Closed A Stormy Sea [Redd]

[Azmere]

53rd of Fall, 515 AV

Azmere and Hephiestian were out for a ride. It was the perfect day for such an activity. The sun was shining but it wasn’t hot. The wind was blowing crisply to counter the scorching effects of the burning star and it helped that clouds were moving quickly occasionally, albeit momentarily, obscuring the light. This was Azmere’s favorite time of year. He had spent the past few days toiling away at the Whetstone and Caloke had told him to take today off and enjoy the weather.

The breeze rustling along the grass made a melodic hush to compliment the rhythmic beating of the strider’s hooves. Azmere gripped Hephiestian’s mane and used his leg muscles to float his body above the horse’s back. This was not only good form but it saved Azmere the unpleasantness of a sore bottom [a lesson learned very early in life]. The duo raced across the Sea of Grass like they were being chased. It wasn’t a game or a test. It’s just how they preferred to travel; fast. Hephiestian was a massive strider whose hooves thundered on the earth but his form betrayed the grace with which he moved. Azmere rarely had to worry about maneuvering his beast during joyrides. The horse had a better sense of the plains than any human and Azmere found out the hard way that over-controlling Hephiestian is a good way to end up with a face full of weeds.

Azmere squinted against the sun and scanned the horizon for landmarks. He had often found his way around simply by using the few random items that broke the rolling line of grass and sky. He noticed a single tree quite some distance from them. The tree was unique in that it had been split by lightning years past and each side died then regrew in the shape of challis. Azmere loved to rest within the trunk of the massive tree and Hephiestian liked the sourgrass [clover] that grew in the shade. An open-mouth grin settled upon Azmere’s face as he squeezed his thighs tighter around Hephiestian and dug the heels of his boots into the animal’s sides. The big stallion responded by going airborne over a small cleft and then barreled towards the tree. The area around Azmere was simply a blur but it didn’t matter. The exhilaration of being free and without worry was all that consumed Azmere’s simple mind today.

The silhouette of the oddly-shaped tree grew larger and larger on the horizon until it was close enough to see the fluttering of the leaves. Azmere lifted his frame into a more upright position and helped guide Hephiestian around the clusters of thorn bushes. The beast’s pace slowed rapidly but without any abrupt motions which allowed Azmere to relax his muscles and grip. They trotted right up next to the south trunk and Azmere dismounted. He patted Hephiestian on the side and flank as the horse, with a mind to graze, headed into a patch of sourgrass. Azmere watched while the sun and shadows danced over his strider’s form. He was more attached to his horse than anything else in his entire life and was not ashamed to admit as much. His eyes drew in the image for a moment longer before he turned away and started to climb the tree.

Azmere had a special spot where he liked to rest but it was not easy to attain. He rubbed his hands together and adjusted his quiver and bow so his arms would not be restricted in their movement. He grabbed a twisted knot from the old trunk with his right hand and wedged his boot into a low split. He pulled himself up and used his left hand to grab a low branch on the new growth then swung his frame over. His hands and feet worked in tandem using a very clever pattern of back and forth to elevate himself. Soon, Azmere was fifteen feet from the ground and hanging over a briar patch. White-knuckled, he clung to the branch and took a deep breath. One hand in front of the other, Azmere moved out along this branch further and further.

The tree split into three pieces when the bolt of Zulrav’s lightning struck. Two spawned new life but one did not. This is the place where Azmere liked to curl up and rest. The fallen trunk was smack in the middle of some very aggressive thorns but still rose above their vines. Its surface was smooth and wide from years and years of wind and weather wearing the rough edges down to a soft plane. Azmere dangled a bit further and could feel the skin on his hands protest in fatigue. Left over right, right over left then drop. Azmere let go and fell almost nine feet down but positioned his feet perfectly. He squatted to absorb the impact of the fall and then stood straight once more. He aligned his eyes to Hephiestian who had paused his snacking to watch his rider dangle from the branch. Once Azmere’s feet made contact, the horse went back to munching on clover.

Azmere chuckled to himself and closed his eyes. He lifted his arms out at his sides and spread his fingers wide to feel the breeze wrap around his body. With this peaceful feeling, he sat down and removed his bow and quiver. He hung the quiver from the stump of an old limb then laid down on his back. Staring at the clouds overhead, he notched an arrow but left it slack and folded his arms over the bow. Azmere dozed off holding his weapon against his chest.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Azmere]

Hephiestian jumped and stomped at the soil near the thorn bushes which protected Azmere’s bed au naturel. The weather had changed drastically but the Drykas male hadn’t noticed. He hadn't noticed because he was out cold. Azmere didn’t stir until a boom of thunder rolled down from the western sky. He sat up and looked around then replaced the arrow back into his quiver. Blinking away the sleep, Azmere looked around to see his trusty companion giving him the stank eye. “I know. I know!” Azmere rose to his feet slowly while clutching his bow. Once up, he ducked down quickly to gather his quiver. Rising once more, Azmere slung the quiver and bow over his head and shoulder letting them rest comfortably across his back. The wind was wickedly whipping about and whistling an eerie tune through the branches.

Hephiestian began to circle in the open space as he impatiently waited for Azmere to navigate his way out of the briars. The young man swung his arms out wide and then across his chest and back out again to stimulate circulation. He rocked up onto his toes and then back to flat foot. While continuing to swing his arms, he did partial squats. Azmere limbered up in this way for almost two minutes and then he came to rest in a light attention. Hephiestian paused and watched his rider who just grinned. Azmere crouched down and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. In a display of finesse and strength, he leapt straight into the air and shot his arms up at the last moment. He fingers wrapped around the branch giving him enough leverage to tighten his grip. Once Azmere was comfortable with the hold he had on the tree, he kicked his feet out simultaneously in front of him. Rocking forward, he then kicked his feet behind him. He continued these motions and his body swung further out each way until he had enough momentum to clear the thorns. It was at the peak of his swing forward that he let go.

Azmere sailed through the air and as he descended he noticed he was going to be a bit wide. “Great.” He managed to utter just one word before tumbling to the ground. His feet outshot the rest of his body so when they made contact he did not land gracefully. The heels of his boots dug in and scooted through the grass until they met enough force to stop him. Azmere fell back on his butt quite hard and instinctively put his hands back to cushion the impact. This would normally have ended in a scuff mark or two but today was not a normal kind of day. Azmere’s left palm caught a thorn in the pad right between his middle and index fingers. He shouted a few choice words as he stood up. He shook his hand and studied the wound. The thorn was still stuck in his hand so like any normal person Azmere bit the intrusion between his teeth and yanked it out. He spit it on the ground and walked over to Hephiestian who was uneasy because of the lightning and thunder which had moved much closer.

He kept a close eye on the dark front of clouds that moved ever closer at a rapid pace. The thunder and lightning were coming at higher frequencies than before and the air was growing colder with every gust. Azmere retrieved his winter blanket from his yvas bag and held his hand against it with great pressure for a spell. Once the bleeding was mostly stopped, Azmere tossed the blanket back in its place. He used the glassbeak talon on the end of his bow to slice a piece of cloth from his shemagh. He pulled at it until he had a nice little strip then wrapped it around his fingers interchanging one then the other until he used the whole piece of fabric. He tucked the stray under the makeshift bandage and flexed his fingers a few times then smirked. “Not bad, eh?” he showed his hand to Hephiestian who had moved next to Azmere as if encouraging him to hurry.

Azmere took the subtle hint and mounted his steed. He winced a bit and adjusted the grip of his left hand. Once he was seated in the niche on Hephiestian’s back, the strider took off back towards Endrykas. This put them parallel to the line of the storms. It was only a matter of time before they would be caught. Riding hard, Azmere tucked his body down close to Hephiestian; his eyes scanned the terrain for some shelter. Trees are no good in a lightning storm and the Sea of Grass didn’t offer much in the way of cliffs or caves. However, since the Valterrian, the plains of Cyphrus are littered with many cracks and crevices in the earth which make excellent short-term shelters. If memory served him correctly, Azmere had a notion of where there was a cluster. The archer steered Hephiestian towards the incoming storm at about a forty degree angle and used the heels of his boots to encourage the stallion to pick up speed.

After riding for a chime or two, Azmere felt the big stallion slow his pace. He was right! The grass was patchy here and Azmere sat up and pulled back on his mount’s mane to bring him to a stop. Lightning was well within a mile and the cold air which brings rain was already nipping at Azmere’s exposed skin. He dismounted and began to dart from bare spot to bare spot looking for a suitable place to hide. He found a decent sized gash in the earth but knew he wouldn’t be able to convince Hephiestian to lie outside next to him and he didn’t have time to pitch his tent. Torn, Azmere paused and stared at his friend. The rain started to fall, gently at first, but in big cold drops. The Drykas knew if he rode in this weather, he’d catch his death. He embraced the jaw of his strider and pressed his forehead to Hephiestian’s nose. “Ride home.” Azmere secured his rucksack and backpack then took his Vihar into his hand. He took a step back and patted the strider on the neck.

Hephiestian refused and simple stood defiantly in the rain. Azmere shook his head. Stubborn beast. Once he reached the entrance, the Drykas dug through the yvas bag and retrieved his tent. Azmere clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. The strider twisted his head at the sound and made his way to the man. Azmere backed his way up against the crevice and led his horse down next to him. Once the stallion had lain down, Azmere stretched the tent over his mount and secured it with a few well-placed arrows. The Drykas then moved into the crevice and propped the tent over the opening so he and his horse would be close. Azmere tucked his backpack and rucksack against the steed and sat up in his little earthen shelter. He held his bow with an arrow notched but slack and closed his eyes. He listened to the sound of the rain as it drove hard against the tent and the wind as it howled overhead. This mingled with the breathing of a very large animal and made for a pleasant tune that lulled Azmere into peaceful meditation. Always on guard in the Sea of Grass, the man took advantage of the dark and calm by allowing it to heighten his other senses. He did not sleep for he was not tired but Azmere was able to relax. In the midst of this peaceful state, the scarred young man pondered a great many things.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Azmere]

There’s a funny thing about the space between dreams and reality; one is usually unaware that he or she has arrived. Such was the case with Azmere who had chosen to ride out the storm in a make-shift shelter. The shallow crevice beneath the rock was cozy and despite his will to remain awake, sleep had come. In the grips of a dream that he would not remember, Azmere was falling…falling…

Falling.

The contrasting eyes shot open as the weightlessness became real. Still in the dark, Azmere twisted about trying to find something –anything to give him stability. There was nothing for a tick or a chime. Time was a tricky mistress when uncertainty was the lone guest at the mind’s biggest party of the season. Weathered hands flailed and muscles strained to create some kind of momentum. The Drykas had enough sense to at least try and roll over so that he wasn’t rapidly floating towards a backbreaking collision. This was all for naught as the gods would have it.

Hands, gloved and strong, took the man from the air in a rough snatch that reminded the archer of an owl stealing a clueless rodent from the grass. Azmere was tossed against something hard and uneven much like the crevice where he had found solace. Pain shot through his shoulder and into his neck muscles as well as the familiar burning sting of a few scraps and cuts on his legs and side. Instinct of a predator, the Drykas popped up despite his injuries. There was light in this area but it was strange; not torches nor lanterns. The illumination seemed to permeate everything with its soft, blue iridescence but offered little in the way of visibility. The man went to swing at his attackers but found he could only see pale blurs or tracers of real beings. Whatever they were, they moved quickly and it appeared that they could climb on walls and ceilings.

The commotion was dizzying but finally an opportunity presented itself. The horseman took a sharp step to the left then used that foot to plant and reverse his momentum. His entire mass flowed up from his feet, through a slight twist of his hips and into a powerful blow delivered with his right forearm. The action was something like a whip snap and it caught one of the assailants just as they dropped from the ceiling of the cave. A series of snaps and cracks were heard beneath the curdling cry of the creature. It sounded almost human but dropped into a heap several feet from where it had met the unstoppable force known as Azmere Stormblood.

Fueled by his successful attack, the Drykas set off on a rampage. Whoever these people were –whatever they were; they would pay for the poor choice in targeting him. Azmere’s eyes had adjusted somewhat and he was getting better at timing the attacks and had to be patient. Since his haymaker had felled the first, the rest seemed a bit leery of an outright assault. Unless he had miscounted, the archer had pinpointed four more beings in the ‘room’. The rocks appeared normal so he figured it to be a pocket within the many tunnels that ran underneath all of Cyprhus. Azmere spent several chimes trying to chase and anticipate their paths but was too slow and far less agile than his opponents.

He recalled from an animal attack he had witnessed as a child. Three dogs cornered a night lion but all parties had suffered some kind of wound. The dogs were all feinting but never moving in to strike for fear of the lioness’ mighty claws and the female knew this. She curled up suddenly as if exhausted. The first dog to leap was caught and ripped wide open by tooth and claw. The Drykas folded into his form. His head came down as he dropped into a squat with feet shoulder width apart. His main focus was on his breathing trying his best to regulate the noise he made which made predicting the direction of the attack much easier. At first, the creatures seemed to hang in limbo for three or four ticks before they leapt into action.

One dropped from the ceiling directly behind Azmere and slashed at him with razor sharp nails then hopped away. The cuts ran across his shoulders but were not severe and so the warrior did not move. It was difficult for Azmere to be still while in such a state of enmity. His being down to the fibers of djed that allowed him to wander the web ached to demolish and rage through the cave until none was left but a still small voice was telling him to remain as the stone; cold and immovable. Two more of the pale figures emerged from their constant routes to stand next to one another a mere ten feet from Azmere. Slowly, they took steps to creep forward. The Drykas maintained his position though he slowly pushed and pulled on the muscles in his legs, core and arms to draw into themselves and store up power for what would certainly be a deadly attack on the frail monsters.

Azmere opened his eyes just a sliver to gauge their distance and found them to be within five feet. The big man sprang up from his squat pushing from his feet, though his calves and thighs and into his torso. At the last moment he snapped his arms out aiming to grab each by the throat or chest and then drive them into the ground. The patsies cowered but did not retreat from the eminent pain that was heading their way and it was this non-reaction that told the archer all he needed to know; he’d been played. Just as his right fingertips graced the strange armor of his would-be victim, a massive rock landed on his back and dropped him straight to the ground. The weight knocked all the air from his lungs and cracked a few ribs rendering him instantly motionless. He raised his head to try and get a better look at these people but a heavy boot came out of his peripheral vision and sent everything into darkness. Azmere was once again falling.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Azmere]

Azmere woke with a start. He tried to react to a past event but failed and the sudden stop gave him a brief moment of fear. As if he were suspended, the Drykas felt his weight leaning forward as if he were falling forward. The stop came as a result of his arms being bound above his head and the sharp yank applied to his shoulders brought a wince to his face. The archer tried to pull his feet beneath him to ease the strain on his arm joints but they, too, were restricted though he could not see how. A gruff yet brief shout was forced from his diaphragm. The Drykas was angry and jerked within his shoulders and arms in an attempt to build some kind of rhythm that would allow him to apply force against his restraints. The downward pulls revealed themselves in the bulging triceps and vascular forearms. Each pull was alternated with a bicep curl and shoulder shrug which shifted his weight back and up allowing for additional momentum to aid his pulls against the shackles on his wrists.

“I don’t think that’s going to work, big guy.” A soft, low voice interrupted Azmere’s attempts to free himself. He ceased the exertion and turned his head to the left and saw nothing then to the right and he could see the person attached to the voice. “Besides, you’re racket is going to bring the spiderkin.” While the Drykas could not see all of the woman’s body, he had a descent view from the corner of his eye. She was chained to the ceiling of the dim cave as he was and her feet were tied to the wall behind them. The way this woman was bound explained to Azmere his own situation. Her body leaned at a thirty degree angle away from her feet which was just enough to move her center of gravity past her base. She wore a dress of simple linen which appeared to be an undergarment. It was thin, tattered around the edges and seams and revealed that she was either very skinny or had been kept poorly for quite some time. Her Pavi was decent but Azmere couldn’t see any windmarks. The woman’s skin was pale and radiated in the dim light provided by shrouded braziers. She had long black hair that feel over her bony shoulder, down her back and past her bottom though her spine peeked through once as did her pointed hip.

“Spider…kin?” Azmere responded. He was surprised by the echo of his baritone voice and swallowed hard hoping that he could be more subtle on the next round of conversation. The archer thought for a few ticks before continuing in a much softer tone. “You speak Pavi. Are you Drykas? I don’t see your windmarks.” He shuffled his body trying to turn and face her more but he was already twisted at the waist just to gain his minimal view. It seemed that their captors had set them up so they were falling away from one another in some kind of fashion.

“That’s because I have none. I am not yet bonded but I am Drykas!” Her voice rose above a whisper for the first time and it revealed her age to be young or at the very least younger than he. The girl twisted some in her restricted state but not enough to see her face. From the side, Azmere could make out a more womanly shape so he added a few years to his guess for her age.

“What do you know of those who have taken us?” Azmere went right on with the business of finding a way to escape. He had to get out and he had to find Hephiestian. The contrasting eyes gazed about as his ears heard a shuffling of boots but he saw nothing after several ticks and continued to bombard the young lass with questions. “Are they many? Are they organized? Are there other Drykas here? Other captives?”

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Azmere]

The woman’s voice dropped despondently. The long hair flowed about in an almost imperceptible breeze. Azmere knew little about the caverns beneath the Sea of Grass aside from what all Drykas are taught as children; that Semele housed the horseclans for generations before they were free to roam the whole of Cyphrus. He shifted by pulling up on his wrist restraints. His back tightened as the archer focused on his core muscles in an effort to tighten his body from head to toe. Once he accomplished this, Azmere extended his legs which slightly alleviated the tension on his leg bindings. In a double-leg kick, he brought both knees forward as fast and as hard as he could. The knotted rope on his ankles protested and refused to give way. The coarse fibers bit down into his skin which only seemed to anger the man further.

Several more attempts were made until Azmere could feel the warm trickle of blood slip down inside his boot. He released the pose he had been holding which was akin to a snake uncoiling. His legs relaxed first then his core and back went slack and finally, he gave in to the burning and allowed his arms to extend until he was as his companion; dangling by wrist and ankle. The female Drykas must have heard his exertion and when she could make out the sounds of effort no longer, she answered his questions. “To my knowledge, we are the only hostages.” She shifted her weight slightly which caused her body to twist between the ropes. Once more, the archer was given a better view of the tiny form. Her skin was darker than her garment which lent reason to the statement that she was among the Drykas. All children of the wind are tan. The girl also had a bearing that hinted at a confidence within though that was more speculation than observation. One could never truly say what was inside another until he had witnessed a revelation of character.

The girl continued with her explanation being careful to keep her voice soft so the sound wouldn’t travel along the rocky walls. “These creatures aren’t exactly human but they’re hard to tell apart. All pale, they have claws and fangs but no wings. I don’t know how long I’ve been down here but...” The woman trailed off. “My grandfather used to tell stories of a strange race from far away who lived in silk homes and walked on roads made of silk that hung from the tops of huge caves. He called them spiderkin.” She went silent and lowered her head.

Azmere was unaccepting of a fate beyond his control especially from some strange little people who fight like cowards. He went back to his physical struggle against his restraints. Muscles flexed and relaxed as his body worked itself into a rhythm. When he would flex and pull on everything all at once, his form curled almost into a fetal position and would rise creating a straight line between the anchors of both his bindings. He would go limp and allow his weight to hit the moorings simultaneously. The archer worked on this for what felt like bells but it more like twenty chimes. Just as he was ready to give up, he heard a snick. His shoulders jarred down once then a second time almost immediately after the first. The rope that held his hands was giving way from the rocks overhead. Azmere knew he would have to twist to avoid breaking something if he fell. In the stillness that followed, he posed a whispered question to his neighbor. “If I free you, what will you give me in return?” It was a silly question because Azmere would free her if she had nothing to give but since he knew little of the woman, he felt this a good way to cipher through the present unknowing.

The girl turned to answer but the Drykas would not have heard her reply for the rope’s hold in the rocks gave way. Azmere’s upper half went crashing towards the hard stone floor but he had been prepared for such a tumble. The archer exhaled and swung his bound wrists as if to strike the ground. The quick move brought him down upon his forearms and elbows which reverberated up into his shoulders but it was better than smacking the back or side of his noggin. Halfway there, the big man thought. He rolled onto his shoulder then his back. He made a quick sit-up and grabbed his pant legs then pulled himself into a bunch near the wall so his fingers could work at the knots around his ankles.

While he was tugging and prying at the ropes, the girl was twisting to see what had happened. Before she could ascertain much or ask questions, two of their captors rounded the corner. Without a word, they charged at the big man being silent in their aim to rid him of his consciousness. One drew a dagger but the other picked up a large rock. Azmere was not aware of the harm that was intended for his being so he continued to work the knot around his ankles. When the rock was brought down against his skull, Azmere’s head moved but he did not feel the sharp edge nor did the blunt object relieve him of the burden of being awake. This drew his attention though and he quickly grabbed the stunned attacker and pulled the surprisingly light being beneath him by the creature’s waist.

The girl was right. These were not humans. They had evil eyes, black claws and fangs like a monster. Once the Drykas had a hold of his opponent, the rest was history. Azmere ignored the biting and clawing and simply used the mallet comprised of his bound fists to pummel the pale-skinned monster into a pulp against the stone anvil of the cave floor. The second guard was hovering over Azmere and had tried three times to stab the human with the dagger but soon found that he was not having any affect. Azmere, still unaware of the attacks not landing, turned his head to see the shadowy figure turn towards the girl. A growl escaped his throat as he shot his hands out and caught the scrawny ankle of his adversary. With a sharp yank and a twist, he broke the frail bone in his grasp.

The pale kidnapper yelped and collapsed next to the Drykas who was still bound by his feet. Azmere pulled on the busted joint and half crawled, half dragged the enemy into his reach. The clawed hands went for his eyes but failed to do any damage. The archer wrapped his big hands around the skull, white hair intertwining with his fingers. He lifted the head up and the crashed it down against unforgiving rock surface. The black claws tore at Azmere’s forearms and hands and now the man was seeing the ineffective attacks. While this was puzzling, he continued to pound the man’s skull until it crumpled into mush between his fingers. Once the twitching stopped, Azmere let go and rolled over onto his back while his chest rose and fell with short, deep breaths. He lolled his head to the side amidst the viscera and looked towards the woman. “What kind of magic was that?”

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Azmere]

The woman smiled sheepishly. As Azmere pulled and pried at the binding around his feet, he listened to his new friend. “It’s called shielding.” She said plainly in a whisper. “One manipulates djed into a bubble around an object or a person and gives that bubble a purpose: be it to stop physical harm or to protect from other magics.” The young man finally freed himself then stood up. He reached his hands up as high as he could and allowed his back muscles to uncoil; the tension sending shivers up his spine as the bundles of tissue moved back into place. Azmere bent at the waist and leaned forward, his arms extending down and took hold of his calves. He pulled his chest towards his knees and felt the strain from his hamstrings. The blood flow increased from the stretching and he began to feel normal again after his time of being bond and suspended. “We need to go. There will be more.” The Drykas walked slowly towards the girl. He made an arc with his steps and was careful to walk heel to toe so the sound would be minimized.

Azmere came around in front of her and his breath caught in his throat. The girl was absolutely beautiful. She had finely chiseled features like a button nose, high cheekbones and a smooth jawline but her eyes were the color of the sky right before Syna disappeared into the horizon. The deep purple touched Azmere deep in his chest like he had inhaled too much smoke from a campfire and he felt heat rise up behind his cheeks. What was the most striking, however, was the set of four freshly carved scratches into her left cheek. The archer’s eyes misted over when he realized that she had caught him staring. The shame on her face was plain and he was guilty of making her feel lesser for the marks. This would never do. With a bloody hand, he reached out and gently lifted her chin with the index and middle fingers until her gaze met his own. His eyes conveyed the adoration he felt and he signed beautiful then touched her injured flesh. For a few more ticks, he lingered before squatting down and untying the bindings on her legs.

Azmere never had a girlfriend so this would be his first time being so close to a woman. He was surprised to find how gentle his hands could be as he slowly unwound the coarse rope from the girl’s thin ankles. When the knots were undone, he cast them aside and took a second to gently rub at the indentations that the restraints had left behind. Even this simple kindness made his stomach seem to turn over itself. The girl moved her legs around and walked in place as Azmere stood up in front of her. Tendrils of her hair fell against his skin while he swam in the amethyst gaze. He whispered his name to her and she whispered hers back. “Daleina.” The young man repeated the unfamiliar sounds several times while his hands went to work. He reached up along her arms trailing his fingers against her skin so that his hands could find their own way to the knotted rope for his eyes were too busy watching the female Drykas.

The girl flushed under his constant observation and almost smiled. Azmere felt that he might have given anything to see her smile. Despite his far away thoughts, the man quickly sorted through the knots and discarded the rope from Daleina’s wrists. The young woman’s arms fell over Azmere’s shoulders upon their release and she pressed against the man for support. The male Drykas caught her in a firm grasp under her arms and against her ribs. He could feel her heart thumping almost as fast as his own. For several ticks or what could’ve been chimes, they stood in silent acceptance of the embrace. Azmere had visions of riding through the Sea of Grass with her arms wrapped around his waist and lying on his favorite tree while they guessed the shapes of the clouds. Then Daleina kissed him. She stood up on her tippytoes and pressed her lips against the dried skin of Azmere’s mouth. The man squeezed her with his hands and lifted her up against his chest; his biceps flexing to bear the strain. The Drykas would lift ten times the girl’s weight to experience this again. Explosions went off in the man’s soul as he felt flooded by wave after wave of things he didn’t understand. The archer tilted his head to oppose her angle while he puckered his lips against hers. When he felt her weight sink slightly, his mouth pulled gently on her lower lip as if begging for her not to stop. The man reluctantly lowered her back down to the ground.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Azmere]

Blushing, Daleina giggled and put her hand against Azmere’s scars. “Don’t look so sad, Azmere.” Her voice whispered. She signed time and place then began to look around. Azmere had completely forgotten that they were both in a dangerous situation. Had she not used his name, he might’ve forgotten that as well. The archer suddenly realized that he had no weapons and his gear was gone. The archer scrambled back to the corpse of one of the spiderkin and lifted the strange looking dagger into his grasp. It was thin and light, very different from his hunting dagger. Daleina moved over and placed her hands around the one that grasped the blade. The contrasting gaze met the lavender stare with a questioning look. “Can you travel the web?” She asked. Azmere nodded. “Making shields is like that. You pour djed over something and you weave it into a shield. While you do that, you command the djed to do a job.” Her hands illustrated like she was wrapping the dagger in some invisible layer. “For now, just tell the djed to protect your thumb.” He gave her another glance but she just nodded.

Azmere closed his eyes and took a deep breath then opened them back up and focused on the dagger he held before him. He concentrated on his breathing and started to picture djed pouring from his hands. The right hand held the dagger so he used the tip like a paintbrush and encircled his left thumb with it over and over again. Nothing. He dropped his arms and looked to the woman. She placed a dainty hand on his arm and nodded reassuringly. Azmere lifted his hands in front of his once more and repeated the motions while he took deep breaths. After a chime or three of failures, there was a reaction. The dagger-wielding right hand seemed to be dripping a soft blue liquid down onto the blade. It trailed along the knife’s edge and began to drip onto Azmere’s left thumb.

The man exerted his will on the droplets as they landed upon his skin. He couldn’t feel them but he could see them. Eventually, the random amount of manifested magic began to look like another layer of skin. It shimmered like water under candlelight and every drop allowed it to spread down to the first knuckle and then the second. Azmere’s eyes were wide as he watched the djed coat his thumb. Daleina touched his hand with her own. “That’s enough. Now task the shield to protect your skin from physical harm.” The man hesitated but he trusted this girl, unsure as the reasons why but he did.

The gold and blue eyes stared back to the strange-looking bubble over his thumb. Azmere spoke with the voice in his head. ”Protect my thumb. Protect it from physical damage.” He repeated this over and over again. After almost another chime, he felt Daleina take the dagger from his other hand. She held the blade then took hold of his left hand. The woman slowly pressed the dagger’s tip down against the end of his thumb. Azmere gave a triumphant cry which he quickly stifled with his right hand. Daleina smiled and moved nearer to the large man. The girl tucked herself against his side and handed him the dagger. “Keep your focus on the shield and make sure to continually task and form it. This will strengthen your understanding.” The man nodded and wrapped his arm around the small frame of the young woman without even thinking about it. It felt natural and easy to be this way. Azmere didn’t understand any of it; only that he liked it.

Daleina signed quickly as she stared up at him with those large lavender eyes. Web. Question. Find gear. Azmere nodded and handed her the dagger again. He sat down against the wall and closed his eyes. He felt the sheen of her tattered garment settle against him. The places where her cool skin touched his own sent goosebumps running up and down his body but the Drykas didn’t open his eyes. The comfort of feeling Daleina against him allowed him to slip into the web without much effort. It was strange how easy she made it for him to relax. In his awareness, Azmere stared at her for several ticks and was amazed at how small she was pressed up against him. He was also committing the sight to memory for later –he never wanted to forget this.

The man began to zip around the caverns and was amazed at how organized they were. While seemingly random, the tunnels were laid out like the branches on a tree. There were several places where he could not see or go because they djed lines did not extend into them. This made Azmere nervous since he had only seen a few of the creepy spiderkin. Despite the feeling of unease, the young man checked back on his body several times to find Daleina curled up in his lap with one arm around his neck and the other holding the dagger defiantly. Finally, the archer headed up the trunk of the tunnels and recognized some of the chambers from when he first arrived. He found his gear sitting in a pile against the far wall and there were only two of the fiends sitting on the other side. They were staring at some strange soup in a big bowl but neither were eating. It’s like they were waiting for something to happen.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Azmere]

Azmere ran back to his body and rejoined. He didn’t open his eyes right away but rather he pulled Daleina tighter to his chest. His arms flexed and applied a constant pressure that cradled her small figure into an embrace that he couldn’t deny. The girl snuggled down against him and placed her head upon his shoulder; locks of hair covering half of Azmere’s body. Several chimes went by and he finally opened his eyes. Unsure in his motives, the man almost shivered as he twisted his head and placed his lips against the skin of her forehead. “We must go.” Daleina nodded and crawled up so she could kiss his lips. Her hands held his face still as she poured her spirit into this scarred but unbroken man. The petals of her mouth made a promise to Azmere; a promise that he’d never be alone with her and it was something that swelled his heart and soul.

The Drykas stood while still holding the girl around her back and under her knees. His own legs protested from the strain of lifting a second body from the ground but Azmere overruled his body with the mindset that he would carry Daleina anywhere she wished to go. He gently put her on her feet and adjusted the dagger in his hand. He signed a question asking if she could shield him from a distance and she nodded. With that in mind and knowledge of the tunnel’s layout, Azmere took her hand and began to walk briskly and quietly towards the large chamber. He concentrated on keeping his gaze moving while also making sure to walk in a manner that didn’t create noise. Intentionality was the key. When they arrived at the entrance to the cave area where Azmere had seen the two sentries, he turned and moved the young woman against the wall.

The archer signed that there were two enemies in the next room then asked for her to shield him. Daleina nodded and began an elaborate dance of her arms that seemed to cloak Azmere. He could not see her djed but he trusted her and held still. While he waited, he looked at his left thumb and narrowed his eyes. The weave or shimmer of his shield seemed dull so he concentrated upon the tiny shield and nothing else. He willed it to be stronger; coerced it into being solid and a defense against physical damage. Azmere’s newfound friend gave his arms a squeeze then nodded with a nervous smile. The archer gave a look of confidence in return then signed for her not to worry. He handed Daleina the dagger then tapped his left thumb to test his own shield and was satisfied that he had maintained it well enough.

Fearlessly, the Drykas stepped into the large chamber then planted his right foot as a launch point. He shot towards where he had seen his gear and didn’t bother to look over his shoulder as the shouts echoed against the stone ceiling. The man had one goal in mind and pumped his legs harder once he saw Vihar. After a few more strides, he slid into the corner so his hands could take up the bow and nock an arrow without having to stop. By the time all of this happened, the man had two pale and angry monsters charging him and closing the distance rapidly. One wielded a pair of daggers while the other had a quarterstaff with some kind of fixed blade. The archer drew back and fired his first arrow with a rough aim for center mass.

The opponent with the twin daggers fell to one side but he was not dead just preoccupied with a shaft hanging out of his side. The second was forced to divert his path so that he didn’t trip. Azmere didn’t have enough time to nock a second arrow but he did grab one from the quiver lying next to him. The bladed pole came out and Azmere dodged out of simple reflex by turning his right shoulder forward and leaning away. He swung his bow in a downward motion which knocked the funny little spear to one side then stabbed his arrow up at the enemy’s neck. This also missed its mark but tore into the cheek of the fiend who shrieked and peeled away to regain a firm stance and a better grip of his weapon.

A dagger bounced against the wall after deflecting off of Azmere’s abdomen. The wounded guard had thrown one at the human but Daleina’s shield had done its work. A glint in the creature’s eyes told the archer that they knew of the woman’s abilities and he instantly began to look around for her presence. The scarred man growled and nocked his second arrow. Both of the spiderkin were running towards the chamber’s exit. Azmere took aim, inhaled then released the arrow along with his held breath. The arrow almost disappeared into the ribs of the already wounded thing. The Drykas knelt and took a third arrow without hesitation, nocked and aimed but the dying figure twisted and lingered a moment which gave the other one time to escape.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Azmere]

With a roar, Azmere ran after him while he held arrow to string. The twice struck opponent fell into a heap but the man paid it no mind. He jogged wide of the passageway and sidestepped into a position to see down the tunnel with his loaded weapon raised. At first he saw nothing and lowered the tip of the arrow but the archer did not relax. He took a step forward…then another and on the third step, a shape came from within the shadows of the tunnel into the dim torchlight. There, as fire painted her gorgeous skin in hues that would make Syna jealous, Azmere saw Daleina being held by the being he allowed to escape. It had its spear to her side and blood trickled along her collarbone and underneath the fabric of the young woman’s poor excuse for clothing. The blood led back up to the mouth of the hideous thing which was latched onto the Drykas girl’s neck. The scarred man didn’t know what to do. Twice he tried to raise his weapon but he had no show so the arrow always ended up pointed at the rock.

Daleina’s eyes were full with tears but in true Drykas fashion, she refused to set them free. In that deep purple, he saw fight and readied himself for whatever was coming next. The shifted her weight to one side then stomped down on the coward’s boot. It hissed and released her, its head snapping up to reveal sharp teeth and fangs –the perfect window. Azmere raised his bow and looked down the shaft to the tip and brought it into focus. He held his breath until the open mouth blurred just slightly around the arrowhead then released with an exhale. It was a strange sound that followed; the way an arrow pierces the roof of a creature’s mouth but it was one the scarred Drykas would not soon forget.

The man ran forward and scooped up the staggering woman in his arms. He could hear the sounds of sandals slapping against the stone floor and knew they had to leave. He slung the bow over his head and arm then dipped down and hoisted Daleina up into his arms once more. The muscles of his arms swelled beneath her weight and his legs burned from all of the running but he did not stop until he reached the corner of the cavern. Azmere set her down gently just long enough to shoulder his pack. When he went to pick her up again, he noticed how pale she had gotten and wondered if the creature’s bite had poisoned her. She refused to be carried but did let him support her around the waist with his strong arm.

The Drykas ushered them forward into the shelf where he had taken shelter from the storm. His tarp had collapsed. Azmere let Daleina exit first then shoved his gear through second. The dead bodies had been discovered as shouts from behind could be heard. Azmere crawled through the opening on his belly; his arms churning like a machine to drag his heavy form along the cool ground. The smell of fresh air invigorated him and he was soon lying upon the grass under the stars. The archer gathered up his things and scoured the area for the woman. He whispered her name several times and each time it left a tingle along his spine.

“Daleina!” the hairs on his neck stood up. Had the creatures been prepared for such an escape?

“I’m here.” A soft voice cooed. Azmere moved his eyes to the sound and found her a few feet away on her knees with her head pointed at the sky. He ran to her and knelt down beside her frail figure. Azmere seemed to fill the space around her like a large blanket as he took her in his arms once more and pulled her against his chest. Daleina relaxed some but winced and pushed him away.

Azmere bent his fingers into a sign asking her what was wrong. She just shook her head and kept staring into the heavens as if she was trying to count the holes in Zintila’s cloak. The man glanced around nervously. He wanted to leave. The light of Leth was present but it seemed dim tonight. The Dryas wasn’t even sure what day it was or would be but he knew they needed to leave the area. The sudden realization of something missing struck him and Azmere nearly fell down. Hephiestian was gone! Had those things eaten him?

A growl rumbled in the man’s chest involuntarily but it was cut short by the approaching thunder of hooves. The man rose to his full height and gazed towards the noise. He peered into the darkness and saw only one silhouette that bore no signs of a rider. Closer still it came until the large splashes of white were visible and Azmere jumped into the air out of relief. When his boots hit the ground, the man took off running with his arms open. He caught the big stallion by the neck and clung to the animal so hard that he allowed the strider to drag him a few feet before Hephiestian came to a stop. The scarred rider squeezed his mount and scratched the long nose for several chimes; the relief of the strider’s safety and the love between the two was clearly visible.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze

[Azmere]

Then Azmere’s ears heard a soft whimper and he froze. He dashed back over to Daleina and clicked his tongue against his teeth for Hephiestian to follow. The big horse walked up slowly as the smell of a foreign person gave him pause. The Drykas reassured his steed with a waving motion but he was focused upon the sick woman before him. Azmere signed that they needed to leave the area and then offered for Daleina to ride his horse.

Thunder rumbled in the distance as Azmere whispered nice things to Hephiestian while he coaxed the creature down onto the ground. Once he had the horse seated, the archer delicately picked up Daleina who was now cold and shivering. He had to work extra hard to carry her since he couldn’t compress her against his torso; the load was solely upon his arms and shoulders. He sat her down on his yvas and scooted her up towards the handle. The man signed with his strider about standing but held on to the yvas so it wouldn’t shift and also as a precaution to prevent the stallion from popping up too quickly. The man swung himself up behind her without any issues then reached around the girl to hold onto the yvas handle. “You will have to hold yourself off of the yvas otherwise the journey will bounce you raw.”

Tiny hands slid down Azmere’s forearms. Without warning, the lithe girl suddenly turned around and wrapped her legs around the man’s waist and locked her ankles behind his back. She put her arms around his neck and clung to him with her face against his scarred neck. Daleina whispered in his ear “Go softly.”

Azmere lifted the both up by squeezing his legs against the wide back of Hephiestian and leaned forward just a little. The big stallion began to trot but not quickly. The extra weight was no burden for the strider so he was able to keep his strides rather smooth as the Drykas guided them al away from the entrance to the cave system. Daleina whimpered several times and even dug her nails into Azmere’s back once when Hephiestian stepped into a sinkhole that jarred them all. After ten chimes, she lost hold with her feet and feel backwards against Azmere’s arms. The man sat down in the seat and the horse stopped. The woman looked up at her friend with almost no color left in her eyes. Azmere felt his chest go tight and his eyes mist over.

Daleina smiled weakly and signed that wished to rest. The archer nodded and slipped her gently onto the yvas by herself then dismounted. He pulled out a blanket from his yvas bag and stretched it over the damp grass. He then helped the girl down and laid her upon the heavy wool before he stripped off his pack and began to look for something to help her. A small hand reached over and took hold of Azmere’s left hand. “How’s your shield?” She whispered. The Drykas smiled back as he fought off negative thoughts. He turned his contrasting gaze to the thumb and saw the weave falling apart like a damp piece of parchment. He closed his eyes and tried to piece it back together. Az attempted to bend the djed to his will but he couldn’t – he just couldn’t. Sadness written all over his face, Daleina smiled and patted the thumb. “You’ll get it someday.” She signed at him, her fingers not responding so there was a pause as the man deciphered the broken gestures. Lie down. Watch sky. With me.

Azmere slid down onto the grass and wrapped the slack of the blanket around Daleina then put his arm under her head. He just watched her wide-eyed wonder at the sky. Apparently she had been underground for some time. She looked at him and mouthed ‘thank you’ then went back to gazing upward.

Azmere fell asleep after spending bells watching Daleina. When he awoke in the cool dew of morning, she was gone. A bolt of lightning split the sky as the Drykas said prayers over the rapidly decaying body. Tears began to streak his face as he packed up his gear for the journey ahead. The archer looked at his left thumb and drove an angry focus to pool djed around it. After a few chimes, a thin coating of material wrapped around the digit. The man made certain to impose his will upon it as he tasked it to prevent any physical damage just like before. The sky opened up and dumped rain on the loner. He lifted his gaze to the Ukalas and felt it wash away his signs of mourning. He didn’t feel any drops on his thumb though and that caused him to look back at the body of the girl who touched his heart.

She was a girl no longer. Daleina washed away into the Sea of Grass with Zulrav’s tears. The Drykas bent down and cut a piece of her tattered dress then tied it into his hair behind his left ear. Azmere thought it fitting and vowed to always practice what she had taught him then he made his way for home; a better man and a bit more broken.

Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus

Textbox by Firenze