A Little Payback, If You Please

[Azmere]

The sky was dim as the clouds still hung low over the shore. Smoke from a few fires that burned through the night rose to greet their distant cousins creating a haze across the waterfront which made visibility poor. Still, for such an early time of morning, the sands and stones which lined Sonos River’s edges were littered with debris and dozens of Drykas. Four weeks after the pirates had raided the horse lords; scouts reported seeing those black sails tracking the Tent City once more. Two of the ships had decided to return to the grasslands. Perhaps it was greed that motivated them or perhaps it was simply the cruel nature of man. Either way, they were greeted much differently this time.

Every stop the city made, Watchmen laid out more complex and creative webs to help alert of any threats. Patrols were increased and the few pavilions that chose to remain on the outskirts were more than willing to double their own efforts. The preparation had worked wonderfully. The ships were spotted well before they had gotten into a position to do any true damage. Archers on horseback, spearman and mages bombarded the ships in a very specific pattern that drove them further inland. Once the river opened up, a handful of brave Drykas steered fire boats at the invaders’ ships. These small crafts, once used for fishing, were loaded with kegs of oil. The men navigating would wait until collision was eminent and then would light a series of wicks which gave them the chance to swim away before the oil would ignite. The collision caused the burning fuel to splash against the bigger vessels’ bows. The result was a beautiful display of death and carnage. Most of the pirates were able to jump free and swim to shore but there was no quarter. Watchmen and citizens alike, everyone sought vengeance…and everyone found it.

The scene reflected this great victory but held the reminders of the even greater cost. Dead bodies lined the edge of the grass long with two half-burned ships that had floated up into the shallows. The fires were all out but the smoke still floated in large wisps that gave the derelict vessels a ghastly appearance. Men, women and children moved with tired feet and weary souls amongst the wreckage trying to find whatever good they can in the midst of this horrible display. No one shouted hoots of victory. No one sang any songs. Children didn’t even ask their parents a lot of dumb questions the way that kids do. Even the young knew this was not cause for celebration but reflection. The Watch had its members everywhere gathering weapons and armor to replenish their stores but the people were free to grab anything else they could find. The only thing one cannot find today, in this place, is hope.

[Kaitanu]

Kaitanu had never been to war, so he could not imagine any difference between what he’d heard and the reality of what he was experiencing now. After the quietude of a winter on the plains the noise of battle was deafening. It was all so much smoke and flame and noise. The horse in him wanted to panic and bolt out of there, but only his ears betrayed this desire. They swiveled every which way, conscious of a million alarms, while his horse form remained rooted to the earth. He was waiting for a signal.

Next to him stood Raven Morningsong. The man’s dark eyes were watching intently as the black ships drew closer to their ambush. Somewhere along the opposite bank was Raven’s youngest daughter, Sparrow, as eager for vengeance as her father. Dravite… no one knew where he had gone, exactly, but they could guess well enough. The energetic, smiling, laughing man of the past had vanished with the first invasion. Pearl had not come home. Whether Dravite found her alive on the broken ship or not, any pirate who crossed his path would pay dearly.

For his own part, Kaitanu felt a strange restlessness, in spite of his static posture. It was not merely the prospect of battle that set his muscles on edge. The numbness of mind which had always enfolded him was of no help here. Nor could he quite take refuge in the fatalistic resignation which had been his birthright. Pearl was gone; Kyo was gone. Such things happened every day, but this time he was left with a burning in his chest; an ache which refused to abate. Clearly, as if all were present, Kaitanu could see the faces of those at the pavilion as they had been the past few weeks. Thoughts of little Garrison screaming for his mother kept piercing his brain. Dravite’s haunted looks and weight-sloped shoulders; the grim silence which had settled on everyone like a shroud. Only news of the pirates’ return seemed to shake them out of their grief. Even Kaitanu, who never showed emotion, was anxious to be doing something. He had no idea of causing harm to anyone, but the destruction of the pirate ship left him with an odd sort of satisfaction.

Come. Raven signed to the kelvic, who followed obediently. They made their way down the bank toward the conflagration, along with other Drykas and horses. Bodies fell or leaped from the wreckage of the great ship and most were cut down before they could reach land. Bewildered, the pirates who had not yet been separated from their heads clumped together, or fought alone like dragons, knowing it was a lost cause. The Drykas were prepared now, and in the fury of their wrath.

Even Kaitanu, by any measurement the most passive of souls, dealt out his share of punishment. Dravite and Raven had ordered him to fight and so he did. As well as he knew how, anyway. Both men had been training the young kelvic on and off the last month, but he was no warrior. Raven left him halfway down the bank to catch any stragglers, and there were few who got past the circle of Drykas. ”Treat it as a hunt.” Raven had said, and Kaitanu understood what he was to do. Incapacitate; slow down. The feel of bones cracking under his powerful hooves was still abhorrent but, oddly, less so than he expected. The whirlwind of battle made it not seem real, even when all the chaos subsided. Kaitanu might have been in an excessively violent dream for all he knew. And the thought came to him: what if one of these had carried off Pearl? What if the heavily-tattooed, straw-haired man whose skull he had crushed was the cause of Garrison and Kyanite’s nightmares? Or had he been the one to spirit Kyo away? Perhaps the kelvic would never know. His actions were somehow more personal than they ever had been. Kaitanu felt driven by a fire in his chest that was both new and frightening.

[Kaitanu]

When all was done he was glad to have been of some use, but even more so that the killing would cease. The Drykas waiting nearby had finished off all but one of the eight pirates who met Kaitanu’s hooves. That one was the kelvic’s first human kill; a well-placed blow snapped his neck. Kaitanu didn’t even realize it, and that was probably for the best. He did not know what it was to feel anger or rage in their full bloom. The very beginnings of both stirred in his chest unwittingly and made him feel ill and disoriented. Blood was in his nostrils and smoke in his watering eyes. He would have retreated for air and calm if orders did not stand in the way. That, and he could not go far until he knew if Pearl or Kyo had been found in the ship. His eyes, veiled and dark, turned toward the ship again. Every limb trembled with the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush. That, or perhaps some part of his subconscious wanted to rush in and search that horrible ship from top to bottom.

Raven returned after awhile, looking disheveled, covered in blood and soot, but more or less unhurt. His expression told Kaitanu all he needed to know, before the man even spoke.

“Some have been rescued, but none from our pavilion.” he muttered, placing a hand on Kaitanu’s broad neck. The kelvic supposed, not without reason, that Raven needed to steady himself for a moment or two. They had all hoped against hope that Pearl or Kyo would be found on the ship. It was a bitter reality to face, and not for the first time did Kaitanu wish he could offer any comfort. He did not exactly know how. Nor did the kelvic realize just how much of it he needed himself. His mind was on Raven's and Dravite's sorrow, and that of the others. The children especially... Kaitanu felt again that terrible burning sickness in his chest. He took a breath, then another; slowly, in and out.

There was little enough time to mourn in this dreadful place. The far side of the ship was blazing almost out of control, and many brave Drykas had clambered onto the other end to search the ship and catch any pirates still holed up. They were also salvaging what they could with an almost savage determination, tossing out all they could find to those waiting below. There was no talk of who got what, nor arguments about dividing the spoils. Cooperation was their life-blood. Everyone would take what they needed and would be shared later with others.

Raven was glad to have a kelvic horse who didn’t spook easily, as they drew close to the leeward side of the ship. Ash and supplies rained down from overhead, and the noise was almost deafening, but Kaitanu did exactly as he was told without so much as flinching. As always, he hid whatever he truly felt. The pale kelvic horse stood by as the dark-haired man rummaged through the wreckage, coming up with two bags full of dried foodstuffs. These were tied together with a length of frayed rope and hung over Kaitanu’s back. Some broken wood was also found and made into two separate bundles, which were secured over the bags of food.

Raven had also found a black-colored cloak with a silver clasp floating in the filthy water. Once cleaned it would prove useful. Kaitanu was surprised when the man, with an odd softness in his voice, held it up and told the kelvic the cloak was for him. It was laid over his back, and the kelvic was left to wonder at such kindness as Raven patted his neck, then stepped away.

“Go back to the pavilion and rest. I will find our ankal.”

Dravite, wherever he had gone, would still be searching long after hope died away. His Pearl was not here. Later, when all was quiet, Kaitanu would feel the emptiness of her loss return, and the loneliness of his own tent without Kyo. It was still an alien, overwhelming sensation to miss anyone. He could not ever remember having such an ache as this in his chest. For now, the battle and the noise and everything else had left him numb, and he supposed he was glad of that. Nodding his head to Raven, the pale horse plodded off home on blood-stained hooves, carrying the spoils of war on his back.

[Jasmine Stormblood]

Slowly the drykas woman woke up. The events of the past several days came to the front of her mind. So much death. So much pain. It would take time for her people to heal after the attack. Jasmine prepared for the day to begin as her mind wandered to the dead. Would they be buried? Would they be fed to wild animals? Will they be weighted down and allowed to sink to the bottom of the lake? Jasmine found herself unable to stop from thinking the questions. Jasmine shook her head knowing better. Though she had never seen an attack such as this her culture was clear on death. Taking a deep breath Jasmine managed to make her mind calm itself knowing what would be done with the bodies. Once ready the blond stepped out of her tent looking around. The normal happy sounds of children was mission from the air. Silence. A cold chill of dread went down her spine unsure if others were moving yet or not.

Jasmine walked slowly around the small encampment and finally saw some of the other Drykas moving. Releasing a breath she was unaware of holding the woman walked to the edge of the water. Small puffs of air appeared as the young woman looked at the ships in the small lake. Steeling her nerves the young woman pulled her cloak closer and walked over to one of the boats small enough for one person. Slowly the woman rowed over to the boat. Stopping beside the larger ship the girl tied up the boat climbing on board. Looking around Jasmine slowly walked around the bodies not wanting to mess with the dead around her.

“So much death,” Jasmine said quietly as she had come with the others but only as an aid to keep the children safe from harm.

Jasmine has no special skills in combat. She can barely hold a sword straight much less defend someone. Yet she was allowed to come aboard the ship and find anything she wished. Jasmine saw many weapons on the ground, but she ignored them seeing as the Watch would have more use for them. Going below Jasmine saw some clothes and walked over. The woman picked up the material and scrunched up her nose at the material that had all kinds of holes in it. Tossing the clothing aside she continued to look at the small pile throwing a fair majority of it to the side when a leather strap caught her attention. She gasped and pulled the strap seeing the bag in perfect condition.

“I don't know how you survived but I will need another bag when spring hits,” Jasmine said to herself.

Jasmine draped the bag across her body and continued to search the ship. Sighing gently Jasmine began to think she wouldn't find anything else. Looking in a cabin Jasmine spots some more clothes. Figuring nothing would be hurt Jasmine walked over and searched through finding a beautiful simple white shirt.

“Beautiful and still in one piece that's a surprise,” Jasmine said and continued to search once more.

She tossed aside some boots that had holes in them before finding a pair that was still good. Smiling the woman put the boots over beside the shirt. Shifting through what was left Jasmine found a beautiful pair of black pants.

“That should be plenty,” Jasmine said with a smile.

Jasmine got up and walked out of the cabin. Reaching the top of the ship once more Jasmine walked to where her boat is and climbed down. Jasmine tossed the boots into the boat first then chucked the bag next as it contained the pants and shirt. Once the clothes and bags were for sure in the boat Jasmine jumped down and wadded over to her boat. Jasmine climbed in and rowed back over to land with a smile happy with all she had found.

The Clan is Strength.
The Clan is Life.

[Naiya]

The day came unwelcomed.

It was her vision, rising once more on the blackened wisps of smoke. Blood and death littered the coast, scorched earth still wept black smoke, the battle was a second coming of the evil. There had been some returned to them in the battle the day before, some had yet to appear, and it was those few that had pulled Naiya back to the scarred remains of the ships and pavilions.

She was not so selfless as she seemed, her search was narrow, focused not on the many, but on one, the only one that mattered to her devastated heart. Shahar. He must be here, helping others, collecting children and women and leading them home, finding families. That was why he had not come home on the day of the returning ships, the battle had wrought destruction, she could see it everywhere, the silent children, the mourning mothers, and Shahar would not have let things lie as they were. He would chide her when he saw her battle scarred body, for not having seen a healer, and when she pushed aside his worries for her, he would look at her with disappointment for her lacking.

She didn't care, she couldn't muster the strength to pull herself away from her track, searching faces for the familiar glint of green eyes. She passed a boy who wept over a large feline, a spear struck through its chest. The cat had likely saved the child's life. She halted, dragging herself from her mission. She couldn't lie to herself, she did care what Shahar thought, and he would still be here when she was done helping the child.

Young one, She signed to him when he looked toward the sound of her approach, his tear marked face holding echoes of the same loss she surely mirrored with her own. "Let me help you with your companion, it is no fit death with his enemy's weapon still remembered in his chest." A hiccuping sob tore from his chest, and she felt the pull of his loss as strongly as her own, he managed to nod at her, the rest of him lost to his sorrow.

"Don't look." She warned him, as she knelt beside the feline, pressing a hand into it's chest so that she could wrench the spear free of the creature. She lay the spear aside, the boy might decide he wanted it, or perhaps the Watch would. Reassurance, gentle chiding, her hands shaped for him, "Your pet died a hero, it is okay to cry for him, but do not forget the way. His spirit was claimed by the web, even now he watches you morn and he grows full with sorrow. Honor his strength, and take what he has given you, a long life."

Sniffling, the boy nodded, fighting back his tears. Gratitude shaped his shoulders as he stood. "I will take him home, and we will send him off like a warrior." His voice broke at the words, and he dashed new tears from his cheeks.

Pride, comfort she shared with him the words of strength. Her own tears having long ago dried on her cheeks. "Can you carry him?" She asked, the cat was nearly the size of the boy. He nodded, sure of his ability.

"May Ovek's fortune find you." Naiya could only nod in return as the boy hefted the feline up, draping him across his shoulders in a motion that seemed practiced. He must have often carried the cat in such a way. It hurt her to see a familiar transport turn to a final walk with Dira.

She watched the boy move through the debris, steadied by the work. She cast a glance toward the spear, her wooden one was hardly a weapon, and she couldn't continue to rely on Shahar's javelin to protect her family. The Watch had made it clear that they needed to first restore their armory, so she left it where it lay.

She continued her search, the drag of gravity pulling her down, the horrors around her weighing on her soul. She wanted to curl up into a ball on the ground and cry until the world righted itself. She wouldn't find Shahar that way, she wouldn't help her family, so she continued on. Shahar had to be near, her hope the only thing pulling her through the ruins of her city.

A woman made her way towards her, shambling under the weight of whatever it was in her bag, but Naiya called to her anyway, and the woman stopped to talk to her.

"I'm looking for my husband," Naiya told the woman, "He hasn't come home yet, so he must be here." She described Shahar, his height, his hair, his eyes, but the woman shook her head, she hadn't seen him.

They parted ways.

A loud crash lit the world on fire, the panic of an attack crashing over Naiya. She cowered a moment, fear struck to her core, then she turned towards the sound and ran.

A pavilion had fallen, the screaming of the women had prompted Naiya's belief in the attack, but this was a hell all its own. The muffled sounds of people beneath the heavy canvas and shattered wood drew others, Naiya at their side as they began to lift the structure.

She crouched and dug her hands into the burnt remainder of a pole support, the fragile ends making her job that much harder as she strained to lift the end to her shoulder. Her arms shook, but she managed, pressing against the wood with her entire body. She rested only a fraction of a chime before she rose, fighting the weight of the pole with every muscle in her body as she shifted it upwards. She wasn't tall, but the angle she managed gave enough room to cut away canvas in search of people beneath the crumpled heap of pavilion.

She endured the weight, the physical toil of the job plenty to distract her from her own pain. There was nothing in the small section she had freed, so she turned, walking the pole away from the bulk of the pavilion, straining with each step. A tall Drykas man helped her move the pole higher over a section of pavilion that was still standing before the two of them lowered it to the ground.

[Naiya]

Together they worked, lifting weight neither of them could have managed alone. She strained beneath the weight of the main support, lifting with the man until it sat on her shoulder, so that he could lift the large beams beneath it.

"Look out!" A shout had her turning her head, a child helping to free his mother from where she was trapped in a tangle of canvas. Above them a burnt beam was groaning under the strain of shifting the debris. She couldn't leave her post, but she turned it, dragging herself back along the end. She wasn't close enough to keep the beam from falling, but she caught the edge as it fell towards the child.

The sharp edge gouged her cheek and shoulder, the impact surely bruising her arm and shoulder. Men raced towards them as the weight of the beams pushed her down. She fought their weight, using all the strength of her body to lower them slowly, kneeling down to relieve some of the strain while keeping the child safe.

People came, pulling the mother free, moving the child to safety, and helping to support the beam her partner was working under. She waited until the site was clear before dropping the broken beam, wincing as it scratched against her once more.

"Thank you," The voice of the tall man came to her, and he helped her back to standing. The burden of the beam lifted by the others as they hauled it away from the smoldering canvas.

She nodded, and they returned to working the toil taking only a bell to complete, setting things to rights would take days more, but the people were safe, the child was safe in the arms of his mother.

"How can we repay you?" The man asked, offering in his posture. "Perhaps you'll let me take a look at those scratches? I work with the healers on occasion, I could take care of that for you." Naiya waved away his concern, something else in mind.

"I'm looking for my husband," She told him immediate priority shaping her hands. The motion drew his eye to her wrists, the windmark there distinct.

"Dawnwhisper. I recognize your mark. My wife did the sketches of that design. I haven't seen your husband, I've been helping with repairs all around. Are you sur-" He cut out the look on her face clearly a woman on the edge of breaking. "Are you sure you don't want me to touch up those scratches?" It was obviously not his intended question, but Naiya needed the hope she had.

"I'm fine, thank you." She told him, stepping away to continue her search. Each time she came across a new face she asked, and each time they told her they hadn't seen her loved one. Some tried to console her, others just looked after her with pity. Hope faded slowly from her heart, the cold shore remaining a barren reminder of her loss.

Hey shoulders fell heavy with defeat, each step dragged down by sorrow. No one had seen Shahar. He wasn't among the survivors who had returned. Only the unchanged mark of Cheva on her neck kept her from spiraling into darkness.

She tripped at some point, her foot slipping across the mud and catching on the solid weight of a spear lodged in the ground. She fell to the ground, too slow to catch her fall, she hit her shin on the wooden shaft.

She sat in the mud, the stinging tears of surprised pain turning into the torrential downpour of mourning. She grabbed the spear, using it to pry herself up off the ground. She had the base in her hand, so she pulled the tip from the mud only to find that there was no tip, the blade having broken off, the cord that tied it in place frayed and singed.

A useless weapon for a useless hunter. She smoothed her hand down the length. It was solid, only slightly battered, she imagined if it had a tip it would have been a fine weapon. Perhaps Seirei could carve her one out of bone. She consoled the broken tool, it's broken nature mirroring her own fragmented life. Together she and the weapon would become strong once more.

She moved on through the ruins of small pavilions and scenes of battle. A glinting green caught her eye, the same green she had spent hours gazing into. The small gemstones glimmered in the ears of a pirate, dangling from her ears like crystallized teardrops.

Anger and pain at the loss felt through the entire city moved her forward, closer to the body. Her own loss driving her hands forward, ripping the gold and green jewelry from the woman's ears. Her own ears weren't pierced, but that was a problem easily solved. The memento would serve too remind her of her love, and of the reason she had to work so hard.

She would not be left unprepared again. She would be able to defend her family, to run to their rescue. She had failed Shahar once by letting him be captured, she wouldn't fail again by leaving their family unprotected.

With that thought in mind, she was reminded that she had been gone from her family for far too long, so with her jewels in hand and her spear propelling her forward, she began to pick her way back through the rubble. She stopped on her journey only one time more, black canvas folded neatly in the remains of a crate caught her attention. A sail from the ship. She hoped someone on the ocean needed it. She lifted it into her arms, she could use it to shelter the Zibri and the horses in the summer, or perhaps use it to patch the pavilion when it needed it.

Regardless she took her new belongings with her as she trekked home, hoping that Seirei would forgive her absence. Naiya had to remember that she wasn't the only one who had lost Shahar.

[Amunet]

The feel of wet sand on her cheek roused her. How long she was out it was hard to say. Time had no meaning as with an automatic motion the head lifted and trailed by wet strands of dark blood red hair that sparkled with clinging white sand. As if in slow motion her body followed as the familiar pain of about everywhere on her body went with the motion. There was no relief or no way to relieve the pain. Everything hurt. There was no sleep. There was nothing but the sheer determination to live and to get back home. Her brother needed her. Her people needed her. That was what she clung to.

The white dress was in tatters and barely covering what should be. The cold air had numbed some of the pain even as she lurched and stumbled further up the beach. The craggy stone was a means of pulling herself along to continue lurching and stumbling towards the column of smoke where home was at. The bare feet made the stuttering sticatto wet snapping noises on the wet sand till she reached th dryer parts as she saw the grassy gnoll that marked the blending of the grasslands with the beach. The girl almost wept as she half clambored and half crawled up the gnoll. She rested at the rise of the gnoll seeing the debris and remains of a pirate ship.

The little red head couldn’t determine between friend and foe as the wild bloodshot eyes turned on her back at the grassy gnoll to try and think. Focus and thought was a rare commodity to the instinct of the desperate. She needed clothes. She needed a weapon and she needed sustenance. In reality she probably needed the Healing Tent but that thought was furthest from her mind. It took her some time to get control of her breathing as she forced her legs and arms to work to get her upright again. There was this hollow tunnel type feel to what she saw. The girl blinked back and willed herself onward.

She used the rock header to move around towards the edge of the debris field. The girl looked around like a starved animal for a weapon as she came to this edge. Peeking out of seaweed and a plank of wood was the edge of shapely curved wood. She fell as she reached for it. Her body hit the ground hard. With shaking arms she pushed her body up as she reached for the curved wood and yanked on it. It didn’t budge. She was back on the ground as darkness briefly took over for a chime or two. The fiery one blinked her eyes back open. ‘No, i… cant… give.. up..’ her arm moved slowly. It was painfully and painstakingly slow as she got back up to at least a sitting position.

It as if animal instinct and magic coursed through the girl. Her will to live and that drive to keep moving forward was the fuel she had. Hope was the driver in this desperate act to keep trudging on. Hope that Endrykas was there. Hope that her people were there. The hope her brother was there and doing well. Yes, her brother. She got on her hands and knees to move the wood plank over and pull on the curved wood. It revealed to be a short bow. Absently she put that around her small form as the string cut into her skin and was cradled under one boob cross wise on her chest.

She pushed herself up as her legs shook to try and stand. She must have tried four times before her legs cooperated or her legs were in such a stance that she was standing, sort of. She took a step forward to lurch onward. The momentum had her heading headlong into the dirt again as her hand landed on the edge of leather (quiver). She laid there for a time her body quivering and shaking. Her mind wanted to keep moving but her body was screaming at her. She hurt in places she didn’t think could hurt. She laid there like the waste of life that had been spilled there already and their life spent onto the ground. Her vibrant form the only delimiter between her and the pirates. She tried to move, she couldn’t. Her body betraying her as it had spent what precious little energy she had.

[Merevaika]

t

Death still clung to the air, a putrid smell shifting around them. While the fight had been alive, violent, noisy, with screams and war cries and the clash of metal against metal, the aftermath was worse. Silence overcame both parties involved; one side, their lives drawn out of them, unable to do anything but lie on the ground; the other side still recovering, not as much physically but mentally.

These were the people who had taken their families, their horses and their Zibri. These were the people who killed. Merevaika had lost no one in that great attack, she hadn't even been there to experience it. But she knew how others would feel if they had. Her heart still ached for all those she had lost - and with them there was no one to get revenge on.

So when the pirates had return, she let it all out, fighting hard, long. They were all dead now. Dead, or gone, never to return. The Drykas had saved their people, yet there were no celebratory cries or parties. Something still clung to the air, a feeling of loss. Not everyone had won. People hurried to nearby healers, clutching children close to them as they searched for someone to help them with their injuries. Others inspected the dead bodies, hoping to see the faces of those taken.

Merevaika felt a hand on her shoulder. Ywana. The Drykas turned, facing the older woman with a meaningless smile. All the exhilaration of fighting had left her tired. Her hands were covered in blood. Some was hers, drawn from the long cut across her shoulder, but most was from the men she had killed. Her sister looked the same, even worse, the warrior red from head to toe. The staff was now dyed red, the longsword dripping with blood. Her war paint was smudged, weary eyes behind it.

She had fought hard. They both had. They needed rest, but as their eyes met, the two realised what they needed to do first. The pirates had left prizes. Their bodies could be left to become part of the grasses, part of the cycle of life. But the steel that was coated in blood wouldn't. The mizas they carried would simply be covered in the dirt, not become it. It was ready for the taken for those who deserved it. The two woman had fought to hard to not deserve it.

They moved methodically, in silence. Merevaika's bloodthirsty eyes scanned the torn tents and smoking fires. There were bodies everywhere, or so it seemed, most face down in the mud, trampled. Using her bow, she would brush aside their clothing, trying to see if they had anything of worth. Most had nothing. There was a pirate who had fought with a rusted dagger, the point lying a few steps away from him. He had some shiny earrings on, but they were small, too small to bother. The next didn't have a weapon, but large gold rings on his fingers brought her attention to them.

Merevaika bent beside him, lifting his hand with no care that he was dead. Taking out her knife, she felt the wind through her fingers as she cut off his. Slowly, she prised off the rings as she walked, dropping the fingers as she did so. It meant nothing to her.

Her sister called. Merevaika clutched the rings in her fist as she made her way over. Her face had lit up, a little, eyes glinting with the same greed Merevaika had. It ran in their blood and while the older sister controlled it better, both knew what they wanted, and that they would get it.

She revealed two blades, matching. They were simple, but well made, blood soaking the edge and tattered ribbon hanging off the ends. Ywana lifted it, extending it towards her. Merevaika took it hungrily, replacing it with the handful of gold rings. She nodded in respect, holding out the other of the twin blades. "Sisters." Her word was commanding and inquisitive at the same time.

Merevaika nodded. "Sisters." She made the sign, the blade an extension of her hand. Forever.

The promise was not one she made easily, but one she meant. Keeping it would be a whole new challenge however. Yet whatever happened, whatever tragedy came their way - this united them, the blades always with them.

[Azmere]

Death.

That was the sign he and his patrol had been shown. The watchmen looked to one another as several of their brethren rushed towards the shore. Without any discussion, Azmere drove his heels into Hephiestian and the strider bolted after the other horses. During the quick gallop, Azmere took hold of his bow and played the scenes from the earlier attacks in his mind. His blood boiled and his heart ached but this only seemed to fuel the Drykas whose eyes locked onto a sail as they crested a rise. The descent to the beachhead was chaotic. Several dozen patrols were organizing the Drykas into groups that would be positioned in such a way as to lure the ship into a vice. Many ships came the first time and they did so with stealth and surprise. Now, it was just the one but it was large and brazen as if to say the Drykas were weak. This would be the undoing of the fiends. The reign of terror stops today.

While Syna was still asleep and Leth was ducking behind the horizon, Azmere watched as large groups of people were hidden among the rocks and behind small hills. Orders were being given to ankals for patience and cooperation. These were hard things to follow when so much had been lost. Vengeance within reach often clouded the mind and Azmere understood why the leaders of the Watch were taking time to lay proper plans. His patrol was tasked with being part of the welcoming committee. Forty men dismissed their mounts away from the sands and set about the task of preparing for war. Azmere was among them. He went through his quiver making sure the fletchings were even. He found a few that had been crushed during the course of the season. Azmere used his fingers and teeth to stretch and bend the feathers back out straight so the arrows would fly straight. While he was finishing up the task, a man next to him with only one eye tapped Azmere on the shoulder.

The large ship had come to a stop and suddenly, the silence of the morning was split by the crash of an anchor into the water. Fog muffled sound and hid details but it did little to stop the roaring calls and wild shouts of the pirates. Azmere smirked. Fools. He adjusted his quiver and wiggled his fingers to shake off the chill that had tried to set in. When he notched his first arrow is when he saw the first boats that were ferrying the raiders to shore. It was also at this time that he noticed the catamarans coming around the larger vessel. It seems the pirates weren’t the only ones who were underestimating the opposition.

Landfall was chaos. Several hundred men and women collapsed upon one another in a violent mess that could only be described as brutality incarnate. Instead of a quick and clean battle where the pirates were vanquished, the Drykas found themselves in another struggle for survival. Azmere loosed arrow after arrow dropping the savages before they even got off their boats. He was soon out of arrows and took hold of his club. Like many around him, the grief and rage from loss soon took hold. The men and women of the grass fought with just as much bloodlust as the pirates. It was evident to some that this new found instinct was helping the children of the wind. Azmere watched as kill shots were ignored and frustrations were vented on the dead or soon to be in the form of mutilation. Without having time to dwell on such things, he simply let his heart break for his people while he brought his club across the wicked sneer of a painted man. The Drykas spun to his right and allowed the momentum to carry his club into the back of a fiend who was trying to strangle a watchman. The battle lasted for several bells and ended with Azmere and many others sending barrages of flaming arrows into the waters to sink the fleeing ships. When Syna finally rose, her face would turn to see the smoke and blood which stained this part of the world. It was so horrid that she gathered clouds in front of her visage to avoid having to look more than once.

Azmere walked slowly along the beach removing arrows from dead bodies and placing them into his quiver. He was streaked with ash, blood and sand. A cutlass had found its way against his back. The slice was only about half an inch deep but left an arch that ran from his left false ribs clear up to his right shoulder. The pain didn’t bother him. The hole inside him, the one left when his family was taken, had not been filled by the spoils of this day. It turns out that one can’t use death to heal the pain of death. Blood cannot be held by a tight fist. The archer paused to look upon the face of a friend who had not been fortunate enough to survive the second wave. He knelt down and placed a hand on the fellow watchman’s chest. Azmere sang a low, soft tune and allowed his eyes to close. The song was not anything special but there was little else Azmere could do for the fallen.

O, Death
O, Life
See this man with far away eyes
His life was bound in honor
See this man whose back bore his duty
His soul is free to wander
O, Life
O, Death
Return this heart to the Web

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Azmere]

Rising, Azmere moved along and continued to gather arrows until he had replaced all he had lost. He saw many people pouring over the ghastly beach. He was reading their faces and started to wonder if the dead weren’t the lucky ones. The archer had never seen such despair not even after the first attack. His body showed no signs of fatigue from the battle or the weight of everything yet inside he felt he warmth of hope fade as the fire simply died. He started to gather weapons from the corpses of the brigands knowing that the Watch would certainly benefit from a larger arsenal. He stepped around mourners and locked his gaze with the tear-soaked eyes of a little girl who sat next to a fallen man. His braided hair and fancy tattoos showed him to be an ankal of the Sapphire clan. The warrior had no words for the child so he could only walk past in silence.

He stopped after a while and noticed a man about his size. Stooping down, the Drykas could see that the breastplate was ruined as there was evidence of a broad axe that rent the piece of leather nearly in two. Checking the man over, Azmere studied the scarring on his face, arms and neck. It was intentional and patterned. The Drykas had seen this before on that strange woman, Ixzo. She had intentional scarring. He silently wondered if she was still around while his eyes moved to the gauntlets the man wore. He untied them and went through the process of putting them on his own arms. The hands were open so he could still be an effective archer as well as use his fingers for more intricate tasks like tying knots or skinning. Satisfied with acquisition, Azmere got up and began to gather more weapons for his order. His eyes wandered about lazily until they fell upon a gathering of men near the far end of the beach. Azmere made his walk more intentional. He began to pick up signs and raised voices talking about possession and rights. The Drykas furrowed his brow. There would be no squabbling over trinkets; not today.

He picked up the pace and came upon a scenario he hadn’t anticipated. A tiny woman was strewn about in the sand, unconscious it would seem. Her clothes were tattered and her body was filthy though what was exposed revealed no windmarks. Could this woman have been a slave on the ship? As he drew nearer, the watchman saw some things that made his anger start to boil once more. He dropped his armload of weapons allowing the clatter to stall the present discussion. When the assembled parties addressed him with stares and quizzical looks, he stepped amidst them with ice in his veins. He signed asking for the problem to be related to him. One man scoffed but the other said the slave was found by his proxy and therefore belongs to him. Azmere was not a fan of slavery in general but knew that the Drykas people made use of slaves in various fashions. He moved over to examine the woman and found the massive amounts of red hair familiar. He bent down and went to turn the woman over so he could examine her but was interrupted by several of the first man’s family. They lifted Azmere off the ground and he spent a tick freeing his arms from their grasp.

“Watch or no, she’s the property of the Windbone pavilion, now!” One man shouted.

Several rude signs were traded back and forth and the shoving resumed. Azmere whistled and waved an arm to a patrol passing by. They turned and headed towards the group. He stood aside until while the two families continued to argue. Slowly, he crept around to kneel by the girl again. The Drykas didn’t touch her but just stayed close. He had no idea what was going to happen but his fingers curled around the handle of his club anyway.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze