City of IF

[Kalanna Rai]

Alrighty. Not sure where this one came from. I blame a certain videogame and my brain needing something to do. Oh and a big thanks to my rp buddy for letting me have Beri back. You know who you are. Anyway, enough rambling. Enjoy!
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Prologue- Welcome Home

The drunk staggered down the alleyway, his bottle sloshing as he waved it in the air. Every once in a while, he'd stop and take a long pull from the green glass neck, amber liquid running from the corners of his mouth in his eager haste. It had been a good day begging, his bowl had almost filled itself with coin. The sweet warmth of the liquor moved his rusty voice to song as he tottered along, rag wrapped feet stomping through the mixture of mud and offal that was the current surface of the street. No fine cobbles in these parts, only stench-laden soil and the roughest of accomodations.

The last rays of the sun clutched at the land, like a mother being torn from her children. And like a motherless child, the world would be helpless once ensconced in darkness. For that is when the things would come out of their hiding places to haunt the world of men. Things with fangs stained pink with the blood of the hapless, with claws still adorned with the rotting flesh of a former meal. But in his revelry, the drunk forgot this. Or, made bold by the strong spirit, chose to ignore the coming danger.

The sun vanished and night was suddenly upon him the only light thrown by the few guttering torches that the Guard used to mark where their patrol area ended. Suddenly mindful of the darkness, the drunk ceased his singing and clutched his bottle tight against his chest, heart now rising to a fearful tempo. His watery eyes flicked back and forth as his body began to quiver, the liquor leaving him without a shred of bravery to his name. He glanced over his shoulder, back at the torches only a hundred yards away. So close yet so far.

He turned his gaze in front of him, poor vision barely able to make out the Sanctuary in the deepening night. If he went back, there was no guarantee he'd make it till morning. The patrolling Guard were notoriously lax in the poorer districts and the torch light held at bay only the weaker or extremely sensitive creatures. There wasn't an aberration yet that had broached Sanctuary's walls. Plus, it was warm and dry and they fed you well enough. And if he smuggled his bottle in it wouldn't get stolen before morning.

Slowly he began to inch his way along the path, the sound of his heartbeat and breathing seeming over-loud in his ears. Footsteps were chosen carefully and muffled as he moved his way along, watery eyes darting right and left as he watched for anything that might come skulking out of the shadows with the intent to kill. And slowly Sanctuary drew closer and closer.

It hadn't always been this way. The old drunk could remember a time when a man and a lass could take a moonlight stroll, safe in the knowledge that the only thing they had to fear were the prying eyes of the wrong person. When picnics and parties had regularly been held by the silver light of the lunar lady. But then had come the Burning when the sky had turned scarlet and the sun had been as black as ebony. Magic had run wild, familiar herbals suddenly produced bizarre mutations, regular crops had failed while never before seen plants had thrived...monsters had been born.

Man-eating plants, undead feasting upon carrion, marrow, and not just the flesh but the souls of the living. The daylight predators were terrible, strong but rare, and the night had been lost to the seething multitudes of horrors. At first many, like the drunk himself, had thought that the creatures would vanish when the Burning ended. But if anything, a return to normalcy in the heavens had only strengthened the beasts. A sudden cry split the night and the old drunk froze, heart thudding like a rabbit, every muscle quivering.

A faint glow caught his eyes, the irresistible urge to investigate tugging what was left of the young man in the old drunks spirit. With a quick look around, he left the path to Sanctuary, heading up a small embankment in the direction of the glow. A song was rising, faint and tempting in his ears, beckoning him onward. His precious bottle fell with a soft thump in the grass at his feet, forgotten as he ambled onward and into the reaching branches of the trees.

The glow was like a mist, weaving among the stark trunks of the timber, the song following it like a wondrous counterpart. Mist and music, glow and song, were one and the old drunk had never heard anything sweeter, seen anything more beguiling. Suddenly the trees parted and there she was, the most unearthly woman the old drunk had ever seen. The mist wrapped around her lithe form like a garment, the glow rising off her alabaster skin. Silken silver hair hung down like a cloak upon slim shoulders and the song rose from her pale throat. She turned, lapis eyes twinkling as she smiled at him and with a delicate hand beckoned.

He took one step forward, then another, enchanted. He sighed, watery eyes locked on her form, and raised a withered hand in greeting. She beckoned him closer, her song pulsing around them...and then it was broken. The whine of a sword leaving it's sheath, a man's voice rising in a vastly different melody, a streak of ivory and leather as a form hurtled into the clearing from a different direction.

The woman let loose an inhuman scream, her form horrible as her songspelled glamor faded. Emerald blood flew as the sliver blade sliced deep, ichor spattering the trees and making them smoke. The old drunk huddled, arms above his head, until the screams, songs, and sounds of combat ended. Only then did he dare look up, gaze upon the face of his saviour. "You...but...you're dead..."

The warrior turned, brushing hair whiter than snow away from the equally pale skin of his face, scarlet eyes blazing as he swept them over the form of the old drunk. His ear-tips twitched, gathering the sounds of the night around him and when he finally spoke, fangs were easily apparent behind his colorless lips. "So I was," the warrior said musingly "so I was." And turning, the white plume of his tail sweeping through the air behind him, he began to leave.

The drunk, spurred by what must be the spectre of a legend, scrambled to his feet. "Wait! Wait! You are he aint you? Alberion the Lyricist?" There came a small nod, acknowledging the name if not the title and the old man wheezed as he pressed forward, suddenly struck by a question he had to ask. "Where are your wings?"

The figured paused and turned to look at him. There was some puzzlement in his, Alberions, scarlet gaze. "I had wings? Ear-tips twitched, pale fur catching the light of the moon and silvering. A low rumble, a chuckle, issued from Alberions chest. "Imagine that." He took another step forward, blade coming free from the sheath on his back with a whine. A sliver flash split the darkness and a serpent, hidden against the dark trunk of a tree, fell riven in two. "It's dangerous out here old man. Isn't there a safer place you should be?"

"Sanctuary," the old drunk breathed, clutching his thin clothing tighter around his warped form. "I was headed to Sanctuary."

"What is this 'Sanctuary?" Alberions tone was light, even, the music restrained but all too apparent.

"Just over that rise. A place for any and all to seek shelter, be fed and have a warm bed for the night. Even tolerate your kind they will." The drunk didn't realize how his words could be interpreted until after he'd spoken them and the blood drained from his face at Alberions next words.

"My kind? And what exactly is 'my kind'?"

Licking his lips, the old drunk did little more than breath the word. "Seared."
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This is my new world. Here no one is safe after sundown and sunrise brings with it a whole new set of secrets. Here, a dead man is yet alive but not undead and the reason why may be the key to solving the problem that plagues the land. Here, a simple song can spell the death of millions. Welcome to the world of Tenragon, home of the Lyricist.

Have I got your attention? Good...

[Serge Wolf]

Wow, first I'd like to say this was very well written. I can't wait to see more personally. The whole thing felt alive and Spooky, with the atmosphere that you provided. The only thing I had to comment on is how I'd like to see more description of The Lyricist, I get the feeling he was partially Anthropomorphic, though I am not sure.

[Lilith]

I love this new world of yours Rai... it has tinges of others intertwined, .... yet it is it's own thing!
.....

*looks around* where's the rest of it damn it!?

(And if you don't get it from that.... KEEP WRITING IT!)

[Guest]

Hey your story was great
Im sorry if I wrote in the rong thing but im new!!!!!!!!!!
:) ;)

[The White Blacksmith]

Oooooo! *comments in chat*

[DeadManWalking]

TOTALLY FREAKIN AWESOME.

Great storytelling as usual.

This really does hurt my self-esteem tho.

I have a while before i get that good.

:-(


Can't WAIT for the next installment!

[Phantomfan]

Wow.

Heh... yet another freakin awesome Rai story.

Really interesting world you've got there... A new idea, but still touched with the Rai-ness of your other stories.

Can't wait to see more!

[Kalanna Rai]

Alrighty, here's your chance to get interactive. Roll up your sleeves, put on the splatter guards, and Enjoy!
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Chapter One: Places of the Heart

He leaned forward, shoulders at an odd angle as his arms streamed fully extended behind him, long fingers wrapped around the thick hempen ropes with an iron grip. Though the wind came from behind them, filling the sails of the SwallowSong, their forward progress was enough to push his hair backwards, creating a conflicting snowstorm of the strands. He was at the very prow of the ship, rising and falling as she cut through waves of silk with their lacy foam. The clean smell of salt water sliced into his nostrils, the sweet stench of human habitation growing clearer with every wave crested.

His keen eyes spotted the coastal village of Agaunte long before the lookouts, the thin gauze tied around them blocking the harsh glare of the sun alone. Flying fish leapt through the waves around them, escorting them in like the heralds of the sea, the gulls crying raucous welcome from their position on high. He smiled, bloodless lips pulling back to reveal ivory fangs as memories, sweet memories, were stirred by the sights, smells, and familiar motion of the ship. This place...this was, had been, would always remain...home...

He remembered the cold currents off the sea pushing him in above the town. Circling the spire on the Chapel and striking the bell, letting all know that he'd come safely home again. Indeed the men of the SwallowSong had recognized him, had hailed him and waved him to their table when he had known them not. Though the younger crew had cast ill eyes upon him, dark sneers curling their lips, he'd proved able enough to win the respect of all on board. Especially one rainy night with a Quissary* had risen from the deeps and threatened the ship.

Now, with pounds of meat and barrels of the beasts' precious oil in it's hold. SwallowSong stood to make a pretty penny when she shipped out again. And Alberion had a long roll of its hide for his own use, it's teeth having already replaced the worn fangs that tipped the end of his weighted chains.

They were nearing the harbor proper now and others noticed the white figure at the prow, the armor strange and familiar. Greetings were called, arms waving as the Seared was welcomed home. Even without his wings, even carried by ship instead of wing, there was no mistaking Alberion. Agauntes' greatest son had come home again, had risen from his resting place on foreign soil to walk the cobbled streets once again. It was cause for celebration.

He smiled, returning calls as memories sparkled, diamond sharp, in the ruins of his mind. Not even death could rob a man of his home. The smile stretched wider, the wind growing sharper as sails were reefed and canvas groaned overhead, the creak of rope and wood. Soon enough they were anchored, tied to the deep-water docks, and he didn't even bother with the plank. Bidding the Captain and Mate farewell, he planted a hand on the railing and sprang over the side.

He landed easily on the wooden surface, a crowd gathering to see him. The younger children clung to their mothers skirts, wondering what made this monster-man special, why he looked so different. In truth, Agaunte was a rare place in Tenragon, a place where hatred of the Seared was weak and watery. Here, if nowhere else, Alberion had made a difference. He'd changed peoples' hearts and minds, not just their lives. He'd touched more than the surface and the village had come away richer for it. Perhaps this is why the Seared had made it one of their strongholds, the Chapel their place of residence.

The crowd parted for him, awestruck and wondering. He was dead, a few of their number had seen it with their own eyes. And yet here he was, in the flesh, his gear exactly as it always was, each weapon worn in it's usual style. All he lacked were the wings and even that was forgivable. After all, they figured, Death must have extracted his price for renewed life from the hide of the Lyricist. A fair trade?

His smile was more sedate now, his fangs hidden from the world as names and faces flashed into his mind, times gone by. Home. This was home. Nothing could take it from him, not even Death itself. His ears flicked constantly, picking up sound after sound as the snowy plume of his tail swept back and forth behind him in slight excitement. His boots echoed lightly on the cobbles as he made his way to the Chapel, the scent of others like him growing stronger and stronger in his nose. The Chapel, a bastion of salvation for his altered kind in a world that generally saw their existence as a blight.

It sat on high ground near the edge of town, looking down on the slope of the earth as the town curled down the mountainside towards the harbor and the sea. Nobody knew who had built the Chapel, certainly no human hands had work the seamless stone walls, carved the ornate stone guardians that crouched on the roof. Legend had it that if the Chapel was ever attacked, those carvings would come to life and defend it. But that was widely recognized as superstition. And it would be folly to attack it anyway...the Seared who lived within would take offense. And humanity were out-matched by the Seared.

Nobody knows exactly how the first of them were created. What mixture of sickness and the cures used to treat it produced the strange monster-men that retained their sanity, their humanity, despite the alterations on their bodies. They were taller, more muscular than men. The changes varied from Seared to Seared, but there were a few that appeared in them all. The vulpine ears that rose from their hair to catch the faintest of sounds, the wolf-like tails that gave them an advantage in balance. The short, sharp claws that decorated the tips of their fingers, the fangs that flashed in their speech and their smiles. And the pupils of their eyes, no longer round but square...seeming to hold endless quantities of time inside.

Alberion was different, his skin and hair bleached of color, so white they were virginal in their purity. His eyes the scarlet of spilled blood, the hue of the deep sunset, or the fiery heart of a ruby. Aside from that, his only color was the subtle silver shading on the tips of his ears and tail. Even his lips were a bloodless white, making the pink of his tongue and inner mouth stand out more. And he'd once had wings. One of only three Seared to claim such a feat.

Reaching his destination, he climbed the steps of the Chapel, the stone turning a pale peach in the waining light. He ran a tentative hand over the carved door, pushing it open with a light flex of his muscles. The crowd remained at the foot of the outer steps, slowly fracturing to carry the news to the farthest corner of the village and beyond. Alberion, meanwhile, strode through the place as the maze-like passage blossomed in his mind. It was like a letter written with lemon juice, visible only when the paper was exposed to flame. He found the stairs and began to climb, one hand on the wall as there was no rail left to catch him should he fall. It had never been a concern before. It was now.

It was with a sense of accomplishment he reached the top and stood in his usual perch. He stooped, gathering a long feather that had wedged itself in a corner, protected from wind and rain by the curve of the walls and bulk of the great golden bell that hung from the tip of the spire. It was one of his, gleaming alabaster with a subtle silvering at the tip.

He rubbed it wistfully before holding it up to the wind and allowing it to be carried away. Then, uncoiling the whip that hung at his left hip, he flicked his wrist and struck the bell. The iron tip ran against it, making it call out lightly, and Alberion struck it again and again. Finally, in full voice, the bell rang. And as the echoes fell across the harbor and echoed off the mountains, everyone knew he really had come home.

When he reached the ground level again, he was no longer alone. But it was not a crowd of humans that gazed upon him, but the gathered Seared of the Chapel. Their eldrich eyes flicked over him, astonishment, anger, and curiosity. Ears twitched. Tails twitched. Noses twitched. Fangs were exposed in smiles and curled lips, clawed fingers flexing. Armor creaked and weapons clanked as weight was shifted and the whole warrior community circled him, the lost one arisen and returned. Why had he come back when so many others had not?

At last one pressed forward, the image of him, the scent of him, bringing a name and a few flashes of memory. "Ulren..."

The grizzled Seared regarded Alberion with his one good eye, the other a pale and colorless orb, milky film reflecting the light. It was a wonder he had the eye at all considering how the deep scars warped that side of his place, furrowing the flesh like a plowed field. His mahogany mane was faded by time to a soft beechnut color, silver twisting through it like veins through flesh. His ebony talons twitched restlessly as his ears skewed and he scrutinized Alberion warily.

"Is it really you pup?"

Alberion looked into the piercing gaze of the one good eye that faced him, the limitless green pool that demanded the truth and all honesty. "I believe so."

"I don't!" A rangy youth, golden and black, shoved himself forward. Copper eyes blazed with blatant fury, ears flat to his skull and tail held stiff. "Make him prove himself Ulren. Make him Sing."

Murmurs of agreement flickered through the room, a few voices rising in dissent. Somewhere, deep inside, Beri knew what the unknown youth was asking was dangerous. The songs of the Lyricist were for battle, not for daily use and display. A few moments later, Ulren agreed.

"Fool Jamkar, he could bring the Chapel down around our ears! We didn't trifle with his power when he was last alive, we won't now."

The youth, Jamkar, snarled back at the leader. "But it's the only way to prove it's him Ulren. Of the Seared only Alberion had powers...make him use them."
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Alright. Your first choice...and challenge. Alberion is the only Seared with magic of any kind...and it's obviously powerful. Using it will undoubtedly prove he is who he says he is...but the consequences may outweigh the gains in this case. So what do you do? Use the powers and see what happens or appeal to the cooler heads of the community and wait out the hostilities?
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*Quissary. A type of sea serpent with a lamprey like head and several rows of long spines on their coils. One of the few 'ship-killer' serpent races, their hide is almost impervious to damage. Little is known about this deadly species due to the fact few ships survive the encounter. Prized for their oil, meat, and ivory.
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Hope you liked...and choose wisely.

[Phantomfan]

Personally, I'd really like to see what his powers consist- thus, use them!!! It really is the only way to convince everyone who he really is, unless there is another way...

But to heck with cool headedness! Let's see the powers!!!

[DeadManWalking]

You know, this reminds me of Spellsinger. From the Battle to the End. Except different.

Anyways, The best way to convince them wihout serious damage is to make a flash of blinding light.

That WOULD probably come under the category of combat, since it is useful in combat. Although if any of them dissolve....


hmmmmm...

idk.

but yeah, flash of blinding light.

[Kalanna Rai]

*looks around furtively, puts poll in place, sneaks out back*

Vote...

[DeadManWalking]

YAY FIRST VOTE HERE TOO!!!!!

[Kalanna Rai]

Votes? Any more votes out there? Tie-breaker please...

[Guest]

Quote: There was some puzzlement in his, Alberions, scarlet gaze.

Is the bold words in the right order? Isn't it ;Alberion's scarlet gaze?

How do I know, what you were supposed to mean in the sentance, it just doesn't sound right....

Why didn't I see this story before. I really like what you did in this story Rai. I'll be voting now. :D

Edit: Oops I made a three way tie.

[tayfinch]

This SG leaves me speechless! Almost wordless!

Wow. That's my first comment. Wow. This is masterfully written, incredibly engaging, and has obvious story depth. There isn't a word in english good enough to explain the thoughts I'm having, so we'll have to settle for Russian: Malodyets! (Means 'good jobber' if you translate it literally, but it's more of a 'Wow. Way to go.')


I voted for him to refrain from his magic. He has shown absolute control over himself in these last two chapters, and is obviously something of a leader. Not only is he above the wanton show of force/power, but as he obviously has the respect of the higher crowd, shouldn't NEED to prove himself to the young ones.

Perhaps one of the crowd would recognize that as well.

Sure, they're calling for it. But following the crowd rarely leads one to greatness. This guy is great.

- TF

PS: Oh man, I want to say that the square pupil thing is pretty great, too. While I'm still trying to figure out how the anatomy part of that would work out, I think it's really cool ; )

PPS: Favorite part: "He smiled, bloodless lips pulling back to reveal ivory fangs as memories, sweet memories, were stirred by the sights, smells, and familiar motion of the ship. This place...this was, had been, would always remain...home... "

PPPS: The ONE saddening moment was to read he had red eyes. He's better than that!

[tayfinch]

And if I weren't so absolutely positive that I was right, I'd have apologized for creating another tie ; )

[Kalanna Rai]

Okay, I apologize for my computer being a POS, happens about every year afterall. This is the fourth time I've written this chapter...hopefully this time I'll be able to post it without a crash. Enjoy!
P.S. There is some mild content...
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Chapter Two: Pieces of the Soul

Alberion pressed forward, reaching up to pull away the thin gauze that covered his ruby eyes, fixing the young upstart with a gimlet stare. "No. I refuse to unleash powers I no longer fully understand to satisfy your thirst for knowledge. If it is your wish you can continue to doubt me, it matters little, but I will not endanger others simply to slake your curiosity."

His cool words still ringing in the air, he brushed past Jamkar, heading for a familiar hallway. One alabastar hand reached out to press against the cool stone. A soft hissing sound was made as he moved forward, palm rasping against the textured surface it was lightly drug across. His eartips twitched, a smile curving his face as the soft words of Ulren reached him.

"And that, young Jamkar, is why I believe he is exactly who he says he is..."
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Soon enough he reached his room, turning the polished knob with a sense of nostalgia he couldn't place, much the same as the mixed emotions he'd felt sailing into the harbor earlier. He couldn't tell if anything in his room was missing. If anything had been moved or removed, lacking the memories to guide him. But the whole place had the aura of a shrine, well kept and well tended by well meaning acolytes. It bore the marks of a recent cleaning, the dust having been chased away to dance in the air, the floor swept.

His desk was cluttered with odds and ends, bits and pieces of this or that collected over a lifetime of traveling. Sometimes, these momentos would bring back a flash of a memory. Like the small ivory carving of a giant jungle tiger that made him remember clutching a length of splintered bamboo, holding on with all his might as the big cat impaled itself and slashed at him futilly. Trying to take him with it into death.

Or a pearl the size of his fist the smooth skin of which had been painted with a stylized likness of a white fox surrounded by falling cherry blossom petals. Those painted blossoms reminded him of a sculpted garden where the soft pink petals fell like snow onto the armor of the King's Guards while the King himself opened the carved teke box to present Alberion with the pearl. A gift beyond his already generous payment, a token of royal gratitude and friendship.

And then there was a necklace of stiff horsehair strung with wooden beads. The paint was faded and flaking, many of the beads cracked or chipped, and the horsehair string was fraying and fragile. And yet that token nearly moved him more than either of the previous as he remembered the small five year old girl that had pulled them from around her neck and, with tears in her eyes, pressed them into his hand. Her only possession offered up to a stranger if he would only bring her mother and father back...he turned away from the desk to gaze about the room.

A wardrobe that, when opened, only held more armor like that which he wore. Some battered and worn, obviously used for training and chores, some polished and studded with wealth, ceremonial. A few daggers hung from belts along with an old dented sword, his practice sword he suddenly recalled. But that was all for him there and it didn't hold his interest long, the door shutting with a soft click as one white hand pressed it closed.

His bed was odd and no longer as useful as it had once been. Made for a winged being, it resembled a nest almost, round an dish shaped with a padded hollow in the middle. Four Yurrd* hair blankets were draped across it, all of them in earthtone shades, sensible shades. One was deep chocolate brown, one a rusty russet red, the third was a honeyed gold, and the final one a flawlessly pale cream. The faint scent of cedar and lavander rose from them, telling him that they had only recently been brought out of storage.

He reached out, his fingers having no sooner touched the butter softness of the top layer and suddenly the past came alive...
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He lay atop her, muscles shaking as his breathing finally leveled out, the scent of her soft perfume mixing with his sweat in the air. Her icy eyes gazed steadily back at him as he finally lifted his head, each detail about her face sparkling in his mind, in the noon bright darkness that was no hinderance to his eyes. But nothing reached out to him more than the tears in her eyes, tears she blinked away before turning her face from him.

"You won't come back this time, I know it. I can feel it in my bones Alberion, you're going to die out there."

He nuzzled her, fingers brushing strands of her black hair away from the soft silver skin of her face. "I'll come back. You have my word that, come whatever may, I will return to you-"

------------------
The vision was abruptly ended by a soft knock on his door, Ulren and a bend old Seared woman standing just across the threshold. For an instant he wanted to slam the open door, to tell them to go and hope that he could summon the vision back. But something told him that it would not happen again. That fragment was all he would get. Just her scent, just her face, just seconds shy of her name.

"May we come in?" Ulren must have sensed he'd disturbed Alberion, ears flicking as he shifted uneasily. His good eye flicked around the room before settling on it's occupant, tight smile on his features.

"Oh will you quit grovling Ulren? So he's back from the dead, so what?! He's always been full of surprises our Alberion." The crone's acerbic tone brooked no argument as she shuffled into the room, old joints popping and protesting as she gingerly settled herself onto the bowl shaped bed. "Ah...always did have the best bed in the Chapel."

He raised one ivory brow at that...how on Tenragon did she know? What would prompt her to say something like that? She merely cackled at both his, and Ulren's expressions, her hair rendered snowy by age, her skin wrinkled and as brown as a nut. Green eyes danced with mischief as she gripped a knarled wooden cane with equally knarled hands.

After a few tense moments, Ulren cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck. "Alberion...it's is good to have you home. Most fortunate. You see, we have a problem only you can handle...or well...could have handled. Your new, ah, 'condition' complicates the matter some."

The crone cackled. "What he's trying to say love is that without your wings we're pretty much screwed." She grinned at Ulren before returning her gaze back to Alberion. "You see, shortly after you were lost, communication between the Chapel, the Keep, and the Tower began to break down. A few months back, they stopped completely."

He closed his eyes, prodding his brain as her words set off a chain of sparks. The three great Seared population centers. The Chapel here in Agaunte, the Keep in Holdthren's Pass, deep in the heart of the Myrist Peaks range, and the Tower near the city of Wuune on the Scarp Coast. When he'd last been alive there had been a winged Seared in each of these three places...it was understandable that his loss would have deprived the Chapel of theirs.

"So you're telling me that neither of the other two 'winged ones' have been making their rounds?" He could think of a few reasons why that could be. Afterall, there were some monsters that could only be killed, some contracts that could only be fulfilled by someone who could, themselves, fly.

Ulren stepped in, snorting at the crone. "That's what we thought at first so we went ahead and sent mounted messengers...never saw hide nor hair of them again. Human travelers have also vanished heading to those locations and naturally it's leading to tensions."

The crone thumped her cane on the floor again, nodding emphatically. "Not to mention we're getting swamped with requests here. More contracts than we have the people trained to deal with them. Needless to say when we heard you were alive love...well we all thought that our prayers had been answered. And that in itself is a miracle these days considering the fact the Gods seem to have gone deaf since the Searing."

"Grimselda" Ulren's tone suggested that the crone had touched on a sensetive subject and Alberion wisely refrained from commenting, waiting for them to work it out between themselves.

Finally, he cleared his throat and captured their attentions again. "Would I be incorrect in assuming that you want me to go and either establish contact with our missing kin or find out what befell them?"

Grimselda chuckled and Ulren looked relieved, reaching out to clasp Alberion's upper arm and clap him on the opposite shoulder. "Memory might be gone by your mind is sharp as ever old friend. I've got everything you need. Maps, charts, supplies, everything...even someone to keep you company on the trip and feed you useful information that you might not remember."

Grimselda snorted as she stood, reaching out with her cane to rap Ulren across the shin. "Old fool...you're forgetting one thing. Alberion might have come back from the dead but he's no longer got his wings. He's not just going to be able to fly there and back in a pair of days like he used to...he's going to be going on the ground just like the rest of us."

Alberion nodded, his low voice smooth as he spoke again. "That's not a problem is it?"

Ulren sighed, ears falling. "A slight one. You see, our situation is critical here Alberion. We're under a lot of pressure to find out what's gone wrong, why nobody can reach the others. We don't have much time left. And without your wings, there's no way we're going to be able to find out what happend to both the Keep and the Tower before that little time runs out."

Grimselda nodded, standing. "So you're going to have to choose Alberion. Choose which of our kin you try to find. You know where the Keep is, where the Tower is?" She waited for his nod before continuing. "Good, then I won't bother explaining that save to remind you of these facts. The Keep, while closer, is a more dangerous journy. The Myrists are inhospitable and the monsters, while few, are powerful. The Tower does indeed lie some distance from here and both the land and sea route are frought with the lesser perils of the many monsters that walk the land."

"I understand...is there anything else I should know? Anything else I have forgotten?"

Ulren glanced at Grimselda and, when the crone did not speak, cleared his throat. "The Keep is...was...our armory, our strongest fortress and our place of greatest military strenght. The weapons contained with in it could wreak utter devistation in the wrong hands...but as far as Seared dwelling there went...that number is relatively small. The Tower was our Library, where we stored the information on all the creatures we had battled the collective wealth of our knowledge. Without it, we would have to learn how to fight them all over again. It is our place of study and reflection for many. It was our greatest population center...but those who live there are not the best warriors of our race. Scholors and Artisians mostly."

"And I must choose who I try and establish contact with?" Their nods were both grim and grave and Alberion turned from them, ears quivering as his snowy plume lashed the air in thought. His choice, the full weight of it on his shoulders. His destinations lay in opposite directions, both had their merits, both had their faults..and only one was the right choice.
--------------------------------

So which way dose he head people? Does he go for the short but dangerous route and head for the Keep with it's weapons and few good warriors...or does he go for the long and wearying rout to the Tower with it's store of knowledge and greater population of lesser trained Seared? Think carefully, choose well...
-----------------------------

Ha! Here you go! Hope you liked!
-----------------------------

*Yurrd: A vicious omnivore that resembles a large, upright walking crocodile. It is covered in long hair that is prized by many for the luxurious texture and insulating qualities. This hair is usually a dark green or light olive although other rare colors are found. It's eyes are a delicacy in some parts of Tenragon. Attempts to domesticate and raise the creature as livestock have been horrifically unsuccessful.

[DeadManWalking]

definitely the keep.

They may not have time to train more people, if things are as bad as it says,

[Phantomfan]

I agree- definately the keep. 'Tis faster.

Good chappy!

[Kalanna Rai]

Alrighty guys, do some voting please.

[D-Lotus]

Great imagery, I must say. This line was good:

Quote: The last rays of the sun clutched at the land, like a mother being torn from her children. And like a motherless child, the world would be helpless once ensconced in darkness.

Although sometimes you do too much, like over here:

Quote: His eyes the scarlet of spilled blood, the hue of the deep sunset, or the fiery heart of a ruby.

I think one description would have sufficed. You could expand on either of those three similes (shouldn't there be a 'like' in there?).

The structure of the story seems alright so far. I chose the tower because the civilian populations are more important.

[Kalanna Rai]

Well, the vote is over, I've debated, and here's your chapter. Enjoy!
--------------------------

Chapter Three: The Long Road to Memory

Slowly did crimson gaze lock with those of his two guests, snowy ears flicking slightly as he gave a weary sigh. "Give me the night to think it over...you shall have my answer in the morning."

Ulren stiffened, opening his mouth to protest yet before any words could issue he was silenced by a swift blow of Grimselda's staff across his shin. The ancient Seared woman stood proudly before inclining her head to Alberion. "As you wish...but be ready to ride as soon as your answer is given. There is precious little time to waste in this matter."

"Understood." Though there was no malice in his voice, no cool shadings or hostile tone, it was clearly an oppertunity for them to leave. Not exactly a dismissal so much as a hint that they should remove themselves from his room and leave him to think. And mercifully they both did just that, Ulren shutting the door behind him. If either spoke they had the good sense to wait until Alberion could no longer hear even their faintest of footfalls.

With a weary sigh he began to strip himself out of his armor, reamoving each weapon and settling it in a comfortable spot around the room. The long coiled bull whip with it's tip of cold iron hung from one of several pegs on the wall. On the next closest pegs went his weighted chains with their Quissary teeth tips. One was made of burnished silver, the other of blued steel...each serving a deadly purpose against very different monsters.

Over the back of the chair at the desk went the bandolier of throwing weapons, from knives to small vials of liquid that had a variety of effects when shattered. Anything from a cloud of thick, choaking smoke, to explosions could be produced when the contents mixed with the outdoor air. Useful in many situations no doubt even if Alberion could not remember exactly which was which simply by gazing at them.

From the tops of his boots came two short daggers, from the outsides of his thighs two much longer hunting daggers...closer in spirit to short swords or machetes. These were layed out neatly on the desk, hilts facing him should he have any need to grab hold of one of them. Again, silver, cold iron, and blued steel...useful in any situation for a variety of monsters. One did not face the dangers of Tenragon unprepared.

But by far the greatest, and most deadly, weapons that Alberion weilded were the elegant swords that were the last thing he removed. Their harness was the first one to rest against his armor, the closest to his own skin. They were both equal in size, equal in weight. Their balance was perfect, as flawless as their razored edges. Polished mirror bright, hilts simple yet durable, guards designed to protect the hand and shatter enemy blades with the twist of a wrist. They were twins in everything save the very matter of their existance.

The silver blade was a rare thing made not from the common silver found in jewlers shops and veins in the earth. Instead it was made from Mage Silver also called spell metal, a result of powerful enchantments and alchemies. While it may once have started it's life as silver ore, as any other silver blade might, it had undergone a process that some swore infused the very essence of the otherworld into the blade. All one needed to do was to gaze upon it to see that something was not right. No matter the time of day nor the location in which the blade was drawn, it simmered with a subtle light. In the deepest of caverns it would glimmer, as though reflecting the rays of the sun through clear water in an ever changing pattern.

The steel blade was no less uncommon, no less hard to come by and hard to find. While many claimed that spell metal was partly of the spirit world, the steel blade was unquestionably of a different existance. Sky steel, also known as star metal, fallen from the heavens above to land upon the face of Tenragon. Though many times would the stars be seen to fall...rarely were they ever found. To possess a blade made from such was to possess something from the Gods themselves. The metal seemed to possess a purplish hue that could never be completely forged out of it and an edge that never seemed to dull once set.

These swords, more than anything, were a sign that Alberion was a Seared to be reckoned with. Only the most worthy bore blades like this. Once...in the very early days, it had been common practice for any Seared going into battle to bear arms such as those swords. But after so many had been lost, never to be reclaimed, the process had been rethought. They were a reward for service, the highest honor any Seared could ever hope for...any Seared warrior that is.

These blades Alberion set off to the sides lovingly before he set about unbuckling his armor. It was a curious thing, Seared armor, made of a hodgepodge of materials. There were steel plates, swatches of chain mail, and leather made from the treated hides of a reclusive mountain beast known only as an Ironback. Naturally, as the name suggested, the skin of the large boar-like animals could not be cut save by extreme force or by using high heat. When treated correctly it took on the properties of high grade steel though it remained much more flexible.

Added to this were the many, many buckles and straps of runed silver. These were made to confuse the foe and turn blows at oppertune moments as well as hold the armor on. Many a blade had been thwarted, many an arrow deflected by the simple action of raising an arm and allowing it to bounce off one of the many buckles. However, while it added protection and flexibility, it did nothing to make the armor easy to put on or take off. Seared generally learned to do everything in their armor. Eat, sleep, dance, labors both major and minor.

Yet now Alberion removed it completely, hanging it with the other suits in the wardrobe. Clad only in a light shirt of soft linen and breeches of thin leather, he settled himself on the bed. Sitting in a crosslegged fashion, he placed the swords on either side of him. Long fingers gently stroaked the hilts as he took a few deep breaths, relaxing his tense body. Ears drooped and flattened, skewing out from the sides of his head. Snowy plume curled around him, hiding his crossed legs from immidiant view. When balance was achived, when his body was still, he turned his energy to his mind and began to ponder the problem before him. Which choice would he make?
-----------------------

Dawn came, the sun clawing it's way into the sky like a man might claw his way from a shallow grave. At first the night stood firm against the feeble rays but soon enough was forced to give way as more and more of the glorious golden orb forced it's way over the rim of the world. And all across Tenragon people gave thanks. From Kings in their castles, to the lowliest beggar in the town gutter, each and every one of them turned hopeful eyes upon the heavenly coin. Some crying in joy, some uttering prayers to lifeless Gods. But every one of them knowing in their heart that as quickly as their fortune had come it would be snuffed again.

As the early sunlight spilled into the Chapel, warming it's alien stones, Ulren and Grimselda arrived outside the Alberion's door. While Ulren raised a hand to knock, Grimselda simply shoved past him, pushing the door open without a care. She had nothing to fear really, knowing full well that the chambers occupant would not strike her down. It had always been thus, whether Alberion remembered it or not, and never once had Grimselda's intrusion been greeted with anything worse than a reproachful or cold stare.

This time was no exception and they both paused respectfully as their eyes took in the albino warrior where he stood. "Well? What's the answer?" The staff of the ancient Seared woman thumped the stones at her feet to emphasize her words, green eyes regarding him levelly though they avoided the crimson eyes that hid behind their thin layer of gauze.

A smile stretched his features, vulpine ears twitching as he started toward them, boots ringing lightly with every step he took. His weapons made little sound, each snug in their place, only the chains on his hip making a light and chiming sound. The patches of mail in his armor hissing gently with his quick movements. "The Keep. If it's warriors we need, if it's weapons we seek, then that is the most logical choice. The Tower must wait...we don't need civilians underfoot until things stabilze."

They flanked him as he headed down the passage, the soft thud of the door closing echoing for a moment in the stretched silence. Each of them pondered the decision, reviewed the choice. Alberion once again went over the logic that had allowed him to make the choice, knowing that the burden of guilt now fell on him for any ill that befell the denizens of the Tower. Ulren felt an ease in his breathing, knowing that there could be no better savior for the Keep than Alberion...save perhaps a detachment of the King's Guard. And Grimselda prayed, as she always had, that things would come out right in the end. Prayed for the soul of Alberion, knowing that he needed every advantage he could get.

As they neared a large archway, Ulren cleared his throat and brought them all to a halt, his one good eye fixing on Alberion's armored form. "If you'd both wait here for a moment. While I made arrangements for your journey...I wasn't entirely sure which path you'd be undertaking. So now I need to inform the stablemaster and your traveling companion of the final plans. It shouldn't take long...I suppose you could wait in the kitchen and break your fast if you want to."

Grimselda gave him an unreadable look. "Of course we'll be in the kitchen you old goat! Send the lad off without a decent breakfast...have you no shame?"

Ulren paused in the archway and shook his head, chuckling. "Grimselda...that 'lad' is as old as we are and you damn well know it. Quit trying to take advantage of him or I'll ensure you wake up one morning without that stick of yours."

Alberion raised an ivory brow as Grimselda's ears flattened, Ulren's booming laughter lingering long after he'd vanished. It was something of a surprise for the albino Seared to learn he was far older than his face suggested and he pondered just how many years he might have seen with a thoughtful twitch of his plume. Sensing Grimselda's ire, he cleared his throat, pale fingertips pushing the thin gauze that covered his sensitive eyes back into place. "How about that breakfast?"

The old woman snorted, shaking a knarled finger at him. "Don't you dare be taking his side in this. We Seared all age differently. Slowly, but all of us differently. Just because you're lucky enough to extend your youth doesn't mean I can't keep calling you lad...even if you are as old as I am."

He laughed at her, offering her his hand. "I honestly don't mind. Even if I did in the past, I certainly don't know." His tufted ears flicked forward as she slipped her arm around his, leaning her frail weight on him.

"Fine then...breakfast it is. All the better, I've much to discuss with you and I'd rather be sitting down when I do so."
-------------------------

Ulren found them there nearly an hour later, the sun mark on the wall one notch higher than it had been when last they'd spoken. His ears went flat to his skull for a moment as he heard the topic, Grimeslda's precious nonexistant Gods. The Gods had allowed the Burning to happen, they had turned their eyes away from Tenragon and become deaf to the pleas of all. He'd long ago realized it was useless to pray. Clearing his throat disapprovingly, he caught their attention quickly enough as his good eye stared at them. "All is ready, it is time to go Alberion."

Taking his leave of Grimselda, the ancient Seared surprised them all by enveloping the albino in a tight hug. In a crackling voice, she whispered her blessings upon him and his mission, releasing him and shaking her head. "Get a move on! Get!" Those words were uttered in her usual cranky tone, the crone back to her brittle self again as she turned her face away from the males.

"So," Ulren began "I've arranged for several days worth of rations. There's plenty of good water and foraging for the Arquine* until you reach the foot of the mountains so I'd recommend stocking up on some sort of feed for them at one of the villages in the foothills. No doubt your guide will know best which one to choose, I've provided ample coin for such needs. There are maps and charts although your guide knows the route by heart, just in case of emergency, and there are also some healing salves and liniments...but use them sparingly because I'm afraid I couldn't give you much."

For some time Ulren continuned to talk about what should be done in case heavy resistance of various natures was encountered, what should be done when the Keep was reached. There were dispatches and several scrolls of important corrispondence in the saddlebags as well, not to be forgotten or left behind. Alberion listened to it all with calm serenity, plume flicking from time to time as ears twitched. Then, as they walked through the curved passage to the stables, he spoke.

"So who is my companion Ulren? Who is my guide?"

A guilty look flashed over Ulren's face and the other Seared turned away from Alberion. "I did the best I could...but we had only one person who knew the way left. I-I'm sorry Alberion but we're all making sacrifices."

It was at that moment that the corner was turned and the stables came into view. Sitting on the back of one of two well laden Arquine, was none other than the surly youth Jamkar, golden and black pelt gleaming in the early morning sun. As his eyes caught the form of Alberion, his ears went flat to his skull, plumed tail turning ridged as he bared fang.

Alberion paused, raising a snowy brow. "I can already tell this is going to be a most plesant journey."
---------------------------------------

Already an ominous tension is building...and they havn't even left the Chapel yet. What kind of interaction will take place between these two reluctant companions? Cold and awkward silence? Malicous pranks? Or could a germ of respect be gained? The choice is entirely yours.
----------------------------

*Arquine: The Arquine are to horses what the Seared are to men. Bigger, faster, and possessing more longevity than your average equine, Arquines are also omnivores. Their hide is smooth and feels more like living glass than anything, yet it is tough enough to have steel shatter against it. They come in brilliant colors, all hues of the rainbow, and are extremely intelligent. Some believe that Arquines are capable of speech and rationalization but these claims are unconfirmed.
-----------------------

Well, now you're stuck with Jamkar, fun fun, and you're journey is soon to begin. There's a lot of potential for fun and for harm but it's sure to be interesting. Hope you liked.

[D-Lotus]

Quote: However, while it added protection and flexibility, it did nothing to make the armor easy to put on or take off. Seared generally learned to do everything in their armor. Eat, sleep, dance, labors both major and minor.

Ew, I hope the Seared don't sweat very much either. :D

Hmm, what kind of relationship, huh? Well, I don't want this to go the way your vampire story did, so I won't suggest that they fall in love (even though I just did). Instead, I'll suggest that the bitterness in between them is so great that the one cannot live without making the other utterly miserable.

[DeadManWalking]

i think that, while Alberion is undoubtedly a famously known Seared, Jamkar's bitterness and jealousy grow until he finds that he can't travel with Alberion any more. At this point, Jamkar either tries to kill Alberion himself, or betrays him in some fashion (relatively easy, since he's the guide).

[Kalanna Rai]

*cough* Jamkar...not Ulren.

And D...no. I'm not writing a fantasy cover of Brokeback Mountain.

[DeadManWalking]

whoops.

My bad.

fixed.

[Kalanna Rai]

And a third poll...

[Smee]

Feelings are varied on this story, Kal, but in general I love it.

The prologue was exceptional, everything I'd hope for in a story beginning, and more. The imagery, mood, characterisation, tone all blended well to create a creepy and enticing feeling.

The starting half of chapter 1 confused me a bit, I wasn't sure where or what we were doing following on from the prologue, but the descriptions continued to be great. Chapters 2 and 3 we are getting to the meat of it, and we're set on a mission.

There's only a few little typo's in the starting chapters, but Chapter 3 saw a flurry of them appear near the beginning...

Quote: - it was clearly an oppertunity for them to
- reamoving each weapon
- and turn blows at oppertune moments

You've set up our hero to be pretty damn powerful. One of only three to originally have wings, the only one to have mystical powers, owner of the best weapons. His memory problems, and sensitive eyes are crucial weaknesses, and whilst I'm as eager as anyone to see some magic being used, do be careful to keep any weaknesses strong and prominent.

As you probably remember, I'm not a fan of this latest decision point variety. I don't want to decide what happens in the story, but how certain characters react to the environment they find themselves in. I don't really care for the poll options. I think Alberion will be more than capable of keeping the youngster in order, and perhaps remembering/learning a few things in the process.

Happy Writing. :)

[Kalanna Rai]

Thanks Smee, I appriciate the honesty. And I plan on keeping Alberion balanced, he's got a couple of other critial weaknesses that havn't come to light yet as the situations havn't arisen.

And your estimation of Beri may be on the mark...only time will tell. ;)

[Kalanna Rai]

And though it's been long awaited and is over due, here is the latest installment. Enjoy.
P.S. Some Mild Content
-------------------

Chapter Four: Inequality Rules

The slopes of the Myrist Mountains were sheer and craggy, like piles of loose sharp-sided rubble that reached toward the skies. Even on a glorious day such as the current one they were unpredictably deadly. The two riders that threaded their way through one of the narrow valleys, carved by some long ago stream long since dammed or dried, were utterly silent. Their passage was marked only by the ringing blows of the sharp hooves of their Arquines, the jingling of the beasts' tack. They snorted and stamped, socializing with each other in a way their riders could, or would, not.

Jamkar rode slightly ahead of Alberion, ears pinned backward in an expression of sevear irritation, hands tight on the reins. Every muscle in the younger Seared's body was taut with irritation and alertness, waiting for any danger that might threaten him. Alberion's safety and welfare he gave not a thought for, he was a guide...not a bodyguard. Infact it would have pleased Jamkar to no end if Alberion had met some sort of nasty end somewhere in these winding mountains. But the journey so far had been only routinely dangerous...if such a thing existed. No mosters, no marauders, not even one decent rockslide. It was beginning to irritate him all this good fortune.

Alberion, meanwhile, rode in a constant state of restrained wonder. His vulpine ears were constantly flexing in all directions, picking up the slightest of sounds. From the keening of the wind in the high peaks, to the rumble of distant stones falling, it was all a source of delight to him. And sorrow. A few splinters of memories had been encountered when the winds had come roaring down the passages Jamkar chose for them. In those moments when the two travellers had been buffeted like mice between the paws of a cat, Alberion had remembered navigating the ever shifting currents that encircled the tall mountains. It was a sharply painful loss, one he couldn't have shared even had Jamkar been of a friendly nature. The tension between the two was as tight as a bowstring and just like a bowstring when it snapped there would be injuries.

The head of the pass loomed up above, a sharp incline leading to the crest of a hill that showed a sliver of horizon between the two sheer rock faces on either side. Raising his bound gaze to stare at it a moment, Alberion flicked his ears forward before speaking. "The light will be going soon, are we camping tonight or is there a village near?" His voice was mellow and smooth, betraying no hint of emotion to Jamkar, perfectly nutral.

The younger Seared grunted, ears going flat and shoulders straightening, his entire body winding tighter if that was possible. "Havn't you been studying the maps? Obviously not or you'd know where we are. There isn't a village for miles, they'd never be able to survive in this part of the mountains." He said it in a voice that implied even a child should know that information. Snorting at the end of his terse speech to indicate he wasn't interested in talking anymore.

With a weary sigh Alberion shook his head, patting the neck of his Arquine instead. "Just over that rise Deuion, just over that rise." He knew the beast was not as energetic as he appeared, could almost feel Deuion's exhaustion through the saddle.

A week ago when they'd set out, Deuion had been Hell on four legs, perhaps the most contrary beast in the stable. The brilliant petal pink of his hide was offset by the robin's egg blue of his mane and tail, his razor-edged hooves and four wicked skull-spines a warm buttery yellow. It was enough to give any male a complex...even an Arquine. To offset his unfortunate coloration, Deuion had developed an attitude and a contrary nature. The massive stallion had enough ego for any six of his kind and the power to back up any threats he chose to make and the Seared that worked in the Chapel stables had given him plenty of room.

It was his size, strength, stamina, and speed that had landed Deuion as part of this mission, his attitude was just something that had to be delt with. And Alberion had known none of this when he'd swung into the saddle that first day. Jamkar, however, clearly had. He'd watched with an evil smirk those first few days as Deuion had grown more and more pissed off with his rider and the whole situation in general until finally he'd decided he'd had enough. In an outburst of violence that had torn all the paving stones from a large section of the East Road, Deuion had unleashed his temper.

Alberion was no rider of great skill, passing yes. Decent yes. Great or masterful...no. He was thrown in the first few moments, rolling and gaining his feet in a lithe movement. No weapon came to hand, he merely crouched and watched the irate stallion, dodging Deuion when he charged or struck with flailing hooves. Jamkar had sat aside and watched with open amusement, calling out cutting comments and laughing until tears had come to his eyes.

Finally Alberion had grown tired of the game and with one swift movement had sent one of his weighted chains snaking through the air to wrap around Deuion's forelegs, bringing the great beast down. Walking over, he'd knelt lightly on the stallion's neck and when Deuion had snapped at him with fangs several inches long, Alberion had calmly drawn back one fist and smacked the stallion in the nose. "Do this again and I will turn you inside out and leave you for the Fekk Beasts*." There had been no troubles since that day.

Now, as they crested the rise, the riders paused a moment and gazed at the downward slope, Alberion with as much dismay as Deuion and Jamkar's mount, Faleita. It was steep, too steep to ride safely, and yet ride they must if they were ever to be off of it before the coming night made traveling impossible. After a pause of only a few breaths, Jamkar put his heels to Faleita's sides and sent the mare forward. She tossed her head, lips peeling back to reveal her short fangs, skull-spines tearing through the air only inches from Jamkar's torso. She didn't want to do this, no sane animal would.

But it was no use fighting and she began the descent, black hooves testing the footing several times before committing her weight to a single step. It wasn't long before her hide of dark forest green with it's stripes of jade was sheened with sweat, hightening it's glass-like apperance. Deuion followed with just as much reserve, twisting his head for a moment to fix Alberion in a pleading stare before pressing onward.

"The animals don't like this Jamkar...was there no easier passage to take?" Again that soothing, mellow tone. Surely there had been another way. If not, why had they not undertaken greater haste during their passage of the valley in order to reach this spot with more light to spare? It would have made more sense if they had arrived with the time that would have made walking their mounts down fesible. Instead they were risking life, limb, and the mission itself.

"No. Not without wasting more time than we already have. You and Ulren wanted the shortest route, you're getting it. Now shut up, I'm trying to pay attention." He yanked the reins, dragging Faleita's skull upward as the mare stumbled, earning a shrill squeal. Faleita's squeal earned an angry sound from Deuion and Alberion felt the weary stallion's temper boil up.

The stallion had just readied himself to snap at Jamkar when a soothing sound flooded the air, a sound that instantly bled away temper and tension. It relaxed the mounts, rubbed the tension away from Jamkar's too tight muscles, and brought startling clarity of thought to the small travelling party. Alberion was humming, lightly, thoughtfully, almost cheerfully. It was an easy sort of melody, the kind that made time pass and all exertions seem so much less. Quite to the amazment of the small party, they found themselves on level ground far sooner than anyone could have expected.

The Arquines pranced forward a bit, in good spirits despite being tired from a long days journey, and for a precious short time Jamkar forgot all about hating the older Seared and took a moment to collect his own thoughts and work some of the tension from his body. Then the melody ended and the silence crept in again and soon after that the tension and controlled fury came back into Jamkar.

Alberion shrugged. He'd tried, he'd done his best, and he'd helped get them off the slope safely. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd done it, the melody had just appeared in his skull, ringing in his mental ears like a golden chain and he'd simply known which note should follow which and to what end the song would accomplish. It was magic, plain and simple, and he only wished it wasn't quite so whimsical about when it would come to him and when it would not. Since he'd pulled himself out of his lonely grave, only seven melodies had made themselves known to him. Seven out of what he was sure were thousands.

"We'll camp here." Jamkar's terse words brought Alberion out of his musings and he nodded quietly at the other male, pulling Deuion to a halt and dismounting with a wince. Riding was not something that entirely agreed with him, understandable since he'd once flown if he was travelling any good distance. He watched rather wistfully as the younger male sprang lightly from his saddle, moving about with good grace and no hint of stiffness.

Setting up camp was not quite the ordeal one would think. The supplies the Arquine carried were quickly stripped and piled to one side of a quickly dug fire pit, the saddles laid out equidistant from them to form a triangle around the fire. There was no need to hobble the Arquine or tie them in place, only to remind them to stay put and dole out their feed rations for the evening.

A fire round was tossed into the pit, a few sparks from a flint setting it alight. The rounds were made from compressed sawdust, herbs, and a few alchemical powders and a single one burned clear and hot for several hours making them ideal for anyone travelling light. Rations were skewered on long prods and held over it, turning lightly until toasted and edible. The meal, however, was consumed in the usual tense silence. Alberion was not talkative by nature and Jamkar would not waste words on the pale male that sat across the fire from him.

All that was left was to turn in, curling up in bedrolls with weapons handy. Even though no beasts had yet accosted them, neither of the warriors trusted that luck to hold. Instead, both were fully ready for all hell to break loose and woe unto the preditor that attempted to eat them in their sleep. If the Arquines didn't decide to snack on the unfortunate interloper, the two Seared would no doubt make short work of it. Pale fingers resting on the hilt of his silver sword, Alberion finally closed his unbound ruby eyes in slumber.

He was never sure what woke him, what sense or sound roused him from slumber, but he came awake in an instant, drawing the sword across his body in a reverse grip as he did so, blocking the blow that Jamkar had aimed at his heart. With a furious roar, the younger Seared swept in with his dagger...only to be bowled backwards by a powerful blow from Deuion. Another kick from Faleita sent his purple hued sword spinning from Jamkar's grip along with the obvious crack of several of the bones in his hand breaking.

By the time he'd recovered to his feet, Alberion's kick was slamming into his ribs and sending him back to the ground. The older Seared quickly moved forward, stepping on the already injured hand before ramming a dagger through Jamkar's other and impailing it to the earth below. A shrill scream split the air, quickly cut off as the younger male's mouth was bound by the thin, but strong, gauze that Alberion normally wore around his eyes.

Another dagger was produced, this one rammed through Jamkar's other hand, before Alberion unwrapped the chains from their coils, binding them around Jamkar's legs and torso. Walking over to the packs, he fished around until a runed whetstone was produced. Sitting upon the nearest saddle, he picked up Jamkar's fallen blade, his blade of Sky steel, and began to work the stone over the edge. For a long time the only sounds were that of the stone working metal and Jamkar's whimpering, the thud of the Arquine's hooves as they circled camp, alert for preditors that might by drawn by the smell of blood.

Finally Alberion spoke in a chilly voice. "Now what am I going to do with you?"
---------------------------------

Alberion has thwarted the attempt on his life but is now left with a painful decision to make. What do you do with the man that has just attempted to kill you...but is your best chance of making it through a hostile enviornment? Only you know.
---------------------------

Sorry Smee, I know you don't like this type of DP but it was the best idea I had for one. Don't let it worry you though folks, there are more dangerous things in these mountains than Jamkar. I hope you liked!
-----------------------------
*Fekk Beasts: The bane of travellers and lamed animals throughout the land, Fekk beasts are the size of a beagle and travel in packs as large as one hundred strong. Hopping on two massive hind legs like kangaroos, the middle set of arms are scyth-like appendages, massive plated protrusions with barbs that angle back toward their body. They sink these in deeply to their prey to lock into the flesh while the short scalpel sharp talons of their main arms strip bits of flesh away. The claws are coated in a toxin that dulls the pain and puts their victims to sleep, dropping even the strongest of animals in minutes. Their small heads shaped like shovles and they often nose their way into the dirt to lay in ambush or tunnel away from danger.

[DeadManWalking]

Mkay

Well this is a classic dilemma. On the other hand, our friend Jamkar has proven himself unable to control his anger. On the other hand, Alberion hasn't the faintest how to get out here.

Obviously, he can't leave Jamkar dead behind him, much as that would make sense, because Alberion needs him.

My personal opinion, tie Jamkar's arms to his sides and loop a rope around his neck and have him lead you that way. Tell him that if anything bad happens, he'll be the first to die. Which is good incentive for keeping to the safest routes.

On the other hand, they've been pretty lucky so far with the wild animals; there's no guarantee they'll continue to be that lucky.

So, factoring in Alberion's character, i say the most likely choice would be to keep Jamkar unbound, but keep him away from any weapons. Have him ride, and guide the party, but still keep a close eye on him.

(this is all assuming Alberion doesn't remember a new tune to keep Jamkar in check some other way, which i'm counting as an outside possibility)

[Kalanna Rai]

Okay okay, I need a few more suggestions for a poll peoples. C'mon, just throw out your best shot!

[Fenris]

I'm still catching up. But letting you know I'm reading!

[Kalanna Rai]

I believe this one can be archived. Little interest before I went away, less interest now. I may, however, resume it at some point.

Thank you.

[Mirel]

Hmmm....this story seems familiar in a way, don't know why. Can't quite seem to place it though. I was going to comment, but as the author has decided to achieve it seems unneccessary and uncalled for. *shrugs* All I will say to the author is this: From what I have read of yours, Kalanna Rai, I would have expected better. Your stories are some of the best on here for three reasons: Interesting Dynamic Characters that defy all molds and charaquertures, Sublte Shocking Tentalizing plot twists that Surprise and Intice, and Deep shifting intirictate delicate detail. While this story shows the potential of your others, you have done and can do much better.

In conclusion, let me quote an old friend:

If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended,
That you have but slumber'd here
While these visions did appear.

Which is merely my way of saying, if I offend, ignore me. Afterall, I'm just a newbie.

[Tikanni Corazon]

I really think it's a shame that you've decided to archive this, Kal. I really enjoyed it. The description of Alberion throughout the chapters just made me want to break out the paint and brushes, which I may still do(I think I have a spare canvas stashed away somewhere).
I also liked the fact that, due to his loss of memory, he was finding things out about himself at the same pace that the reader is. The whole story oozes with mysteries to be solved. I hope that you choose to take it up again sometime. ;)