Orson of Kota(closed)

[draco519]

Two kingdoms stood above most others in the land after the great wars were finished. Hortensia, the city of magic and home to the Enclave. With the vast resources of the Kingdom of Hortensia at their back? The Enclave continued to advance the ways of magic into creating devices that helped to improve every day life. Better harvests reduced hunger and increased the wealth of the citizenry. Artisans such as smiths and leatherworkers and cobblers? It isn’t uncommon to have some sort of magical component on their workbench that helps them to craft equipment that’s a prize for many adventurers.

King Cedric, third of his name, of the House Roan rules over the Kingdom of Hortensia. Seen to some as a tough but fair King who defers most decision in the realm of magic to his court advisor sorceress. Some say Cedric takes his court sorceress to his bed, though none can confirm that. Queen Katherina hardly seems the type to put up with such infidelity and tomfoolery from a husband.

The Devonchanian Empire’s Capitol city Lothering was once lush and filled with life; green and surrounded by beautiful forests. Since the advent of industry? Of smithing metals and discovering the wonders of the foundry? Devonchanians cared little for nature and razing the forest as fuel for the fires to smelt ore and bring other nations to their knees. More labor for the mines meant more ore, more armed men in armor preparing to take the last standing Kingdom after the great war and spread the Empire until everything the sun kisses is theirs to rule and have dominion over.

During the great wars there had only been one thing that spared Hortensia from the empiric expansion. Magic. The natural weakness men had to it was the chink in the great armor of the Imperial armies. Though the Hortensians lost a great many mages to the technological advances the Empire brought to bear. Mortars, Cannons, Rifles and Pistols. The Empire had brought gunpowder to bear and it was only when a new land was discovered was there a brief Armistice as both Hortensia and Devonchania raced northward.

Only to be met by the Kota.

The tribal lands of the north were a rough and rugged place. Filled with men that wielded what crude iron axes and swords they knew how to smith. They held no magical ability, though the Hortensians quickly learned of the markings on their warriors that didn’t make them entirely immune to offensive magic; though it did dull the effects quite a bit. The scouting parties that never returned from the Northern lands across what would be known as the Daring Strait. Not big
enough to be an ocean or sea, but long and wide enough that none knew the Kota’s lands had been there.

The Hortensian scouting party had been captured. A rough bit of the language learned by the Kota and the ship had been enough for them to reverse engineer their own ship designs and learn how to navigate by the stars. Though it took weeks to do? One could get across the daring strait and arrive in the coastal city of the Hortensian Kingdom known as Felswyth. Some trade happens with the certain clans of the Kota here, but many more times Felswyth gets raided by the Kota. Riches, baubles and women taken from their homes and sailed away to their homes.

This escalated to the Kota staying in Felswyth until they were paid to leave once. Years passed as the Kota harassed both Kingdoms until it was decided these northmen were a nuisance that needed proper army attention.

With an imperial contingent of fifteen hundred men and a Hortensian division of four hundred mages? They swept over the lands of the Kota until they discovered a small village that looked like it had been built with Hortensian architecture. Hidden and inland, without access to the shore. The parties discovered these elders were the original scouting party. Three of them were left; and on death’s door. They revealed the secret of the Kota’s magical resistance – The pockets of what anyone only ever knew as Feystone. Rich deposits of it the Kota dug up and crushed into their inks which gave their warrior tattoos the blue hue they did. That glowed when Magic hit them.
The Hortensians hadn’t realized the empire was there when this information was revealed. War broke out all over Kota lands in the revelation of this information. Hortensia had to secure it to keep the Empire from making weapons of destruction out of it and wiping them out. King Cedric sent his armies and mages while Emperor Waylund sent his men and guns.

It led to clan Kota being caught in the middle. Besieged day and night by one faction or another. Some magic users raining down their terrible fire or an imperial trebuchet flaming sack, covered in pitch, landing somewhere nearby.
Orson wasn’t the leader of his clan; his father was. His face was determined as he came back to the camp with his native tongue and informed them the devil magic users were dead but the empire was still around. Orson was tall at 6’4” with a long and dark mane of hair that matched his beard. His blue kilt and throw over his shoulder his only body coverings save for his tall boots of thick fur and hide that kept his legs warm and protected.

Orsons’ father, Chief of the Kota, his name was-
Well, it didn’t matter with the lightning that came down through the tent and exploded their camp. Screaming. Women and children fleeing and men getting up to fight as the Imperial soldiers approached with their tall shields and began rounding up what of the Kota they could find until they had someone that spoke their tongue ask.

“Which one of you savages is leader?”

It led to hours passing and Orson, son of Orson of clan Kota being thrown down at the feet of a fat man. He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t speak the same language. The fat man dressed lavishly, finery unlike anything one of the Kota had ever seen before and there were women unlike Orson had ever seen before. New sights and smells and it was all disorienting.

The translator looked to Orson. “My master offers you a deal.”

“Deal?” Orson’s rage pulsed in his veins. The legends told of Kota berserkers. “I”ll kill-”Two of the Kota children were brought in, knives to their necks. He was chained and on his knees before this fat fuck on a plush chair that soft men sat in. Orson looked to the translator.

“My master wishes for Kota to do as they’ve always done – cross the daring strait and raid Felswyth."

Orson narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t have to guess what would happen if he didn’t. He took a deep breath and looked to this fat bastard. He spoke in their native tongue. “Tell this boylover that if any of my people are harmed or fucked, I’ll cut off his cock and feed it to him. Then he’ll shit it out and I’ll feed it to him again.”

The translator looked to the fat master and relayed what Orson could only decide wasn’t his entire message

--
Three weeks later, Orson and his men were aboard the Kota ship that fired upon Felswyth harbor. Great flying harpoons that caused a massive ruckus in the town and the thatch roofs of the port town. Once they got ashore, Orson led his men forward, holding his arm up as a magic spell hit him and he felt the heat of a fireball bouncing away from him. Cutting down one of the guards, he turned and held the dead guard up to absorb the lightning bolt that hit him from the mage guard.

The throwing axe did the mage in, and Orson stepped off the docks and met two more guards in combat.

 

[siobhancan99]

Rachel Pettigrew sat in the gloom of the hillside stockade overlooking the small port town, composing a letter to while away her shift. The young Lieutenant gripped her stylus tight at the sound of distant cannon fire. She moved to the window, making haste to ascertain whether it was an Imperial ship firing on the town, or the rumble of thunder made threat by her over-active imagination. Flashes on the horizon made it the former. The cacophony of the warning bells in the town below confirmed. She made her way to the wooden tower, racing up the ladder to the observation post. The mages at the beaches had lit the bay, fortunately. It made her work easier, though till now it had been all drills and never any practical fighting. Indeed, her Captain would have been responsible for a night attack, had he not gone in-country to attend a cousin's wedding.

She watched the second wave of incoming landing craft. The first having met the beach already. She made swift calculations, then called out a series of coordinates into the control rod atop the wooden tower. She imbued the rod with her power as she spoke, and the golems behind her sprang to action. Six mighty trebuchet creaked and groaned as ammunition was fed and counterweights properly applied. The entire system was animated, and expensive. Only one human was required to operate all six devices. If the project came out well in this encounter, its designer would be well rewarded by the crown. She would, most likely, be rewarded with a day's leave. So much for being the one in the field.

Unfortunately, the range of cannon far exceeded the range of trebuchet. The ships were too far out, but the landing craft were not. The first salvo was designed to spread over the bay, with netting dissolving in the air to rain fist sized rocks down on the men in the craft below. Hurled with all the great force that the war-engines could muster, those rocks would be deadly if they struck true.

Sadly, or perhaps fortunately, she couldn't see well enough to take stock of the damage inflicted on the boat crews. That would have to come in post-battle analysis. She shouted another set of coordinates into the control rod, and after a few minutes, the bay was once again pummeled with stones. That would be the last of the volleys for now. The second set of landing craft were too close to use the tactic again, and it could not be used on the beaches or the docks where the stalwart city defenders stood.

Her trembling hands found the railing, gripping it to keep the shake from overcoming her. She was commissioned recently, not out of any great martial talent (she was after all, a woman and not a terribly large one at that) but because of her magical prowess. That too was less than distinctive. She could cast a few spells, but her main talent was in the utilization of magical devices. Most like her were sent to the scryers, she had the great or terrible luck to have been chosen for this project.

She ordered the golems to load the third load. If the raiders were not killed off by the town guard, her directions were to coat the bay in an alchemical solution that would burn even on the water. The thought was to deny the enemy whatever it was they came for. She felt it barbaric. They might be carrying off citizens rather than gold. Still, perhaps it was better to burn and drown than to slave away in the Imperial foundries.

She finally had the presence of mind to run back down and gather her things, a gambeson, a rapier, and a wand. While she was supposed to remain at the stockade to implement the fire solution, if the town seemed poised to fall she knew many of the wealthy patrons in the hills ringing the port would probably seek the flimsy safety of the stockade, and so she had to be ready to let them in... or keep them out.

 

[draco519]

In the town….

Orson could only bring five men on his landing craft. He’d picked his best and most trusted of brothers. He carved through the next golem, the cold-forged steel of the Kota had properties with the runes cast into it that nullified the magic that coursed through them; causing them to fall to the ground. It had made the Kota a necessity to land a beachhead in Hortensia. It was why the Empire had bound their hands, made them come here. But the Kota were not cowed so easily. Turning as the next uniformed soldier of Hortensia came into view, Orson parried the blow easily and his shield took the man off his feet. Stepping forward, he met the next.

Fionn was in step with Orson. The boy was smaller; he had barely seen nineteen winters. But the fire of youth burned brightest when it had something to prove. On his back? A quiver of javelins. He carried those as well as a shortsword and a smaller round shield on his arm. “Where is CIllian?!” He asked, ducking beneath some rubble from the Empire’s ships and their cannonfire on the town. He brought his javelin up, throwing it into the golem ahead of him to cause it to collapse.

“Ahh!” Brannock, the beast of a man with his large axe, carved through two more golems and charged forward, lowering an armored shoulder in a third in a surprising feat of strength to topple it. His war braid swung behind him as he backfisted the Enclave officer to the ground… Then he looked up, to the netted stones. “Roric!”

Roric, the grizzled veteran with a sword and heavy shield, followed Brannocks gaze ever upward, to the vanishing nets that were about to rain a rocky hell on all of them. Dropping his sword, he brought his mighty shield up and the runes on his arms and shield began to glow, a protective done going over the party to keep them from sailing to the shores of the after far too young. A beat of sweat ran from his silver mane to his matching beard along a scar he’d collected in battle from when he was much younger.

When it was done, Roric leaned forward on the shield, getting his breath.

Seeing no sign of Cillian, Orson growled his orders. “Brannock! With me! Fionn, help Roric!” Charging forth, they began to carve a path through the city. Slashing golems, incapacitating the members of the Enclave. They were trying to kill as few of them as possible. But they didn’t have long. Soon, the Empire’s dreadnought would be ready to fire. A ship born of the infernal fires of men’s darkest desires. With a cannon that would bathe this coastal town into hellfire. Other Kota warriors, not of Kota’s pact, were going door to door and trying to get as many as possible to run to the hillside stockade. They could only hope the Captain would know what to do with so many.. Especially once they witnessed the dreadnought’s terrifying firepower.

Rachel’s hillside stockade

Cillian, the silent blade, his raven feather cloak had blended into the trees the night before, he watched from behind one of them as this Lieutenant - who was not Captain Ramos MacFarland, he’d noted with no small amount of irritation, surveyed the situation from the watchtower. He needed to disable to those trebuchets, and quickly.

When she turned her back to climb down the wooden ladder? He ran across the clearing as quickly as he could, an arrow flying into a golem that had been crouching down to gather a glass container of a dangerous looking blue liquid.

His arrow struck true, and the golem collapsed forward onto the ammunition, shattering the containers and spilling the oil all around it. Cillian was quick to make an attempt to mask his presence as the golems stood, confused. They’d been given orders to load the ammunition; yet there was none.

Then there was an imminent threat. His brothers arriving to the stockade. Finally. One Cillian hoped would deter any questions from whence the arrow had come.

“Orson! Go!” Brannock shoved him aside, barreling into the golems to clear a path. MacFarland had been clear. To take the town? Take the stockade.

Orson pushed through the golem on his right, moving along the wall of the wooden stockade and looked up to see the woman standing there; rapier and wand, ready to rip into him. She bore the uniform of the Enclave. And his brothers continued rushing up the hill, herding the townsfolk here to escape what was coming.

Bringing his shield up, cautious of what Rachel might fire at him from that wand of hers, with the scent of the alchemical oil all around them? It likely wouldn’t end well. Though his concentration was broken when a foghorn roared like a mighty beast; sending Empire ships to veer away and get clear of what was to come. Like an Alpha marking its prey and the smallest of the pack scattering.

It was loud enough that, even up on this hill, it sent birds scattering from the canopy of trees in the nearby forest. Orson could barely hear himself think. The strike of Roric’s sword destroying a golem lost to him. Once it ended? Orson felt like he could breathe again. That meant one thing; He didn’t have long.

Getting his bearings, his blue eyes settled on Rachel once again. “Where is MacFarland?!” The dreadnought was new Empire weaponry. If the Emperor had been truthful with him? The Enclave had not seen one yet. This was the Emperor’s grand introduction of what would rule them all; and even the mighty Kota had been powerless to stop it.

 

[siobhancan99]

Rachel whispered a word and her hands were wreathed in fire. She looked over at the pool of alchemist's fire on the ground spreading quickly across the ground, and the ruined golems. Each of them should have killed a score of men before they fell. The barbarians had to have some heavy anti-magic to have felled them. They'd learn that the chemicals would burn them despite all that. Fire was fire, and the concoction on the ground didn't require magic to fuel it. It stuck to flesh, it burned on water. In the academy shed been told, time and time again, women soldiers should not let the Imperials take them. It was better to die in a flash of glory than spend months being raped in camp until your body and mind were taken by syphilis, or tired of playing with you they killed you or threw you in a mine or quarry to waste away.

At the mention of the Captain she paused, stepping back to make sure she was out of reach of the blue tattooed barbarian. Her eyes narrowed and in the heat of the moment she stammered out "He's wedding his cousin."

She paused at that. It sounded wrong. It was wrong. She cleared her throat "Rather, he is at the wedding of his cousin. What are you looking for Ramos for?" She felt the intensity of the yet to be unleashed spell in her fingers, the heat of the flickering mage-flame that didn't burn her skin as long as she held the power. "Speak, or I'll join you in the hells in a moment. If any of you think to put an arrow in me, think again. The fire won't go out till my life does, and my body will hit the ground sure enough before that happens." She wasn't the most powerful wizard in spell-slinging, but being an imbuer had its moments. She mentally prepared the constructs necessary to make her own body a vessel. She just needed a moment to finish building the runes in her mind and she could turn her corpse into the fiery demise of the entire stockade. Keeping the man talking not only satisfied her curiosity about Ramos, but let her exact a final revenge if the answer was less than something miraculous. It was just a shame nobody would be around to report on the successful test of the golem trebuchet system. In fact, it might prematurely be labled a failure, depending on whether or not there was a proper inquest after.

She wondered, briefly, if the necromancers would reanimate her long enough to give a report, and if so if the knowledge were just part of her corpse or whether or not her spirit would be aware of that final duty for King and country. Academic either way, but it would be nice to know.

 

[draco519]

Orson didn’t know what that was on the ground; but it smelled far more potent than pitch. It pooled at his feet on the dirt that had been well packed by the feet of golems and humans alike. He’d been so distracted by the foghorn of the dreadnought that he’d missed it. He didn’t dare move forward as she brought fire to her hands.

Cillian was sprinting like hell to get to the front gates, Raven-feather cloak whipping behind him, bow in hand. He needed to find Orson and his brothers. He’d intended to stop the golems from loading it. He hadn’t intended to turn the entire stockade into a fire pit!

“Dagris?” Orson asked, uneasiness coming over him.

Dagris was whispering, his antler-topped staff held close. His runemarks on his arms giving a faint glow.

He’s wedding his cousin.

Dagris opened his eyes, the whispering stopping. The runes fading away. His cousin? His head tilted in curiosity. Really?

Orson cocked an eyebrow.

Fionn was slack jawed.

Brannock laughed. “I knew it!”

Roric smirked, elbowing Brannock to stop his joking.

"Rather, he is at the wedding of his cousin. What are you looking for Ramos for?"

“Orson!” Cillian took a breath, coming to the gates and putting a hand on the hinge to get a breath… “MacFarland isn’t here!”

“Thank you, Cillian.” Orson didn’t take his eyes off Rachel.

"Speak, or I'll join you in the hells in a moment.”

Cillian reached for his quiver, bringing his bow up-

If any of you think to put an arrow in me, think again. The fire won't go out till my life does, and my body will hit the ground sure enough before that happens."

“What if I hit her through the eye?” Cillian asked, genuinely curious, starting to draw the string back.

“Lower your weapons!” Orson called out to them, looking to his men behind him - where the gates were. “Let them through!”

The Kota parted to start to allow the people of the town inside. Some of them were worse for wear, others, those with difficulty walking from their ordeal, were being helped by Kota warriors. It was clear it was nowhere near a normal Kota raid; where they came and took. None of the Kota carried gold or spoils or hostages.

Roric, the grizzled veteran of the party, smirked. Would the witch torch her own as well? He watched her carefully, and he rather didn’t want to die screaming today.

“Port Luca is lost.” Port Luca, the town she’d been tasked with defending. Orson cleared his throat. “We should speak.” He slowly reached over, handing his sword to Fionn, his shield on his opposite arm to Roric. “But believe me… it was lost long before we got here.”

“Chieftain?” FIonn nearly panicked when Orson, for the first time in his young life, surrendered his weapon.

“She’ll burn you to ash without it!” Roric protested taking the shield.

“Cillian. Lower the bow.” Orson didn’t break eye contact with Rachel, his hand moving to the knife on his belt and he handed that to Roric next.

Cillian did as Orson asked; scoffing and turning to look back to the sounds of the dreadnought’s mighty engines. A mechanical humming and whirring that could be heard all the way up on the hill as it approached.

Orson held his hands up. “My name is Orson; Chieftain of the Kota.” He looked to the townsfolk that continued to pour in, then brought his eyes back to Rachel. “We haven’t come as we have in the past. We should speak privately. It’s quite urgent.”

 

[siobhancan99]

Rachel finished the rune, mentally, before she allowed herself to react. If she was put down now she'd ironically be far more dangerous than if she was alive. Her blood would leave fire where it fell, and that would mean death. She paled when she saw the townsfolk streaming into the *flooded with nasty alechemical fire in sufficient quantity to light the whole bay* stockade. "Back you fucking fools! BACK!" She cried out '"he muck you're tramping through will be impossible to get off your clothes and should it come near any spark you will burn!" She groaned inwardly as quite a few started to panic, but better a few be trampled here than the lot of them die in a conflagration once the slow moving ooze made its way down the hill and into the burning town. "Flee to the treeline! these idiots have destroyed the safety of the stockade! Remove any clothes soiled by the oils!" She gestured frantically, seeing the mayor and his wife at the head of the party. No doubt they'd thought to ensconce themselves here first as privileged citizens.

"Graham! You must get these people out of the path of the alchemist's fire." She gestured to Orson as if to say 'I'll be with you in a moment.' and turned her attention back to the mayor "Get them into the woods beyond the ridge. They will need to scrub their skin raw to get the ooze off them, and they must discard any clothing or boots that smells of it. It's nasty stuff and god knows what horrors it will visit on you if its ingested." She honestly didn't know. Maybe it was totally safe to eat, but it was better not to take any risks. For now there seemed to be a sort of utterly uncontrolled shoving match between. She looked at the lot of them, seeing none of the knights or ranking military officers among them. They must either still be fighting or dead. That left her with the sinking feeling that she might, technically, be in charge of the defense of the town. She was, quite literally, the most junior of officers. She technically ranked over an enlisted man, but really just barely as a legal matter and not at all as a factual one. Still, someone had to take charge.

"We will speak, Kota, when these people are no longer in danger of turning into yule candles. Get your men out of this fort. I meant what I said, any of them with the ooze on themselves will need to leave any cloth behind. Leather and metal can be cleaned but it isn't terribly water soluble." She herself wasn't too concerned. Minor cleaning magics were within the reach even of the lowest mages. She'd be damned if she was up all night cleaning after others though. Turning towards the Kota, she gestured "might be easier to get out if you take charge of these people." In any event, she physically leaned in, a subtle nod to her willingness to go wherever the Kota were going.

 

[draco519]

Orson listened to the instructions of Rachel when the townspeople went too far into the blue oil; alchemist’s fire? What the hell had she been planning to launch at them?! Perhaps she couldn’t be blamed, but these idiots destroyed the safety of the stockade! Orson glanced over to Cillian.

Cillian shrugged. What else was supposed to do? Let Rachel douse them in it? He hardly believed so.

“Stop!” Orson commanded of those that sought to trample others to get out of the stockade, and eventually.. He had Rachel’s go ahead. He reached over to the ladder, scaling it to get into the lookout. “Everyone! Get to the trees! Roric, Fionn! Brannock! See the wounded to Dagris! See if there are any of their healers! Get to the trees and get these people ready to evacuate inland!” The Kota didn’t know what a doctor was.

Orson climbed down once the worst of the panic was over, and people were headed to the treeline. “You’ve a farsight?” At her gaze at him? He tried to think of what they called it on the Enclave ships he’d been a part of. “Telescope?” At her confirmation, he took a few steps and pointed to the large ship coming on the horizon. Who was letting out another extremely loud blast of its horn.

“The Chanis” The Devonchanian Empire, known for their gunpowder. “Have my clan’s elders, women, and children.” He sneered. “They used one of those fucking ships to eradicate our sacred places.” He took a breath through his nose. “My people had seen nothing like it. Many died.” He brought his gaze over to Rachel, then. “Waylund” The Emperor “Brings them to bear on your shores, now, and forced us, under threat of our kin being slaughtered, to help him establish a beachhead. I sent Cillian with news of this week ago. He snuck here, to this outpost, and informed MacFarland.”

The man likely wasn’t at a wedding at all. “We didn’t know how quickly the Chanis would be ready to move; but he did say he’d be heading to the Capital to discuss it with the Highest in command of the Enclave. If not King Cedric himself.”

Though… it was likely to fall on deaf ears. A strange warning from the Kota? Who had no proof? Orson wasn’t sure how these things worked.

“We need to keep moving; the dreadnought is going to wipe out all of Port Luca; and if we’re caught helping your people? Our own kin will be slaughtered.”

 

[siobhancan99]

Rachel looked through the telescope to see the large ship. She was curious as to what it was doing, but not so curious she wanted to stay by the stockade. She moved towards the treeline with the others, and once safely there, she cast a minor spell to remove the gunk from her boots. She offered no such help to the Kota, not even sure a minor magic like that would function in light of their protections. As she trained her glass back on the ship she snorted "a likely tale. More like he ran. If he knew of an imminent attack he should have gone to Duke Norwich. He probably also should have told me. I'm not entirely sure that MacFarland hasn't just fucked off into the ether, secure in the knowledge that if the town was destroyed everyone would think him dead."

She was perturbed, to put it mildly. She appeared to be the only military officer left, presiding over a destroyed town and a destroyed incredibly expensive coastal defense project, and would possibly be scrutinized for the traitorous actions of MacFarland, who if he wasn't a traitor left her to die. One thing was for sure, MacFarland was a dead man either way. Fuck him.At least the barbarians seemed friendly. Of course, they could be spies and she could be leading them inland and then she could be hung for helping spies, but... they knew MacFarland's name at least. And they seemed genuinely interested in preserving the civilians they could. She also had to trust someone. They were a dozen armed men and she was one newly minted junior officer with a useful but not exactly flashy magical talent. And a woman. She supposed an accord must be struck.

"If you don't return to the ship after they destroy the town, will they assume you are dead or that you're traitors?" That was the crux of it really. Either they had to go back to save their people, or their people were better served with everyone believing them dead. That was a decision for the Kota though and not for her. For her, she had to think about wrangling these refugees. It would be much easier with a coterie of armed men, that was for sure.

 

[draco519]

Dagris was helping the wounded that were brought to him, the ancient prayers of Ursui lighting up the runes on his arms as he held a hand out over a little girl. Sage burning in a small copper bowl next to him.

Fionn was carrying his waterskin around, helping people rinse out their clothing and listened, afraid once more, at the sound of the foghorn approaching. It unnerved the lad.

Roric patted Fionn on the shoulder, stepping past him to help an elderly woman to get to the stream they’d stopped next to so she could wash her shawl and sandals.

Cillian was up in a tree, with a farsight of his own, watching the activity of the coast. They had to be careful. In order to do that? He had to stay sharp.

Orson looked over to Rachel at their resting spot, directing his brothers to continue as he listened to Rachel explaining that MacFarland had run. It never, for a second, dawned on him that’s what could have happened. A dog without honor. He’d believed the men of the Enclave better than that!

“These men.” Cillian, Roric, Fionn, and Dagris. “Will stay with me, wherever I go. “These men?” Orson gestured to about ten more. “They’ll help get the people of Port Luca to safety… These men?” Another twenty. “They’ll report back to the Chanis once the town is taken and the beach-head established; group up with our Kota brothers still at sea, and be ready when the time is right to strike.”

Orson cleared his throat. “This isn’t a raid and a destruction of a town; it’s an invasion. One eased by the blessings of Ursui” Kota antimagic, he didn’t know to call it. “And Chani weaponry. We have a matter of days to get somewhere to formulate some sort of plan.” He brought his gaze back to Rachel. “The rest of the Kota men are still on ships, having not yet landed. They’ll be among the Chani war-camp; ready to help when the time is right.”

But.. that beckoned the question, then? “If MacFarland isn’t going to help us… where would we need to go?”

 

[siobhancan99]

"Well if MacFarland is in the capital, He's already ahead of the game. If he's fucked us then... Norwich." She gestured vaguely inland. "This area is part of his legal jurisdiction if not his actual fief. Norwich is the military power in the area. Honestly, he could have repelled the attack on the beach. Heavy cavalry, war wizards. More importantly hundreds of crossbowmen. He can levy the peasant and yoemen spearmen. If there's an invasion here, he's the bulwark anyway. More importantly he's got magical communication with the capital. Another reason MacFarland should have gone there first..." She rubbed her temples. Would bringing these men to the Duke be their death sentence? Were they spies? At this point she needed to trust them. They could get the column of refugees moving to Norwich. "There's villages along the way. Once we're a few miles in, we can send a messenger ahead. The Duke may want to meet us in the field. Or not at all. I can't exactly summon a Duke." She tried a little smile and found herself miserably failing.

"The reason they need your people is their cannons rely on gunpowder. Bringing gunpowder into Hortensia is a fool's errand. Everyone wants to be a pyromancer. Everyone. Everyone with the least little bit of magical power learns to cast some kind of fire spell. Plus we have dragons and phoenix and fire elementals and salamanders. Gunpowder is a liability. I assume that's why they want you here. To keep us from just blowing them straight to hell like we always do. Or to stop our sirens and enchanters from just taking over the minds of their scouts and sending them in with something as prosaic as a torch. A bit of flint and steel. I assume you're resistant to that sort of thing as well. Hell, sometimes we don't even have to do it ourselves. They'll wander into a faerie circle and the sprites will make them kill each other out of pure cussedness."

She straightened "be careful when we move. The wild places here are truly eldritch. We get along with the powers of the wood by leaving the wood alone. We respect the ancient magics and they respect us back.Your men might not be susceptible to fireballs, but a giant bear will end your day regardless." She straightened, then saw the refugees. "We best move now. I know you're all tired" she called out "but by dawn there will be scouts in these woods. We have to make Amblerton by dawn, and we need to start the evacuation of the nearby towns."

Hopefully there'd be someone with some real authority there she could pass these barbarians off to. Hopefully there'd be someone there to tell her what to do. Hopefully MacFarland was right around the corner with King Cedric and a thousand mailed nights in glittering mithril riding fucking unicorns. Hope, she reflected, was a bitch.

 

[draco519]

Orson nodded his head as she mentioned leaving the wood alone. “Ursui blesses us to walk in the wild places.” Perhaps she didn’t know of their culture because she genuinely hadn’t been part of the Hortensian invasion forces the Kota had repelled more than once. Their minerals were valuable; and both the Chanis and the Horreys wanted them. He shook his head a bit as she spoke of bringing gunpowder here was a fool’s errand.

“It isn’t so anymore, I’m afraid.” He explained, after she’d called out for people to get ready to move. Then a distant power caused the wilds to shift in disturbance. It went as far as to change the sky orange. The dreadnought was firing. “Sentinels!” The Kota men with the large kite shields took positions around the civilians, including Orson and Rachel and all the archers.

“Shields!” Orson called out, bracing himself as he brought his own shield up. Not a sentinel, but it helped with the wind that blew back his hair and his kilt and cloak. He closed his eyes against it; and the shockwave that rattled throughout the forest and chased away all the trees and game. He slowly lowered his shield, some of the sentinels were drawing heavy breaths.

Roric included, had held his shield up alongside his sentinel brothers. From his large kite shield? A large protective dome protected the gathered civilians and Kota brothers and Rachel from the shockwave of utter destruction and force.

Port Luca, as a whole? Gone.

Orson lowered his shield, looking over at Rachel; hoping she understood now. “There are no crossbows or jackasses that wear iron armor” Knights. “that can stop what is coming to bear. They have the Ursui blessed metal. And their mastery of it exceeds our own. My brothers would burn to your fire spell, though not to ash… It would fall at the feet of Chani gunpowder lines now. Useless.”

If she didn’t believe him? Orson nodded towards the town once more. “Look again.” It would be utter destruction. An entire city in ashes.

“The dreadnoughts’ cannons will take them days to mount onto their land machines. But they will come inland with them. We must hurry.”

The entire forest seemed angered by the shift in magical energy. A burst of flame from an antimagic cannon that disturbed the natural flow?

Dagris lowered himself, putting a hand to the ground, his runemarkings on his arm shimmering. “Ursui is angered by such a weapon. Man was never meant to wield such power.”

 

[siobhancan99]

Rachel rolled her eyes and was about to retort when the weapon went off. She viewed the devastation for a moment, then her reaction was to become horribly and violently sick. Fear and stress and awe mingled to heave her guts up. The semi digested fish she'd eaten for dinner sullying her boots for the second time that night. She bent over, coughing and retching, trying to block out the terrified screaming of the civilians. "shut up" she croaked. She was angry. Angry at the civilians for not having their shit together. Angry at MacFarland who could have called an evacuation and saved countless lives. Angry that she, junior officer of the King's Imbuers was now suddenly in charge. Angry that it all seemed so impossibly helpless.

She cleared her throat and nose a few times, noisily, then cast another cantrip to clean herself. Again. She straightened, looking up...up....up... at the tall barbarian. "well. We best be going." She hoisted her pack and started moving "Everyone on to Norriton, unless you want to be taken as slaves. Move now. Double time. Leave the stragglers. The column won't be waiting on you. I know it is late. I know you are tired. I know Norriton is five miles by road. We will be there before you know it. Leave anything that isn't necessary for survival. Bring food. clothes. You won't be staying but a day in Norriton and you'll need to be able to travel again.At least some of you there might be able to get passage on a wagon" She hoped the mayor there had the sense to call an evacuation. Either way, it was her duty to report on to Norwich.

****

The column was slower than she'd have liked, and despite her gruff demeanor at the outset, she found herself more than once stopping to help with the flagging spirits of the ragtag townsfolk. To exhort them to move. To live at least another day. Her normal low tolerance for the existence of other people was stretched thin to say the least. Still, it was her duty for King and Country. So she carried babies short distances to give mothers reprieve. She sat a moment with the old who 'just needed a few minutes of rest." All the while looking back, waiting for an Imperial army she knew wasn't coming just yet to crest the horizon. Accordingly, it took all night to get into Norriton. At least it kept her from dealing with her existential dread. How could anyone stand against such a weapon?

In the meantime, in the back of her head, wheels spun silently, questioning how things worked. Why they worked. What that meant. Nothing that bubbled to the surface, not yet.

An hour after dawn she was met by the rather skeptical mayor of Norriton. Graham was there, and fortunately the unbelievable story became, slowly, believable. Not believable enough for Norriton to evacuate. "not today at least. We will wait for the Duke to send word."

She felt exhausted, defeated. All the more so because she knew she couldn't show an ounce of weakness in order to maintain her frail grip on the refugees. At least her responsibility ended for them here. "Do what you feel is right." She told the two men. She looked over to the Kota, standing nearby, so visibly alien and out of place. In a strange way, she felt more akin to them than her own people at the moment. A group of fucking farmers too in love with their dirt to leave it for a day. She finally interrupted the hmming and hawing of the two mayors to wearily ask the best way to the Ducal fortress. She'd never been. She was from the capitol and she'd only recently been assigned out here upon graduation from the Academy.

"It's fifteen miles by road, young miss." The mayor offered.

'Lieutenant' she thought, but kept her face schooled. Placid.

"But if you take a skiff down to Thoms Mill, just before the rapids, it's but five miles by road then. Skiff will take you the better part of the morning but it's an easy float downriver."

"Anything in the river we should know about?"

"A nereid, but as long as you and your men know not to kiss her, you should be alright. She's unlikely to even approach such a large party."

She nodded, then made her way over to the Kota. "We can take the road and take all day, or make half the trip by river. Doesn't seem a lot of reason not to take the water." The river was hardly one, more a deep glorified stream. Still, it was navigable.

 

[draco519]

The day wore on; and the column of people were eventually left by the Kota. Only Orson, Brannock, Fionn, Cillian, and Roric remained. The others were heading back through the woods to dig graves; make it look as though they’d chased down some stragglers and burn the stockade. Any evidence they could make to throw them off the trail of the Chieftain? They’d use. It was better if the Chanis didn’t know Orson was alive; for now. He was the most recognizable of them, but he was also the one who could speak for the Kota to the Horreys and hopefully make them see sense.

Though, with the loss of Port Luca? It was quite likely they’d be more ready to listen now.

Norriton

“What do you make of it?” Roric slowed his gait as Rachel addressed the townsfolk once they’d arrived in Norriton, happily placing his Kite shield on the ground to rest his hand atop it. His words low to Orson whilst Rachel met with the man who was clearly the Mayor. “What do you make of it? You think MacFarland ran?”

“I hope that isn’t the case.” Orson said, raising his waterskin to get a drink before he continued. “I understand the Enclave doesn’t listen to junior officers too well.”

“It’s a chain of command issue that prevents them from mobilizing at once? Because some senior rank boy-lover gets his knickers in a tizzy?” Brannock was louder than he should’ve been.

“Quiet.” Orson turned a stern gaze at Brannock. “We should count ourselves really fucking blessed that she hasn’t called for our arrests. There’s none of their peace agreements in place with the Kota. We’re in their territory. Their guests.”

Fionn was astounded by this. “We lost brothers evacuating their people!”

“Fionn.” Dagris was the one that spoke up, crouching by the river to fill his own waterskin. “Why do you think she hasn’t had us arrested yet?”

Orson rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Likely for the reasons Fionn states; but it does not mean there aren’t limits to that gratitude. Do not press her. Do not insult her people. If there’s a problem? You come to me.”

The men solemnly nodded, going quiet as Rachel returned from her conversation from the mayor and laid out their options before them. Resting wasn’t one of them. They didn’t have time. Not if there was any chance at stopping the Chanis from rolling through Hortensia from West to east entirely.

“Then we take the river.”

“Chieftain.” Dagris warned, coming to stand from the water, his runemarks shimmering on his arms as he looked down at it. “I advise caution on these waters. Something ancient lurks here.”

“Noted.” Orson looked back to Rachel. There were six of them and her. “There is a boat we can use, Lieutenant?”

The Dareemi River

The skiff was large enough for the seven of them. Orson sat with the rudder in hand, whilst Brannock and Fionn rowed through the slower parts of the river.

Cillian was at the front, his sharp eyes looking out over waters and to the banks on either side.

Dagris stared out at the surface of the water, uneasy.

Orson looked to Rachel where she sat. “These are my most trusted men.” He nodded to each of them.

“Fionn.” The youth not a day over nineteen. With a headband keeping his dusty brown hair out of his face, tied back in a ponytail behind him. The freckles of youth on his cheeks and a fire in his eyes; though they were troubled by the loss of his home. “Hello.”

“Roric.” Orson nodded to the man next. He was the oldest of the group; with a scar that ran down his face and blinded and whitened one eye. His hair was braided back and was silver in color that matched his beard; that had very little dark streaks left in it.

“Cillian.” The scout looked back over his shoulder to not at Rachel. Dark hair that rested beneath his hood. His bow in hand, arrows with red feathers in them coming off of one shoulder beneath his cloak.

“Dagris.” The runecaster held an antler topped staff, his beard braided on his face and he had a wiry frame. Bare arms laden with Ursui’s blue runes. He turned his deep green eyes to Rachel to bow his head respectfully, revealing Ursui’s runes painted upon his cheeks.

“Last but not the best smelling.. Brannock.”

Brannock was a hulk of a man himself. Though he had a bit of a beer gut, he was strong as an ox. He had a scar on his cheek, though not as severe as Roric’s was. “Ma’am. Don’t listen to him. He blames his own socks on me.”

Orson smirked at Brannock, then steered the boat around a rock that protruded out of the water’s surface.

“I’m sorry.” Orson finally spoke on the matter. “For our role in the loss of Port Luca.”

 

[siobhancan99]

"Uh. I guess. I don't know if I introduced myself. Rachel Pettigrew. Second Lieutenant in the King's Imbuers." She nodded at the condolences "you did what you could. The town was a loss no matter what." She was drained, and frankly resigned. The horror of it was just too staggering to have an emotional reaction to it at this point.

"Cillian, the stockade slayer." She made a small joke "don't think I didn't see that arrow protruding from the golem in the midst of the shattered bottles." She nodded to Dagris "you're some sort of Holy man I take it?"

She took off her boots, putting her feet in the water as the craft made its way slowly downriver. "As for what's ancient in this river it's a Nereid. It's a water-nymph. It takes the form of a buxom young woman and it entices you to kiss. Once you do it turns into water and drowns you. I'm not sure it even knows why it does it. It just does. So. Don't be kissing any pretty girls and you should be ok. They have other abilities too, to control the water, but on a river as well travelled as this it is unlikely that this one is hostile. Ir probably contents itself with snaring the odd unwary man or woman unwise enough to find a promise on its lips" She sighed and closed her eyes. She let the sun warm her face. She was tired. not from the march, but from being up all night and then the movement of the morning. "When we get to Norwich, they aren't going to let a bunch of foreign fighters into the keep with weapons that are made to kill mages. It will be best if only one or two of you accompanies me and if you leave your gear with your men outside. Norwich is the feudal lord of the area. He's central to the region's defense. They won't take the risk of assassination. He's from an old family though, and his honor means much to him. If you're invited in he will respect the rules of hospitality so you should have no worries."

She pulled some stones towards her that she gathered at the riverside. Worn smooth and good for throwing. She began to trace on them, letting bits of the regions magic flow through her into the rock. She had the beginnings of a conscious notion of her observations and thoughts about the weapon. Things that had to be true about it, even if she didn't understand the why of its workings. She set the first rock down, and began tracing a number of other runes on a second rock, quietly concentrating on what she was doing.

 

[draco519]

“Well met, Lieutenant.” Orson paused with a wince, “..as well as can be, under the circumstances.” They’d evacuated the town as best they could; they couldn’t save everyone. It had been a hurried showing of good faith. But Rachel seemed to understand this was not of their doing; and likely as in shock as they were when the dreadnought’s terrible power came to bear on their own people. RimeHaven, for all he knew? Was gone.

"Cillian, the stockade slayer." She made a small joke "don't think I didn't see that arrow protruding from the golem in the midst of the shattered bottles."

“Hah!” Brannock guffawed, looking over to Cillian. “The stockade slayer!”

FIonn grinned, “Long live the stockade slayer!”

Cillian smirked at Rache’s humor, but his eyebrow cocked up at the young Fionn. “Shall I tell her your title, Boot-smoocher?” A smirk played over his face.

Fionn was quick to mind his own business, his face flushing with in embarrassment at his hope that it wouldn’t come up in front of the pretty Horrey lady.

She nodded to Dagris "you're some sort of Holy man I take it?"

Dagris curiously tilted his head at the question. “I interpret Ursui’s word and will?” His answer was more a question, shifting his gaze to Orson.

“He reads the weave.” Orson made an attempt to translate the teachings of his people to that of Rachel’s, hoping he knew just enough to state it correctly. “My people refer to him as a runecaster; I believe the term i’ve heard Horrey officers use is shaman. They speak the will and mood of Ursui, casting his words into stone, leather, and flesh.”

Don't be kissing any pretty girls and…

Fionn wasn’t listening and had checked out of the conversation in his state to - did she mention kissing pretty girls? He looked back, suddenly interested. “Does that include you?”

The rest of the men laughed; sadly, the rest of Rachel’s warning of the Nereid had been missed as a result.

Fionn realized what he’d said aloud, then. And found his gaze outward to the water once more. A heated pink spreading from the bridge of his nose to the tips of his ears and dabbing his cheeks. How could he have been so foolish?! He’d never live this one down!

It was then Fionn spotted the water’s swirl just a bit, and the fairest hair he’d ever seen dancing it. Like strands of golden silk, somehow completely dry as the woman continued to rise out of the river. A song sang directly into the mind of the young Kota, a dreamy smile came over Fionn’s face as he met the large green eyed gaze. The smile of pearly white teeth, the large breasts that any man should be so lucky to nestle between…

Orson and the others, not including Fionn, were listening to Rachel as she went on to speak to them of what they faced when arriving in Norwich. And how it was best that one or two of them accompanied her, free of weaponry, to speak to the man. And how he was an honorable man that would take his hospitality serious; so long as he was treated with the respect of a man of his standing was entitled to.

Orson wondered who would accompany him;

Brannock was absolutely out of the question; his crass, brash demeanor would offend the lord.

Roric would likely demand Orson see this man as his equal and demand much the same treatment; being Chieftain of the Kota was a great honor that held many burdens and responsibilities, as well.

Fionn was just as likely to challenge the man to a duel with the impatience of youth.

Cillian would brood in a corner.

Dagris would stare off into nothingness and whisper the will of Ursui.

There was only one correct decision.

“I will accompany you alone.” Orson stated, and he felt Roric, Brannock, and Cillians upon him. Fionn was entirely lost to the conversation.

“Don’t trust even me to watch your back?” Roric was the one that said it. “If we lose you; all is lost!”

“The Kota cannot die because of one Chieftain.” Dagris corrected Roric, seeming to understand Orson’s decision. “He speaks to the Horreys better than any of us.”

“You’re so beautiful.” Fionn said wistfully.

Orson looked over to spot the Nereid at the side of the boat, her hand touching Fionn's ponytail over his shoulder and leaning closer.

“Fionn!” Roric reached over, grabbing him by the back of the collar and pulled him back. “Foolish boot-smooching lad!”

Orson had reached for his sword, but the Nereid had vanished back into the water… then he looked down to Fionn, leaning closer over him where the boy lay down on his back, looking up at him. “It’s best you assume, Fionn, that any woman seeing fit to kiss you is likely out to kill you.”

But he laughed all the same, grabbing the boy’s collar with his free hand to right him and get him back in his seat with the oar.

“Those are not the runes of Ursui.” Dagris said, having caught sight of the stone Rachel was working on in the commotion, one of them having landed next to his bench in the boat and picked it up. Pulling another smooth stone from his pocket with a few small runes on it, he offered it to Rachel to study, if she so liked.

 

[siobhancan99]

"For Fuck's sake didn't I just tell you not to kiss the Nereid?" She shook her head and glared at Fionn a moment, then shrugged "Many things in this land take the form of fair maidens, the better to draw you in and take your life or your soul or both. Be wary." She was, herself, short and built more like a gymnast than some great beauty. Still she was fair enough of face, dark haired and well complected.

Turning her attention back to Dagris she nodded "these are Imbuer's runes. I'm no great spellcaster, but I make things. I've been thinking about our weapon, and all weapons have weaknesses and limitations. So... Something's been percolating in the back of my mind." She took the runes offered, looking them over before handing them back to Dagris. She was curious as to how they worked, and her own demonstration could wait a moment. "How do you use these then? are they for divination?" She sat back, regarding the other man who was probably the only other spellcaster or equivalent on the raft. She felt it best to build some camaraderie in the event she was to be with the Kota for some time. It was possible. It was equally possible she'd be spending weeks at the Imbuer's being interrogated about the weapon when all she had was a cursory look at it. The army was inscrutable, at times.

 

[draco519]

Fionn was humiliated enough without Rachel also chastising him. He bit his tongue, and he swore the back of his neck was blushing now! He huffed a sigh. It wasn’t his fault! Okay, yes it was. Still! Had she not seen how… he smiled at the memory of the visage of the Nereid. Something he’d cherish. Always.

Dagris, for the first time, heard Rachel ask him another word. “Divin .. ation. Divination.” He pronounced it, a bit slower. “The runes are the words of Ursui; carving his prayers breathes his power to life in them. His will.” It was the teachings of the Kota, his ancestors, whom were no Imbuers or anything like the arcane academies of the Enclave.

Orson didn’t have a guess for Dagris on that one when the man looked to him for clarity. Like Dagris, he knew the Kota’s teachings and a little bit about Horrey culture and the structure of their military. But the specifics of their magic? It was beyond his understanding.

“Lieutenant..?” It was Cillian that had been watching the waters ahead. “Are you sure of this route? The waters shift angrily ahead.”

Orson leaned to the side, looking past Cillian and using the rudder to cock the boat sideways just a bit to allow everyone a better view around Cillian at the prow. The waters were shifting in a way that wasn’t natural for the river; or anyone with knowledge of the river would know this section was normally calm.

Dagris felt the runes heating up on his chest beneath his shirt. “Ursui is angered by the use of such a weapon. The patterns are rewritten; wrong. Unnatural.” His voice had gone distant. Then he closed his eyes, gripping his staff to pray.

“Be ready on the oars.” Orson commanded of Roric and Fionn, the boat was picking up speed. “Brannock; anything dives out of that water at us? You strike it down.”

“No!” Dagris said, “Do not meet the wild places with violent intent; you’ll only anger Ursui further and incur greater wrath.”

“We can appease him when we won’t drown in these rapids.” Orson wasn’t one to dismiss the will of Ursui lightly, but he was responsible for his men’s lives. And now, seemingly.. Rachel’s. Given that he was at the rudder and his men had the oars.

 

[siobhancan99]

The lack of real answers from Dagris was a disappointment, but it was clear he didn't have the words for it. She let it go for now Rachel looked down the river "it shouldn't be this rapid here. See the slope? and it doesn't funnel in among rocks or anything to make it turbulent." She nodded as the priest/caster/whatever warned the others not to anger the river. "Things are probably out of sorts, as Dagris said. The Nereid shouldn't have been bold enough to approach. The weapon did fuck with the weave but that was miles away. It doesn't seem that the disturbance covers much of a stretch. Hang onto anything that you can't go without. Leave your weapons sheathed because you're more likely to lose it to the river than to do anything of substance with it." She channeled some energy into her pack, activating the enchantment that would keep it stuck to her for now. She flattened herself against the skiff, trusting the others to know to lower their center of gravity before hitting the rapids.

 

[draco519]

Orson reached down between his legs, holding on to the bench and navigating the skiff to keep it from flipping.

The Kota weren’t mages. They were, however, excellent sailors. Navigating by the stars and reading the currents of water in rivers or the waves of the sea? It helped them raid when the harvests weren’t enough. The decision to come to the water had been as easy as breathing for them.

With Rachel flattened out against the side, Orson held less worry she’d be thrown. He pushed the rudder against the strong current that seemed to pull to the side, suddenly, and then back again.

“This is the work of Naymeera.” Dagris said, a bit of sweat dropping down the side of his face. “The mother of beasts has infected the Nereid; and taken the river for herself. Ursui cannot reach all the places he once did! To protect the worlds of men!” His voice was prophetic, echoing as though he were in a canyon, eyes shimmering the blue of his runes.

Cillian held firm to the front of the boat, watching the strange currents as he jostled back and forth, tousling the black feathers of his cloak. Then, suddenly, they began to take shape before them. His eyes climbing ever upward until the watery maiden towered over the boat ahead of them that was powerless to stop. She was angry, inhuman, her red eyes glaring down at them not with seduction but hate.

“Cillian!” Orson called out.

But Cillian let the arrow fly without having to be told. The contact of the coldsteel arrow caused her to cry out, the red flickering in her eyes.

“To the depths of the forgotten past with you!” Dagris held his staff up, chanting in a tongue known by few and none that weren’t runecasters. The antler glowing softly.

They passed through the Nereid’s body, becoming soaked by the mist the contact of Dagris’s staff. They were suddenly losing speed, thankfully, and Dagris collapsed back to his seat, clutching the boat and breathing heavily at such a channeling.

“Is she dead?” Fionn asked, hopeful.

“It’s rarely so easy.” Orson warned them, his eyes moving to Rachel. “Likely.. Next time it’ll need to be you that fends her off. Dagris will need time to recover.”

 

[siobhancan99]

Rachel gritted her teeth "You cannot shoot at everything you don't recognize in this country or you will be out of arrows before nightfall and we will be dead. Dagris was right the first time. I told you to hang onto the boat. If you will not listen, You cannot be helped. You are in a nation full of magical beings. The river is the Nereid, the Nereid is the river. At the same time, it is not much of a river. The Nereid drowns men with a kiss because she is not that dangerous." She sat up, wet and angry "did I tell you to stow your weapons? Did I tell you to hang onto the boat? Did I tell you that the disturbance would be short? Yes. Did you fucking listen? No. Don't kiss the Nereid, says I. So you kiss the fucking Nereid. "Don't draw your weapons" I say, and you scream like frightened children over an apparition and you draw your god damn weapons. If you cannot sit in the boat and be quiet and pay attention to the girl who fucking lives here about what is dangerous and what is not, and how to overcome those dangers." She growled softly. "then we must turn back and take the road."

"Kin to the Nereid are the Dryads. If you attack the Nereid, you risk the wrath of the trees. If you then attack the trees you risk the wrath of the Sprites. If you are going to go to war with everything along the path between here and Norwich, it is going to be a long day. Sit. In. The. Boat. Do. Not. Shoot. Anything. Else." She twirled her wand in her fingers "Unless I shoot it first. Ordinarily, I would suggest we stop and parlay with the spirit, but we haven't the time. You are in a land where magic permeates the air and the ground. Where we use it and shape it and breathe it as part of our daily lives. That means there are wonders and horrors in this land not found elsewhere. I must trust you to keep to your courage. Immediate violence is a reaction born of fear. Quell your fear, men of the Kota, lest a tiny woman such as myself show you up."
She was hungry, and thirsty, but at this point she elected to not anger the Nereid any further by drinking out of the river. "We can likely get food at Thom's Mill. Keep an eye on the trees in case you've stirred anything up against us, but if you see something, please tell me before you act."

 

[draco519]

“And just what in the name of-” Brannock started to argue.

“The Nereid was-” Cillian started to defend himself.

Fionn, the youngest of the group, only looked down at his feet at such a scolding. “...I’m sorry.” He said, his voice small.

Roric only glared at Rachel’s outburst. The spirit was towering over the boat and had the red eyes of Naymeera! Did she not see? But he knew better than to return anger with more anger. It led to nothing productive or good.

Dagris, wisely, wasn’t even angered. The spirits were to be respected; it was Ursui’s teachings in his words. The Horrey officer didn’t know Ursui’s words; nor did he know hers.

“Enough.” Orson silenced his men with a single word. He understood that, in the Lieutenant’s eyes? They had performed a heinous act. “Stow your weapons. Do as she says.”

“Orson- Chieftain.” Brannock corrected himself, trying to speak more respectfully “We-”

“Brannock.” Orson’s demeanor didn’t change more than his grip on the rudder, his knuckles paling with the effort. “Let it go.” Rachel had mentioned food, and he reached to his belt and undid the tie on his waterskin. Laying it next to Rachel, he then reached for another pouch containing a few strips of salted elk. Laying down the peace offering, he allowed some time to pass. For heads to cool.

Eventually, Orson cleared his throat once Rachel looked as though she weren’t ready to throw them all overboard. “Nereid, Dryad, Leshen, Sprite, Zephyrs.. These are known to us, Lieutenant. Ursui’s blessings allow us to walk in the wild places and entreat with the spirits for permission to hunt, forage, mine, or chop wood in their lands. And angering them is a fool’s errand. You are wise to respect them.”

“Naymeera is likely a foolish tale to you.” He said without judgment, but he continued. “In the stories of my people, Naymeera is a goddess of the old religion. Men used to sacrifice the lives of enemy clans to her; the younger and purer, the more satiated her hunger. For a time.” He said, almost remorseful of the hardships his people likely endured during that age. But there was no reversing the sun and moon and changing it now. “Then she grew more and more ravenous as the ages passed. And, one after another, clans would fight for territory and sacrifices to be the one to appease her most. So their harvests would be plentiful, babes to grow healthy.”

He wondered if every people didn’t have some dark time in their history that was different from the way they lived now; but it hardly mattered. “Ursui rose to godhood when he defeated Naymeera with the help of many of our fathers before us. Ursui’s ascension took place in the Great Divide; where Naymeera’s death throes opened up a chasm from the bite of the great bear. The warriors alongside him are our ancestors that now watch from the stars. Ursui’s mighty roar chased the permafrost away from part of the tundra. Land was able to grow crops once more.”

That was neither here nor there. “When the Chanis ran our people off the Tundra and they set foot on the great divide? It was said they were looking for something there; but we hadn’t the swords to stop them.” He took a deep breath.. “They exhumed the heart of the goddess; and turned it into a weapon of terrible power.”

Orson looked to Rachel, making an attempt to judge her reaction. “Even before it was a weapon brought to your shores? Her malice has radiated from that chasm; Naymeera’s influence has been in our homeland since many of our fathers before us could hold a sword. She infects spirits, beasts and men alike; twisting them to her hate, and demanding they punish any who do not worship her.”

All that being said? Orson reached up, unclasping his furs to show her the markings on his shoulder. “The runes of Ursui protect us from her influence, while others grow warm when one twisted by Naymeera is near. The Nereid had fallen prey to her. And many more will follow if that ship can’t be cast into the sea.” He wasn’t too proud to explain their actions; he could only hope she could understand. “Accept my apology if you feel ignored or slighted. That was not our intent. Cillian had already explained all of this to MacFarland.”