach, even to an Aerai's eyes. Upon the wall, on either side of him, warriors uncounted, of various sorts and many castes, all those who had answered their desperate plea.

Another great flash across the sky. Another sorcerer, fallen to their knees, their strength waned by the onslaught.

Erën cast a glance, and then returned once again unto poise.

It had been like this for hours. Each strike against them seemed to be another sorcerer that would be useless in the coming battle. And with each unsettling flash in the sky, those upon the walls and those beyond began to wonder. How long until those start to hit them? What then?

He drew in a deep breath, contemplating the monsters' newfound patience.

If what The Thirteen's scouts had said were true, and Arkhivom had indeed beaten them back here, then perhaps he had grown somewhat leery. Caliane had nearly bested him before, and if he knew she was here then...

He grinned.

"They feign their patience," he called out, "they are afraid of you. He..." he shouted, "is afraid of you!"

 

[Vordrakel Deaz'renith]

Four candles burned in an arc. Four golden beads of light reflected off the intricate elven curve blade laid reverently on the floor before them. Vordrakel sat cross-legged behind the weapon, his emerald gaze never leaving the flame of the candle in front of him. His breaths were slow and even in a meditative trance, his expression placid despite the battle beginning outside the temple's walls. Even in this repose, he was far too aware of the telepathic calls to war; another trickle in what seemed to him a neverending deluge of blood and conflict.

"I fear that oldest of enemies is wearing me down," he confessed. The unspoken words resonated in his mind's eye where the tiny candle flames appeared to expand into a great forge of light. He was not alone in this place; in front of him a golden-armored elf hammered away on the curve blade. Always the same blade, endlessly being re-forged.

"War wears down all, but still we must keep fighting to earn that prize that is peace. To carry the flame of hope to the next generation," the figure replied without looking up from his work. Aondrakel was Vord's grandfather, a renowned warrior from the far past. His spirit was bound to the blade, from which he could offer his scion advice and training on how to properly wield his birthright. Vord came to this place as much to find consolation as wisdom from his forefathers.

"If there is to be a next generation," Aon continued wearily. He turned to Vord, the golden dragon design on his armor glittering as if by its own internal light. "Perhaps our oath of sacrifice will soon be at its end." Vord understood Aon's concern. It was one that he had voiced on the eve of other battles: Vord no longer had an heir of his own. If he fell in battle, the oath binding the souls of his predecessors to the sword would be broken. He often considered if that was what some of them secretly desired. No matter how strongly one is bound by honor, it must be tiring to see a thousand years' worth of wars.

Vord himself had largely faded into the background of the war with Arkhivom's forces, appreciating the times he could devote his skills to defending his people without wading through the carnage of the front lines. Now he had no doubts that was where he was needed.

"Another battle is starting. I must get to the wall." Though Aondrakel could no longer hear the thoughts of the other living Aerai, just as he could not interact with the world of the living, Vord could very clearly. Aon simply nodded understanding and went back to his endless task.

"You ought to practice your Sun Strike more often, boy. It's getting clumsy."

300-odd years of practice, and grandfather still somehow found something to criticize.

Vord took himself out of his trance, his mind and body transitioning effortlessly from rest into action. He took up his sword and rushed out of the temple towards the city's outer wall. If Eren'thiel's observation about Ark's forces was correct - which it likely was - the real fighting was not far off. Vordrakel sent out a focused thought to those on the wall to advise them he was on his way. It was but another single thought caught in the tidal wave of response to the siege.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Missives came as they did to Lady Kristen Pirian's desk in Vel Numera, from lands near and lands far, each bearing tidings as broadly ranged as their places of origin. News from across the various Anirian territories made for the bulk of it, yet there were some which hailed from beyond Vel Anir's borders. And there was one in particular found at the bottom of the day's stack. Kristen—weary of the mundane reading featured in the rest—might well have skimmed over it and discarded the parchment...save for her eye gracing the word "Aerai". She read further. "Sharyrdaes", another word which gave cause for curiosity and excitement. And indeed, found at the bottom of the missive, the familiar name which she had been anticipating once her interest was piqued.

So it was as Kristen had said to Blair Rennick before departing for peril in Salesia: some things could not wait.

Kristen quickly kitted herself in her full battle harness, and, throwing her Pirian red cloak over her shoulders and securing her sword, she departed from her office chambers. She went to the chambers of Mayor Caspian, the steward of Vel Numera in the absence of its Lord or Lady.

"Mayor Caspian."

"Yes, my Lady?" said the same, rising from his desk with some haste, for Kristen's sudden entrance was least expected.

"Vel Numera is again in your hands. I must depart for a time."

Mayor Caspian, in his secret heart, was always pleased to be the de facto ruler of Vel Numera, yes. But he did need to know at least something of Lady Pirian's errand. "What should I say to those who inquire of your whereabouts, my Lady?"

Kristen smiled, and said, "Tell them that the Darling Daughter goes to battle: far away, and long awaited."

* * * * *​

Kristen rode alone and at great speed.

Destiny had a way of aligning in much the same way as the motion of the stars. And here this alignment started ten years ago, at the Battle of the Blades. Many Anirians had been mustered for the assault upon that dreaded isle where Kristen was being held hostage, but as well there were fighting men and women from outside Vel Anir who pledged themselves to the cause.

Erën'thiel Xyrdithas had been one of them. He had come to a land hostile to his kind, resolved himself to plunge into the grave peril which awaited everyone on the beaches of the Blades, and this he did selflessly. By his efforts, and the efforts of scores and scores of other brave warriors, Kristen had been saved from the clutches of the Warlord who held her.

And now she was a grown woman. Now she had been forged by the Academy of Vel Anir into becoming a warrior in her own right. Now, it was Erën who was in need of aid. Now, it was she who rode through a hostile land and toward battle. The stars of destiny had aligned in such fashion that, if one could hear them, their music would be harmony, and if words could accompany them, it would be the rhyming of poetry.

This Kristen would do, for even as she felt the subtle guidance of Aionus affirming her path as true and good, it was all that she needed to repay kindness and bravery in likewise capacity. As much as she was able.

* * * * *​

Without incident Kristen had ventured through the Falwood, and she came now near to that coast from which Sharyrdaes was separated only by scarce leagues. Turning southward she began her final approach to the city itself.

In time the great flatland of Sharyrdaes revealed itself, taking the place of thick forest.

The city itself Kristen had seen for miles off, as it stood, proud and as a beacon, there in the shelter of the grand defensive magic which shielded it: that whirlwind of light, swirling, fending off what to Kristen's eyes seemed fell, red, terrible stars launched in violence from afar. Was there time yet? Did Erën and his Aerai kindred hold fast? It must be, else that majestic light emanating from the city's heart would be no more than mere deception.

Kristen urged her horse onward. And as she approached the city walls, she did not spend time going to a gate. Kristen stood up in the saddle of her racing horse, and from her artificial hand shot forth a Chain which snared a battlement up high, and thus as the Chain retracted into her palm was she propelled deftly up and onto the rampart.

Immediately as she landed two Aerai watchmen seized her.

"Who are you?"

"Speak your name!"

"Where is Erën'thiel!?" she said urgently. "Tell him that Kristen Pirian has come to Sharyrdaes!"

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

 

[Oriane]

She was used to this unsettling in the pit of her stomach; the anticipation increasing her heart rate but the strength and knowledge she would get through this kept her grounded.

The Spear stood ready within the unit of The Thirteen, and yet her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.

Oriane recalled the strangeness that clouded the night at those camps, felt the despair waiting to befall them.

Wars were never easy. Getting to know the Thirteen had not made things easier in all this time serving as the Spear. She was not close with many of them, only Rûhn knew her better than his daughter and the Arrow, Danika, and even then Danika knew very little of Oriane.

Get too close, your heart becomes wounded. Just how many cuts could it take?

The Spear did not bother to remember names of their allies, at times this left her feeling guilty... She had danced with many of them at the celebrations in the City Square, but at the end of the night, those names were long forgotten.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Vailë was quickly upon Kristen when she appeared. It was deduced during her approach that she did not seem outwardly hostile... but the Dark Army had many lieutenants. She arrived just as she proclaimed her name and purpose to those who had seized her.

"Wait," Vailë ordered, inspecting the Anirian with an air of distrust, "the First has made many allies, I will take her to him."

---

Beneath the streaking light of yet another strike against their waning, magical wards, Erën turned to see Vordrakel arrive. He regarded him with a telepathic greeting, one laced with concern for their current situation and relief from the arrival of another able warrior.

And then too, his attention turned to Kristen's escorted approach.

"There is no need to guard against this one," he spoke allowed as she and Vailë drew near. He nodded to the latter, and imparted an unheard instruction, to which she nodded and departed. "You have come at a perilous time..."

Were there more time, he'd offer her a much more respectable greeting, warrior to warrior. But the time for such tradition was short. A thudding in the distant dark began, like the beating of great drums. Then many howls cried out, and other horrid sounds. Erën moved to the wall's fore, looking through the battlements. And then they appeared.

---

They moved out of the fog at first in small groups here and there, and then soon they appeared like a great shadowy mass. Their number was... frightening, and it became obvious that Arkhivom had withheld many of his forces for this endeavour. Erën steeled himself as the shouts went out, ordering all to the ready. And then with it given, archers and trebuchets from across the defensive line loosed upon the dark host. The monsters responded in kind with a flurry of projectile spines and arrows of their own, and above, the flaming debris continued to soar overhead.

With a speed fueled by ravenous hunger, the monsters were soon at the city's walls, and encroaching on the city's gate. Though ladders were hoisted, many of the more monstrous entities simply began to climb the wall, threatening to pour over its edge. And though the initial defense was proving admirable...

---

Erën turned sharply as the first of them launched themselves over the wall's edge. Without hesitation he was upon it, his swords both driven into and then through the creature. Wrenching the blades either way left it split in half, and very quickly lifeless. But in the short span of time he'd dispatched the monster, dozens more were upon the wall. He called out to Oriane and the other Avariel, requesting them to the gate. With forces on the wall occupied, they'd be unhindered from trying to break it open.

---

Vordrakel Deaz'renith | Kristen Pirian | Oriane ​

 

[Vordrakel Deaz'renith]

Vordrakel tried to take a measure of the battlefield, but in the chaos he could only manage brief glances as the first of the enemy infantry surmounted the battlements. He theorized about their strategy by imagining himself as the enemy general shouting orders: to make as many ingress points as possible in the walls or the gates. The siege engines with range would batter the walls and the forces within. Meanwhile the back line archers would harry the enemy archers on the walls to cover the army's advance, at least until the infantry could take them out.

Many of the defenders would have no choice but to protect the archers and sorcerers who were barely keeping the visceral projectiles from bombarding the city. All Ark's forces would need to do, given superior numbers, was find a weak point and concentrate their attacks on it.

He heard the command for those gifted with flight to attend to the gate defense. He, having only his legs to depend on, would have to cut a path in that direction.

Before Vord could make a move, three monstrous attackers vaulted themselves over the wall between Vord and several of his allies. He parried instinctively as a claw came in low to eviscerate him and wrenched the creature's arm out to its side. It tried to come across his face with the second limb, only to have it detached mid-swipe. A final arc of the curved blade put the surprised horror out of its misery before it could contemplate the extent of its injury.

The soldiers on the other side of the group had cut down another one. Trapped between them, the third stood little chance of defending itself from an onslaught from both sides. Once the immediate enemies had been dispatched, they turned their attention to the ladder now mounted against the wall.

Together, they pushed it back. The invaders who'd been scaling it looked like a clump of ants as they plummeted back to their deaths below. Like mere raindrops in a river, he thought.

Vord continued around the battlement towards the gate, moving to intercept any infantry that made it onto the wall. He turned part of his attention inward as he advanced, calling upon his ancestors' borrowed magic and his own inner fire to protect him. It appeared as an expanding blaze of golden light from his sword that settled over his normal clothes like a translucent set of armor.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Kristen Pirian Oriane

 

[Kristen Pirian]

A miracle that Kristen's sudden and unorthodox intrusion upon the city walls did not result in anything worse than seizure. One of the elves, Vailë being the name unknown to Kristen, told her compatriots to stay their hands, that the "First" had made many allies, and this at least was enough to not have Kristen thrown from the walls. Had Kristen arrived in a more timely manner, she wouldn't have needed to hazard so alarming an entrance to the defenders' city.

So it was that Eren himself, when she was brought to him, summed her arrival: come at a perilous time indeed, and with hardly a moment to spare.

"And yet no better time to offer you the reward of your kindness, Erën."

Now Kristen knew not the whole of the conflict in which Erën and his people were involved, nor the true horror of the foe they faced; very much had she come to a strange land, surely as much as Erën himself must have felt Vel Anir to be strange. Yet with the cries and howls and shrieks which issued from the dark fog encroaching upon the edge of Sharyrdaes, and furthermore with the first sight of the fiendish horde spilling forth from that evil veil, washing over the land like a terrible tide, everywhere a new horror to assail the eyes, Kristen harbored no doubt that this was an enemy worth fighting, and that the cause of the Aerai people was just and noble and good.

And though Kristen recalled the memory of the Siege of Ostia Anir, these creatures fought not like men, no, but were innervated with unnatural vigor and ability.

Presently their vanguard leaped with great strength and agility upon the walls. Erën was already engaged. And before Kristen landed a creature of horrid form, a great hulking body supported by four thin legs terminating in sharp talons each, a head which hung low on a funneled neck, and a singular eye to serve as the sole feature of its face. The eye looked to Kristen, and it turned a dark and hungry red.

Kristen drew her sword with her left hand, and shot forth a Withering Chain from her right. The Chain wrapped tightly about the Watcher's neck. But the Watcher was not harmed nor debilitated enough by the magic of the Chain, at least at first, and it sprang forward, swiping a vicious stroke at Kristen with one of its forelimbs. Kristen gave a small yelp as she was struck, and indeed knocked over the wall itself. She fell.

The Chain pulled taut, and now Kristen hung outside the wall, arm stretched upward, feet dangling above the crash of monstrosities below.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Vordrakel Deaz'renith Oriane

 

[Oriane]

He called out to Oriane and the other Avariel, requesting them to the gate. With forces on the wall occupied, they'd be unhindered from trying to break it open.

Her thoughts dared to think of Rûhn, of him so close to this battle and his daughter, Ostára at his side. They two were perhaps the dearest in the Thirteen to her, but as Eren gave orders, the Spear was alert.
She nodded to him, turning to glance at the five other Avariels behind her. Rûhn covered the other end with the rest of the Avariel fleet, the decision to divide had not been easy, but they had trained for this in the past.
She was the Harbinger, the Herald of the wings that would soon come to defend their allies... but this time, the others would go before her. They moved as one. Oriane took up the rear, Spear golden and ready in her hands by the time her boots hit the ground by the gate. Attempts were being made to break it down, but the fortifications put into place still unyielding.

The presence of the Thirteen, legendary elites in their field. Oriane had centuries of experience, second to Rûhn. She had no family to bring glory to, no mate to share the glory with. Perhaps if she could wire herself out from her soldier mindset, she would be emboldened to fight for something.

I fight for the Sword. The Shield. The Arrow.

Oriane's Spear caught an unforgivable monstrosity that broke past the fortified ranks of her small unit. Undeterred, she made quick work into putting it down before the next slipped past, targeting her.

I fight for the Hammer. The Scythe. The Lance.

The monster was foolish, crazed enough that sentient thought did not drive it. At least, nothing did after her Spear pushed through it's skull and she felt it's body go limp.

I fight for The Axe. The Mace.

Her boot stood on it's head to give leverage as she freed the Gift of the Spear.

I fight for the Morningstar. Her unit pushed forward, driving back the onslaught. I fight for the Gauntlet. The Staff. The Helm.

 

[Eren'thiel Xyrdithas]

Quickly after dispatching his enemy, and then very promptly a second, his attention turned to Kristen's altercation with the Watcher. Or rather, the aftermath. The beast laboured the keep itself upright, its spined appendages braced firmly where it stood, its neck hung low as it strained against the Withering Chain wrapped around its forelimb.

He approached, sliding his swords into their sheathes, and he reached out from afar with his hands. Taking the shape of a wispy blue light around the creature, Erën took hold of the Watcher. He lifted it from its place, Withering Chain pulled tight, and pushed the creature upward and in toward the city to pull Kristen back up. He had intended to do so with much more delicacy, but the apparent urgency made his remedy far more... jarring. Regardless, it was the best he could do.

But before he could see the fruits of his labour, a shrill and harrowing sound cut through the dark, drawing his eye.

Dreadful and deep, droning horns sounded after, calling from the distance.

The thunder of great wings boomed through the air, and again the shrill cries rang out.

A shadow cast over the wall, and then others.

Erën looked up.

Above, a menacing foe unlike anything he'd seen before descended upon him. Large black wings abroad, arms stretched wide with sickles wielded in either clawed hand. Jagged teeth snarled and bit as its seemingly eyeless face fixed upon him as it dropped. And as it did, at least a dozen others followed in falling upon the wall.

---

Vordrakel Deaz'renith | Kristen Pirian | Oriane ​

 

[Vordrakel Deaz'renith]

The Aerai on the battlements were hard-pressed to keep their position. Every time they cut down an enemy, it seemed that two more clawed their way over the wall. It was growing increasingly difficult to find footing amongst the bodies piling up on the bloody stones, and more defenders were falling off of the walls to their deaths.

Vordrakel ducked down to his knees, ignoring the jolt of pain from his impact with the ground, grasping the hand of an injured soldier that had managed to clutch the edge of the outer wall. She cried out in pain as one of the scaling horrors stabbed an armored claw through her ankle. Vord braced himself against the stone to help his comrade climb back up, only to nearly be flung off himself as it yanked her from his grip.

He fumbled to reach the blade he'd set down beside him before the creature made it up and avenged his comrade by stabbing it in the eye. Little solace that it was.

A cacophony of horns and guttural cries filled the air. He was nearly to the tower where he could descend to the gate. He spotted Erën in the din...

A great shadow loomed for a fraction of an instant before a nightmare bore down on the First Sword.

"Erën!"

Kristen Pirian Oriane Eren'thiel Xyrdithas

 

[Kristen Pirian]

Seething, writhing, boiling, all that hideous mass below, like a furious ocean comprised not even of spoiled sea but of the endless variation of fiendish corruption, mockeries of life each and all, there some warped form of spider, there an orc in face alone and bearing extra blackened limbs, there a hulking brute in the likeness of a troll but from its neck sprouted a swirl of snakes.

Mercifully Kristen need not look long. Even as some of the taller creatures, or those made tall by clambering callously atop their wretched kin, reached and swiped for her feet, so did her feet, and all of Kristen, ascend. The Chain rolled upward. It clinked rapidly against the stony edge of the wall. Surprise came over Kristen—this was not her doing!

Yet cresting the battlements of the wall once more, climbing up and firmly planting her feet, she could see that the Watcher was gone and Erën had taken its place. Kristen flushed with mild embarrassment. A poor showing, yet perhaps for her the finish of the fight would be greater than its beginning.

Kristen's Chain retracted swiftly into her palm. Then came the dread call from above, and the heavy beat of fell wings filled the hearts of those who heard with despair.

They came, the black flyers. Upon Erën and upon Kristen and all whom they could savage they did so at their delight. They'd a certain likeness to Gargoyles, and so this was the name granted to them in Kristen's mind. Distantly, through all the clamor of battle, Kristen heard someone shout Erën's name. But joined into pitched struggle were both Erën and all who stood near him as the black flyers, the Gargoyles, descended with all their wicked fury.

Kristen slashed at the Gargoyle who flew for her, but agile was its landing and her sword struck naught but air. It rose to its full and ominous height, standing as tall as any ghastly harbinger of death might, and it brandished its sickles as well as its jagged teeth and a growl like grinding stone issued from the depths of its throat.

And it would be here, in this desperate hour of Sharyrdaes, that Kristen Pirian invoked the gift, mayhap the first of many, that she in her pilgrimage to sacred Mount Dincia, the holiest site of Celestialism, had gained. There in the heights of Dincia whose very peak reached to the stars lay the Pool of Eternity, those waters said to have bathed the Goddess Astra herself in the time before time, and so in ancient ritual had Kristen herself come to be submerged in them, reborn in them, thus made fit for blessings and holy work beyond mortal means.

Into her upheld hand the Symbol of Radiance was conjured. A holy icon of Aionus, shaped like a golden sentinel, vigilant and ever on guard, it shone with light so fierce it turned Kristen's close proximity from dark to day. The Gargoyle was engulfed in it, and the creature's shrill cry was one of pain.

"Back! I am a servant of Aionus the Holy Sentinel! And I say: away with you!"

And the Gargoyle thrashed and lamented, yet inexorably staggered back, the foul flesh of its body slowly peeling away under the Symbol's light as a fire consumes parchment.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Vordrakel Deaz'renith Oriane

 

[Oriane]

Her small unit of the Thirteen fought well in their formation.

Each of them tore down their foes with brutal efficiency, almost a choreographed dance as they held off their ground. And when the tides of darkness began to recede, pride and proud in their efforts, the Avariel wasted no time in their seconds of reprieve.

On her order, they were to advance, but Oriane was drowned out by a beastly call that showered dread down her spine. It's cold prickling stilling the trained warrior, her amber eyes raised to meet the shifting and airborne darkness. Pieces broke away from the mass, and the Spear had no idea how she had not recognised the collective sounds of multiple wings in the wind.

"Brace yourselves!" Came her call. In unison, they held their ground, ready to anticipate the beasts that came for them. Their gilded armour became flickers in the shadows, fighting and wounding as the monstrosities began to push their small unit back to the gates they were charged to protect.

Eren'thiel Xyrdithas Vordrakel Deaz'renith Kristen Pirian

 

[Vesic]

"Do we go?" Arella asked from their perch, each of the nine Drow hidden within a shade of light and magic. All of them wore the strange leathers of their people, colored a dark black which seemed to shift and move to blend with the darker colors in their surroundings.

Below, before the city, stood the tide of their enemy.

Vesic stood among those whom he had lead to the surface. His face an implacable mask as he peered onto the battlefield below. Eyes tracing after the great winged form which seemed to crash down among the walls and harrow their newfound friends. "No."

He answered calmly, perhaps cruelly. In the expanse of the battlefield that rage, hundreds were dying. He knew this, he could see it, feel it, but the time was not yet right.

There was no betrayal here, no knife to the back. Vesic and his had sought refuge within this city, and it had been granted. The pact they had made was one that he would honor, but he would not throw away the lives of the men he had left.

They had started with a hundred. A hundred of the greatest warriors in Akah. He had thought the time was right then. He had thought that they could win.

He'd been wrong.

He wouldn't be again.

"We wait." Vesic said as he slowly pushed up through the others, touching the edge of the cliff with his boot as he squatted down and watched those below. "They are the anvil, we are the hammer."

A few of his men grimaced at the words, and he knew why. They wanted nothing more than to join the fray, to kill, to prove themselves and banish the weary eyes that had been watching them. But it was not yet time. "Patience."

He commanded, straining against his own.