Blackmouth Chronicles

stories of a city & other places

Author: BlackmouthChronicler Page 1 of 4

Sins Past & Present

By

On 2024-08-27

In Other Stories, Zelucellia

The Journal of Morwyn mac Tíre

<- Death, Birth & Change | ->

Tried talking to Hatsuko-enzidh but I was wrong. She felt no ill-will for the truth of me, but she did not know the words. Not Kin. Just coincidence, or fortune. Fate, perhaps. Amahanam Iduth working by strange hands. But she honours the Viridian Angel and bears Her in battle, and that is enough. I will fight by her as long as her pack will have me.

I thought that was balm enough on my fear, but then more truths came spilling forth in the dawn light. Didel woke, panicking and expecting to rend us all. Tried to calm her by telling what had been done. That was fuel to the fire. She spoke of the Pealing in utter horror, that it cuts free the Beast bound in lycan skin and gives it unto the Hoarmother to fester and grow until it stalks the land and brings ruin. She would rather we had killed her. What have I done?

Could find no more words for her, just offerings of help and an effort to undo this sin. She told us her story – just a farmer who fell under the curse, could not control herself any more so was sealed away to be forgotten five centuries ago. She mentioned Elders whose names scratched at the tatters of my memory but stirred nothing. And that she went into the tomb with her wife and family. No, Ama, please, not that… That pain cuts too deep. That emptiness. I know its dimensions. Its jagged weeping-blood edges. Yriantha…

She left for Brolko with provisions and gold and pain enough to burden a giant. May she find peace.

I asked the pack if they still wished me among them after all that had happened. What I had done. What they had seen I could be. They did not chase me away. Did not reject me for being monstrous. Drashi-irmirska even looked at me bright-eyed and fascinated. Why? I do not understand.

I don’t trust myself. Can’t trust myself. Why do they trust me? They can put me down if they need to. There is peace in that thought. Someone can stop me when I become a monster.

Leera-ninna‘s keen eyes saw it at first. We were still a half-day away from Ugroccoz when she noticed a ship wedged between mountains several miles north of us and even more north of the sea. Strange sight, worth investigating but would as a day to our journey and time felt pressed. Charlotte-zaazi was so anxious her Miss that haste on to Ugroccoz felt wise.

But viewing with a spyglass showed signs of life on the ship and wyverns circling, agitated and territorial. People on the ship may not last without help. Lishan-azah cast a divination of the best course of action. The ship had greater urgency so we began to climb, slow and careful and stealthy up the rugged slopes and scree toward it.

Ninna‘s cunning and wise magics kept us well out of sight of the great farasmirska for most of our climb. Too well. One landed to rest atop where we were hiding from their gaze. Enzidh, bold as silver, decided to talk to it. With clever words, assistance and advice, she convinced the wyvern we meant no harm and allowed us to approach the ship.

The remaining climb was particularly hard and we will need to rest well to recover from it. Prefer running through woods to scaling mountains, but we reached the ship and met the inhabitants. Three travellers – Hellman Drake, Grishnak and Shimmer – from the Astral Sea lost here by teleportation accidents and trying to get home. Beyond our skills or magics but we decided to ask the wyverns, made somewhat friendly by Enzidh‘s cunning tongue, to help get the ship off the mountains to start the three on their way.

Enzidh and Azah, assisted by translation magic, put the request to the farasmirska. The largest of them, a beautiful dark-scaled creature, agreed but gave them a task in return. One of its eggs was unhatched though all its broodmates are born. We are to watch it, keep it safe and until it hatches and bring it back once grown enough it will not be eaten by hungry siblings.

Formika, before the pact was sealed

The deal was sealed with a pact of names. Strange magic to be used by a wyvern, but also strange that they can speak. Pacts. Like that hungry Ky’trrix forged with dead Cormund? Essence flowed between the sworn. Enzidh and Azah gained a flash of dragonscale and bright sharpness while the wyvern gained something of humanity. Still a dragon, great and powerful, but blossoming with humanoid traits and a mind sharpened like claws on whetstone. She gained words we could all understand, the common tongue tinged with Enzidh and Azah’s dialects, and used them to explain.

She called herself Formika now. Said she once served a powerful dragon and learned the art of pacting. They – she and the other wyverns – were proud and brilliant creatures, unshackled by the prison of towns and civilisations. Familiar words. Ky’trrix spoke of the Manticore who sent him to Brolko to cast down civilisation. Coincidence? Or echoes of deeper patterns.

Formika’s throngmates, the sleek red who Enzidh had spoken to before and a powerfully-jawed white, descended while she spoke. They approved of her pact and offered the same. Hands and words are useful things, I suppose, even to mighty dragons. Two of us accepted that offer. I do not know Leera-ninna’s reasons but I was curious. Civilisation is a cage. What place does a monster like me have in it?

There are shining white scales across the knuckles of my hands now and the roots of my claws are faded silver-pale. They glint like ice, pale scale against pale skin against pale tattoo-markings. My fangs feel sharper and the air is warmer against my skin. Or I am cooler. A core of cold moonsilver ice has settled deep where my soul should be and my Rage burns cold there.

The farasmirska, Formika and her mates, used their new strengths to lift the ship away to safe water to help the lost three find their way home. And one among them – the wizard Hellman Drake – offered a reward of magic and knowledge. Scrolls and lore. I asked for what he knew of the Hoarmother, that we may know the scale of my sins and how they may be undone.

Death, Birth & Change

By

On 2024-08-19

In Other Stories, Uncategorized, Zelucellia

The Journal of Morwyn mac Tíre

<- Children of the Blood | Sins Past & Present ->

Standing in the ruins of luxury beneath jagged moon-burning shardlight. Ready for battle and afraid of what comes after. Didel rushes forth from below, huge and bloody. Lost deep in the bloody depths of her killing mir and not what I expected. Her war form was not wolf or bear or rat or cat but Namus-lulul, a possum. A possum hybrid large as an ogre with dagger-fangs and shortsword-claws, screaming her rage and hunger and stinking of blood and violence.

My soul writhed as we met her at the head of the stairs. These were my pack, strong and bright and fighting together. Hatsuko-enzidh and Vivian-bhakiir and Drashi-irmirska were a line of steel and claw. Enzidh‘s blade cut and parried and danced around claws that left ragged wounds in their wake. Bhakiir was a shadow and a storm, worrying and severing and hamstringing Didel to hold her back. Irmirska…

Drashi-irmirska was a goddess of war. Heedless and powerful. As confident now with a greatsword as before with words and lore. She shrugged off blows that would have staggered Enzidh or killed lesser souls. Struck with reckless, glorious strength and power. Shining arcs of steel and blood and scale and sinew. Inspiring…

Didel’s shrieking roars kept the others back but did not slow their courage. Leera-ninna‘s arrows struck like rain and thunderbolts, spreading frostrime like blood with each strike. Lishan-azah‘s magic turned aside blows and saved lives by grace of magpie wings, though could little hurt Didel directly through the shield of her Rage. Charlotte-zaazi‘s spells were precise and lethal as a knife-dancer’s daggers.

The Rage rose like fire, burning me to meet Didel claw to claw. The pack was fighting so fiercely. I needed to fight. I hungered to stand with them. To feel meat and bone splitting beneath my claws. Kept it back, teeth grinding and spitting words of power and fierce magic at Didel as long as I could. But it was not enough. The Rage rose too high and I felt myself fall not just into the Wasu-Im but into the true dark depths.

I met Didel eye to eye clad in my killing form. Tore into her with claws sharpened with moonshadow magic, rent her flesh and exulted in that feeling. And overstepped. Overreached in my exultation. Didel had been cautious, wounded and playing possum. Faking injuries and false death to lure us in. And I was lured. For all the fury of the gauru, Rage is not skill at arms and she saw the chance to strike. Tore me from my feet and splintered me like firewood. Sent tumbling, half-broken and alive only because of the last gasps of Rage she tore out of me.

Didel found renewal in my wounds. A resurgence of strength that she turned on the rest of my pack. She coughed forth oily darkness and stole all our eyes, stalking and striking in the new night as arrows and blades tried to bring her down. Used the last of my magic to wrench consciousness from her, to force Didel and her Beast into slumber before she could kill anyone else, then let the last of my Rage fade and pain take me into darkness. Stupid old wolf…

Next I knew was Zaazi was lifting me up to pour a healing draught down my throat. It was sad. Why was it sad? It called me friend and did not want me gone. But my misstep let Didel almost kill us all. Almost break free and devour the herds of Brolko. Did not have the strength to say anything, let the sharp warmth of the draught heal my wounds and chase away death before She could claim me. And I saw a knife in my hands and Knew.

The ritual knife

A flash of memory. I remembered being laid upon a stone altar. A masked woman holding that knife. The one in my hand. Carving into me, working a Rite on my flesh. And I knew that Rite. The Pealing. A dark and terrible thing but a way to help Didel. Part her from the endless hunger of her Beast and give her life and freedom. I did not think. I simply acted, working through the memory.

The blade cut through the sleeping werepossum, carving off its pelt and leaving a sleeping halfling woman within. Every fibre of me was fire as I cut. My soul was screaming with all of her pain and mine and the bloody flesh-cutting memory of being atop the stone altar. I collapsed again, lost in bloody memory and fires of pain. I heard Erissin-irelum arrive overwrought at the bloody ruin I had made, and a pair of eyes lurking in the darkness that met mine before I passed out. The Hoarmother thanked me for the gift. What had I done…

I woke again outside to many many questions. I had few answers. Told them what I knew, that the rite had parted Didel from her rage and hunger but she will remain as empty within as any who have borne a Beast. Some changes cannot be undone. Didel remained asleep through all this and Irmirska let her slumber on her coils. Kind hearted snake.

Some of us braved the tomb again to find any answers that remained there and recover the skeletal remains Didel had cradled in her bloody madness. Perhaps it would bring her peace. Found the tomb was succumbing to age and time. Blood that had flowed endlessly fresh was spoiling and clotting. Vermin were creeping in to feast and despoil. Without Didel’s Beast it had no more purpose. It was simply a place to be consumed by time. We found the remains, a few other oddments and the pelt that I had cut from Didel which sung of magic and dark trickery. Nothing else remained. The ragged body of the Beast was gone, without trail or scent or sign of its passing.

Wounded, half-broken and exhausted, we set to rest and heal before travelling on. Irmirska wished to travel with us. Saw her noticing me, writing and drawing things in her journal. Will not blame her or any of them for wanting me gone after seeing all that happened in that tomb. Yet they do not. Strange kindness.

Irmirska had theories about how old the tomb was, either a few centuries or much older. Centuries or millennia, but built with no great cultural signifiers that she recognised. I have theories as well but did not say anything. My memories are fractious and broken things. What have I forgotten? What did I know?

I must talk to Enzidh. Her blade is talking to her now, stirred to wakefulness by the violence in the tomb. It must be one of the Angels come down, but what does that mean? Is Enzidh Kin or simply happenstance or coincidence? Threads are moving behind the world and I do not yet know the shape that is forming. But I must speak to her, to know and to know if the pack will still have me after all they have seen…

Children of the Blood

By

On 2024-08-05

In Other Stories, Zelucellia

The Journal of Morwyn mac Tíre

<- Blood and Gifts | Death, Birth & Change ->

Almost sad to leave Brolko. Too many herds of people but some were pleasant or kind. The pack goes on with their mission. Six more towns needing help and I will go with until dreams say otherwise. Or they wish me gone. One or other will happen soon enough. Until then, they are good company.

A few last threads before we left. Visited Gryffa still recovering, she did not know us but thankful for bringing her to help. Little dog was still friendly, guarding her from too many questions. Gave it some treats for being kind to her.

Hatsuko-enzidh and Lishan-azah had epistolary business with the sheriff, letters to be sent and schemes to be fluttered through. Charlotte-zaazi practiced shooting with the formerly foolish children turned deputies. The doll is quick and clever as ever. I kept away, waited to leave. Did not want to be around people. Was sure they could smell the blood on my claws, the ninnisu still strong in my bones. The hunger already crawling into the back of my thoughts. Rgg… No. I will keep it under control.

We left late in the morning toward Ugroccoz, following reports of witchery problems. Zaazi fears those might be its Miss and worries, though tried to not let feelings show too much. From there we will probably go to Zrag through mountain passes but that is thought for later times. Ugroccoz is two days away, perhaps longer if the trails are poor and people are slow.

Lishan-ninna lead the pack, keen-eyed and silent as a falcon on the wing. Took us by paths across prarie and beside fast-flowing streams that lead back toward Brolko. The shade was welcome, still don’t like travelling under the hot sun, and the streams had fish. Some caught for Enzidh to cook later. Some taken by Vivian-bhakiir for sport. Some I took myself. Tasty with well-crunching bones but cold and too watery.

Erissin-irelum spoke to me on the road. Friendly. Warm. Kind, but stirred up old thoughts. Yriantha’s rings felt heavy and cold. The etchings are all gone. I barely remember what they looked like when we carved them. What she looked like before…. no. I cannot think of that pain now, not with the hunger still coiled in my heart. Time does not heal wounds, it grinds away the bright moments and leaves dust and old memories and the weight of lost years. But I will try to hope. This is not the same. Irelum has her magpie and her own wolf to protect her. I will try for hope’s sake.

Drashi-irmirska, passionate explorer

Path took us near caves when we heard it. Sound. Anger. Violence. Something being beaten and struck with rage. Crept closer. It was a woman. Serpentine and pretty, strong with sun-dappled scales. Beating on a very old door in frustration but calmed and comported as we approached. She called herself Drashi, said she was a scholar seeking knowledge of old things and the deep forgotten past, could not work out how to open the crypt door before her, covered in age-blackened silver and inscribed in script she could not understood.

I knew the words and when I read them I knew what was within. A tomb of one of the Old Kin, the Children of the Roar. Hopefully dead and merely angry in spirit.

Oh Child.
Rise with nature’s name.
Body of dirt, mind of water.
Soul of air, heart of flame.
Be now Ryxai’s daughter.

Oh Youngling.
Part the rivers with mammal’s paw.
Let the winds carry with avian’s wing.
Bear the boulder with reptile’s claw.
Have the torch lead your insect’s sting.

Oh Wanderer.
You walk with pride, no purpose.
You fight with joy, no respect.
You speak with spite, no circus.
You walk invincible, incorrect.

Oh Warrior.
A predator hunts to feast.
Yet it balks not nature’s garter.
Your rage her’s in the least.
Choose now honour or martyr.

Oh Hero.
Your tales we burn in stars.
Your songs among our get.
Rest your rage in binding tars.
Let the world forget.

The Poem on the Tomb

I did not tell them the whole poem. It does not translate into their words easily, but I told of the danger and the age of it. Did not want to open it, but knowing that the door could be opened Drashi-irmirska would keep trying and would go in alone. Should not have let anyone see that I could read the words. But it is done and cannot be undone. So better to go together and ready than let her die alone in ancient darkness. On her promise that she would disturb nothing, I spoke the poem’s final words to open the door – the name Didel.

Beyond the door lay carnage. Stairs descending into darkness slick with remnants of blood and rent by immense claws. Utter rage had ruined this place, kept back from the door itself by keen silver spikes blackened by old blood and time. No-one else knew what this meant. Could not let they would walk into a hungry maw like lambs, so I told them. This was not a tomb. It was the resting place of one of my kin, and they would be lost in hunger and rage. Kind Enzidh offered to provide them with food, not understanding the nature of the hunger. Had to tell them that as well and felt I had laid my throat bare on the floor for them to carve open. No-one did, but I saw the look of fear and something else in Irmirska‘s eyes. But she did not retreat, instead seemed to be sketching me. Why? Nothing worth remembering of this old wolf.

They decided to explore anyway. Better to find the kin within and calm them or rend them than allow them to run free and cause more harm. Among the ruined rooms and stairways were traps of bloody simplicity. Deadfalls and tension-triggered impact traps made of old bloody bones and remnants of the dead. All intended to keep something inside than keep intruders out. In one great chamber were shardlight lanterns, set to burn the Children… Was this made by Iduth Isihar?

Exploration ended abruptly as Vivian-bhakiir found a trap unawares and was sent tumbling down stairs. I sped after her. Bhakiir had been kind and would help if I could. I was not careful. Struck by another trap and hurled down as well. Bruised but not broken, we found the heart of the tomb as the rest of the pack gave chase down to find us.

Waist-deep in a chamber filled with pooling blood was a weeping woman, maddened and fighting the silver fire of the ninnisu with every ounce of her will. Lost in its depth and desperately hungry for the hunt and the kill. Didel. Subject of the poem in memoriam and prisoner in this place.

Enzidh tried to talk to her but the claws of rage and hunger were too deep in her soul. She reacted when I spoke to her in Haremehir. Heard me when she did not hear Enzidh. Shook off an offer to sate her hunger together by hunting the wild things outside. She called me a fool pup, barely Changed. Told me that mere animals were not enough for her. Asked where my Elders are. Why do I not remember?

Is this my fate? Cannibalism and madness and endless rage? I do not know…

Her control slipped. Cracked like glass. She held together in hope we would flee and not be devoured. Could not let her escape into the world, devour Brolko and all its mewling little people. Had to face her.

We fell back to the room of jagged, moon-burning light and readied to face her Beast…

Blood and Gifts

By

On 2024-07-22

In Other Stories, Zelucellia

The Journal of Morwyn mac Tíre

<- Eyes in the Storm | Children of the Blood ->

More needed done after the violence with idiot children bandits and speaking to the sad Small God trapped beneath the earth, before we could leave and rest. The taken had to be done with. We should have just scattered them and let fate and gods take the foolish. No, Enzidh and Azah bickered like old wives about putting them to a blade or into cages and we talked to them all. Dragged out every story from them.

Rgg. It was the right thing to do. Sort the rot from the unspoiled. But so many words and so many stories that wound around and through me like thorned vines. All these braying two-leg herds are so tiring.

The innocent and the foolish were sent home. The less spoiled were thrown to the winds with warnings. The sinners and the unpardonable met Enzidh‘s sword. One went willingly, burdened by sins unspoken. Looked her in the eyes as she snuffed him out.

None were caged. It was the right thing to do, but why does it feel so wearisome. Why do I need to tell myself that?

Returned to Brolko after that, Erissin-irelum carried by Enzidh. Nitra-izisakh went her own path, wished her well. Bridiyya-namirska remained to free Ky’trrix, both would follow the next day to heal the sicked wife. Did not notice talk on the road, thoughts still stained by the thorny words and bloody ends of the taken bandits.

Brolko was bright. Sheriff was wrangling new deputies, glad that the bandits are gone but conflicted. Some old tangle of connection with dead Cormund, now severed and lost. Still seemed glad to see us. A strange feeling to be wanted, to be celebrated. Still too many voices. Lingered at the fringe, felt safer there.

Tried to rest. Good food helped but hunger remained. Sleep never came, driven off by every sound loud as screams and every scent burning. Everything howled and my blood sang with it. Had to get out, had to be free, had to hunt.

The rest is a broken mirror. Jagged fragments of memories drowned in night and blood. Killing a rodent thing and eating it blood-hot. Vivian-bhakhiir finding me devouring my prize. Hunting with her. Raking the eyes and splitting the belly of a water horse before getting tossed half-broken into mud and dust. The fire in my blood guttered out, engulfed by fog of shame and emptiness. Not at the pain but the loss of control. Why?

I remember running free like that before. Long ago. How long ago? I don’t know… After the silver light and before I saw myself and knew myself. Before I knew my name. I am myself. I am Morwyn mac Tíre. That’s what matters. I am me and I am free. Why do I feel shame for being free?

Vivian-bhakhiir guided me back to myself and my place of rest. She was kind, offered to hunt with me again. I will, in time. Urum da takus.

Finally was able to sleep after all. A few hours of dreams and tangled visions. Amahanam Iduth poured their light into my soul and I remember only fragments. Burning green stars and silver fire flowing like blood and the world writhing beneath its skin. And a word as bright and loud as screaming sunlight but gone before I could remember it.

Spent the rest of the night carving. Needed to make something of the water-horse teeth. Something for the pack. I do not know how long we will linger together, something for them to remember me by, for their kindness and company.

A butterfly for flitting changeable Lishan-azah. A falcon striking prey for deadly-sharp Leera-ninna. A sword-shape like moon-crescent and grass-blade for noble Hatsuko-enzidh, that she may know why. A sharp gemstone blade-shape for brilliant Charlotte-zaazi. A paw and flashing claws ready to strike for kind-sharp Vivian-bhakhiir. A ribbon-shape of wolf and magpie wings for Erissin-irelum and her wives.

Worked through until dawn on those, carving dreamshapes into ivory. Felt good to create with my claws. Felt clean, like I had cleaned the last remnant echoes of death from them.

Was finishing the carving in the common room of the inn when word rose of strange arrivals – Bridiyya-namirska and Ky’trrix. No violence or harm, Brolko too sleepy and confused. Ky’trrix got his crackers and cider, then helped Reane’s sickened wife. Freed her of a dream-curse that was eating her from within before they birthed new agyamut like it. Unpleasant end, good she was saved.

Remainder of the morning was spent with too many people. Talking. Trading. Shopping… rrgg… Something interesting broken the sea of grey, someone invisible tried to steal from a trader when I was buying wine, smelled like zaazi but why would she do that?

Charlotte-zaazi’s embroidery

Gave the carvings to the pack when they stopped talking to all the people. Do not know what they think. Hope they liked or understood. Afraid they do not and think me buying their kindness or am sentimental and foolish. Fool old wolf! Gifts are gifts, not for any other reason.

Just as I was writing this, Zaazi gave me a gift. I did not expect that. Very kind. Embroidered a design of wolf and moon onto my cloak. Beautiful delicate needleworking. I will treasure it. Foolish old wolf, maybe they do enjoy your company…

Collected Morwynisms

By

On 2024-07-06

In Other Stories, Zelucellia

The Journal of Morwyn mac Tíre

This is a collected list of the odd terms Morwyn has used in her journal or in RP sessions, along with any known or implied meanings.

  • Agyamut-ka (Old Ones?) – Written about when discussing the source of Cormund’s magic and the appearance of beings from the Astral Sea
  • Ama – Appears to be a name of a being of veneration. Thanked for a dreamless night after fighting aartuks and Cormund’s bandits for the first time.
  • Amahanam Iduth – Appears to be an object of veneration or worship. Invoked for protection of Szabina.
  • Arrathag – Written about the rod of stone that cursed Reane’s wife. May be an angy epithet.
  • Azah (butterfly) – Nickname for Lishan.
  • Bhakiir – Nickname for Vivian.
  • Enzidh – Nickname for Hatsuko.
  • Farasmirska – Used to refer to the wyverns.
  • Gauru – Morwyn’s term for her werewolf form.
  • Haremehir – Morwyn’s term for the rumbling, growling language that she speaks. A dialect of the Terran form of Primordial.
  • Harzu thimir – Said to Lishan and Charlotte when asked about her past. Means something similar to ‘I don’t know’ but not specifically.
  • Izi-guth – Written about burning aartuks.
  • Izisakh – Nickname for Nitra Glizzy.
  • Irelum – Nickname for Erissin Minn.
  • Irmirska – Nickname for Drashi.
  • Iduth Isihar – A person or group Morwyn suspects may have made the tomb that sealed Didel away
  • Kul kusura udmeda – Written about the saving of Gryffa from the farmhouse destroyed by aartuks. Seems to be expressing approval of wise or honourable action.
  • Mirskazisu – Used to refer to the snake-horse Selesnya.
  • Namirska – Nickname for Bridiyya Saxus.
  • Ninna – Nickname for Leera.
  • Ninnisu – Reference to her urge to hunt.
  • Nusir innakh – Said in admiration when Lishan, Hatsuko and Erissin’s complex relationship seemed to be brewing to romance.
  • Rahag kuthuu. Thi sah kathar – Angry words written as she wrote about Charles Zp’pt’s “On the Question of Gender” and felt herself falling into Rage.
  • Urum da takus – Said when thinking about hunting again with Vivian.
  • Wasu-im – Some part of her Rage, the name she uses for both her metamorphic abilities and the deep well of anger that fuels them.
  • Zaazi (Gem-soul): Nickname for Charlotte

Eyes in the Storm

By

On 2024-07-06

In Other Stories, Zelucellia

The Journal of Morwyn mac Tíre

<- Desert Fires | Blood and Gifts ->

Attempts at stealth and surprise failed. Ironic, only things worth merit in this broken child-fort ruin were the locks on cages. Freeing Nitra-izisakh raised alarm and the hunt became a storm. Most children-playing-bandits were too dull-witted to fight, but numbers were on their side and some were still capable of violence.

Lean rogues with fiery whips and brutes with fists of arcano-steel burned and battered Lishan-ninna, Charlotte-zaazi and I before they fell to arrow and needle-precise blades and shadow claws. Still hurt. A lot. Ribs broken. Only anger and adrenaline kept me standing, alive but sharper and keener than before. The Rage swirled under my skin, clawing to get out with new ferocity.

Cormund duelled with Hatsuko-enzidh and Erissin-irelum and Lishan-azah. Good, three women teaching the brute man the flaw of his lies in the only language he understands. His maul was brutal as he, left bloody bone-cracked wounds with each blow. Azah nimbleness and shining new shield kept her safe. Enzidh was made of iron and silver, almost breaking the maul on her tenacity.

Stole Cormund’s eyes from him with a weave of moonless night. He grew new ones that hung in the air like spoiled fruit and hurled baleful magic, but it was not enough. Scythed and carved by enzidh‘s wind-grass sword, finished by zaazi‘s nimble stroke. He died as he lived under the shadow of that soulkilling book, worthlessly spitting impotent hatred. Good. Should burn his body before the venom poisons the soil.

Remaining bandits surrendered or fled with his death and the storm ended. Found our breath again. Wounds tended and healed. Discussion was had about what to do with those taken. They should be checked. Victims of Cormund and the venom of that book must be found and saved. The rest go to the winds. They fed on the weak, let them be weak. Fate will decide if they live or die.

Met the cause of the foolish children’s dull-wittedness. Bridiyya Saxus. Tiny dragon lady, the one who traded the cursed rod to the sickened wife in Brolko. She poisoned the bandits’ food and stole their wits, then burned some with lightning as we fought the rest. Explorer of history. Could not speak a common tongue with most of the pack, but Nitra-izisakh translated. She knew of the tunnels beneath, ruins and secrets. The place where the Small God lies? The hunt must go there, cut such tumours out of the world’s flesh.

Erissin-irelum and Hatsuko-enzidh had a true reunion. Old lovers beautifully reunited. Tension with azah. Words lead to charm and truths and yearning bubbling forth like fresh blood. A marking of sorts – not a wedding, not yet – as Erissin took both enzidh and azah as her own in a ritual of dominance and love, with ribbon and knife and arcane power. Marked them as hers and wound the skeins of their souls in her hands. Felt warm and charmed by the display. Good to see such bright moments even in a dark place of ruins after a storm.

Took the chance while gathering the remains of the dead to collect materials from my kills. Something to remember this storm by. Somethings to remember this pack for. I have ideas for what to make.

After a rest we descended into the darkness beneath the broken fort, guided by Bridiyya-namirska. She spoke of tombs to great dragons beneath the earth and the fool children had spoken of Cormund finding ruins under their fort. Likely the same.

Tension lifted along the way. Azah and Zaazi refound connection. Relieved that the pack is coming together. Am unused to spending much time with others. It is pleasant but it hurts when they fight. They asked about the words, could not explain that they are my thoughts. Other words get stuck like bones sometimes, choke me when I try to speak. Azah asked of my past and I told her of the silver light and seeing my face. Don’t know why I did that. The butterfly is charming but promised now. And tension remains. Who was I Before?

The Tomb of Burrathix the Sky Sailor

After a great chasm we found the tomb. Bridiyya-namirska named it the resting place of Burrathix, the Sky Sailor, a great blue dragon. It was pretty in a haunted way, but the tomb was empty. Nothing. No remains. But we were not alone.

Something was lurking above us far beyond any sight except Leera-ninna‘s keen eyes. A wet voice burbled in our minds, afraid to come out until weapons were put away. Convinced it to come out with directness. No harm intended, just curiosity. It did not feel like a threat. It was Cormund’s patron, the small god he found beneath the world and gained power from, and it was not monstrous but piteous, lonely and sun-starved and hungry.

The being – Ky’trrix – told us everything in exchange for a promise to get it out of the cold tunnels beneath the earth. Poor creature only offered Cormund power because he promised it freedom. It was disgusted by his hate and venom and upset that he had never completed his duty. So I made the promise. No cages.

Ky’trrix, piteous and lonely

Ky’trrix had been sent to the area to break the structures of society by a manticore being more than a half-century ago. It had found the tomb and the remains of the dead great dragon, had eaten them and had grown too large to leave. So it had been alone down there for decades until Cormund found it. It just wanted out, to feel the sun on its skin and drink cider and eat normal food.

Bridiyya-namirska will use magic to shrink it enough to leave, and it will help her find another tomb to a dragon-god as apology for eating her sacred treasures then flee to its home beyond the moons before the Aartuk find it. Not the small god I expected. It wished to eat crackers, not souls or terror or manflesh. Not all agyamut need be burned from the world. Not all ‘monsters’ are monsters.

I will think about this as I sing this tale to the moons tonight.

The Battles for Damaris

By

On 2024-06-04

In Other Stories, Rogue Trader

Personal Journal of Essiala Ariathia Sorjiik den Morgenstern ban Vor'cle, Navigatrix Primaris
Encryption Sigil: Vor'cle-HEXAMATIS-3920.numinous
Vessel: Gloriosa Lux Misericordiae Imperialis, rogue-trader of Dynasty Void-ghast
Location: Damaris System, Koronus Expanse, halo-Segmentus Obscurus
Date: 3.408.816.M41
Thought for the day: By the manner of our death are we judged.

< Prev Record: Preparations for War
> Next Record:

The first wave of Ork vessels have crashed upon the bulwark of our warhips and been broken. Gloriosa Lux and the mighty Aegis, accompanied by the system ships Temerity and Gothon struck two vast ork roks and their escorts from the void, sending them to burn to ash in Damaris’ atmosphere. The valiant Aegis stood firm under Lord Captain Locke’s command, weathering multiple strikes from the crude Orkish weapons and dealing savage damage to the Ork hulks. Temerity and Gothon flew and fought like raptorans, their machine spirits shining bright as true voidcraft as they engaged the foe.

Amid this contest of champions the lion’s share of valour was rightly claimed by Gloriosa Lux herself. The keen guidance of our helm and ferocious gunnery burned the heart from the Ork vessels, even as our valiant Lord Captain personally lead raid after scything raid deep into the heart of those lumbering behemoths.

Reports flowed in from local space as we surveyed the orbital space now strewn with the shattered wreckage of Orkish folly. The Ork had been routed all across the battlespace but victory was not absolute. A single rok had breached the defences commanded by Lord Blitz, battered and broken but still sturdy enough to weather landfall and disgorge its green horde onto Damaris’ soil. Disappointing but unfortunately expected, our defences were spread thin and the ork tide vast beyond counting.

Even as the fleet and the stalward Bulwak held back the oncoming tide, the war on Damaris began in earnest. Orbital fire cauterised the worst of the horde while the planetary garrison showed courage and discipline far greater than anyone could have expected from them.

The next assault came struck without warning. I and the other navigators aboard the void-craft around the planet had been observing the deep system to ascertain the location of the Ork redoubt. The intense radiative flux from the Caeruleum-Gigans primary angered the machine spirits of our augers, streaking their hololith displays with jagged storms of data ghosts and impeding even my best efforts. We were able to determine that at another wave of roks and escorts were descending into the gravity well but they were calculated to be at least 018 standard from engagement range. Then a tremour in the immaterium stirred my True Sight and collision alarms began to blare.

External augers showed ork warships directly ahead, still steaming with the volatile unrealities of the Immaterium. The suicidal xenos had made a suicide dive transit deep into the gravity well of the system. One of their vessels had not survived the manouevre but three more, battered and scarred but ready for war, turned their guns on our fleet. Once more our skills overcame brutish alien muscle. Noble Gloriosa was wounded by the beasts but survived to stand across their wreckage due to the exceptional skills of the system-ship Temerity, once more proving that at least some on this fringe world have true Imperial mettle.

The surprise attack rattled even the brave defenders of Damaris. If we could not locate and strike back at the ork redoubt then we would forever be on the defensive against the brutes. An effort was made to use the wake of the Ork transit to trace the location of their base in the outer system, with a mad plan of making our own surprise assault in kind. Him on Terra favours the bold but I fear that boldness is beyond even His blessings, for the brutality of the Ork assault had churned the Immaterium almost to the point of an aetheric storm and immediate Class.IIa resanctification measures were implemented to protect Gloriosa and impeach Him on Terra to protect us in times of strife.

It was amidst these preparations that contact was made with another party to our war. An aeldari vessel was descending toward Damaris, weapons idle and transmitting a message offering assistance against the Ork horde. Lord Captain Void-Ghast was rightly hesitant to treat with the perfidious xenos but felt that the direness of our situation was great enough to simply speak with the creatures. If matters of treachery occurred, we could simply strike them down. A single aeldari frigate was no match for our defensive fleet.

An arrangement was made to meet in the wilderness of Damaris, far from the threats of Orks and potential misunderstandings, and perhaps for another reason. Deep within the unsettlingly verdant forest of wild Damaris lay strange ruins, evidently xenos in origin and similar to aeldari structures in their wide curving lines and crystalline decoration. The aeldari arrived before I could complete my examination of the structures, but I have included a full pict record of the structures for the examination of sufficiently sanctioned xenographers.

The aeldari made a capable pretense of negotiation. Only one spoke, identifying itself as Bhaine Dhûn of the Craftworld Kaelor and stated that an ork victory on Damaris would set matters in motion that would threaten his home. To that end it offered us information, knowledge of a location where the ork warboss would be in 018 standard without the full protection of his fleet, and a promise that the ork would not be slain unless we saw its head taken from its shoulders. This is obvious aeldari perfidy. These xenos do not help us unless it is in their interests, but the information provided offers a chance we did not have before. A counter attack is possible and the war may be won.

Addendum: Additional Data

I have included a full holopict recording of the aeldari datavault and all of its contents. It appears to be an extremely advanced astrograph of the outer planet Skadi and location where the Ork command vessel will be located. Full containment protocols have been followed to prevent any contagion from xenos datagheists.

I have also included a full record of Lord Void-Ghast’s negotiations with the aeldari, including his “dance of thanks” and the aeldari weapon he has acquired.

Desert Fires

By

On 2024-06-01

In Other Stories, Zelucellia

The Journal of Morwyn mac Tíre

<- Wayward Youths| Eyes in the Storm ->

Wrote too soon. Sleep and rest called but there were still threads to follow, picked up by the pack before I met them. Halfling woman – Reane – sought help, her wife sickened and curse-poisoned by encounter with a rod of twisted stone from an arrathag hole beneath the sky. Rrrr, more agyamut-things from beyond the moons? Some other tumour in the worlds flesh to be cut out and burned out?

Too hurt to chase down such prey yet. The halfling woman offered shelter to rest and sleep and strengthen before the hunt. Kind soul. Hatsuko-enzidh cooked for her and for us, a broth of meat and mushrooms and aartuk. Very hot, lit a fire in our hearts, but a good fire. First meal eaten with anyone in too long. Since last with Szabina. Thoughts of her kept sleep away, so spent moonrise sitting under starlight, sketching the night and remembering her. I miss her smile. Amahanam Iduth watch over her until we meet again, so I may share tales of this pack for her.

Sleep came eventually, but no dreams. Thank you, Ama, for peace amid the chaos of people. The pack sharpened their claws with new steel and bright magic before setting out, armed with shining cobalt and cunning swords and potions to heal the dying. Wise. We go to hunt fool children and ruins where cursed stones are found, both in the same direction. Did Cormund find his small god in that place? Too many coincidences.

The hunt was peaceful. Good to be away from Brolko and its two-legged herds. Good to feel the wind and the quiet, smell the scents of stone and life. Still too much energy, the fire from last night burning inside my skin. Kept my hands busy carving, pouring fire to shape bone into a gift for one who made me laugh. Charlotte-zaazi was curious about the carving. I gave her the snake-shape I made walking to Brolko. Felt right, her smile was bright and sharp as the prairie-serpent I saw resting on sun-hot rocks a tenday ago. The carving is not as pretty as her, I am no delicate artist, but the heart shone through.

Then Lishan-azah decided to try to play magpie and steal the gift. Foolish little butterfly trying to flit into things without a care. The Rage stirred. It was nothing. Foolishness. Yet echoes of the Rage lingered and I could only think of harm, the half-carved shape left unfinished until the storms of mood clear away.

Erissin Minn, fugitive elf

We found the camp of the foolish children, playing at big bad bandits. Weak walls and shoddy structures, poor sentries and poorer alarms. A child’s idea of defence. Strange mounts outside but no guards saw us approach. Too focused on a thorn-dragon slumbering on the remains of one of their walls, each shooing the others to poke the creature. Foolish children…

Took advantage of their mistakes to find the shape of the place. Found two prisoners – Nitra Glizzy, feisty fiery goblin woman recruited and chained by the bandits, made to make their pyrearms and now seeking to escape; and Erissin Minn, elegant elven woman known to Hatsuko-enzidh, who freed herself on seeing enzidh and greeted her with sharp words, a slap and a kiss. The wolf is ever-charming. Lishan-azah‘s winter paleness turned summer-crimson at that.

One sentry was brought down by silent blade and silent lightning, and we stand ready to strike. Then I saw the book. Books. Many copies. Charles Zp’pt’s “On the Question of Gender”. Crimson acid is in my veins and searing me. Thoughts of those sad eyes from my dreams seeing it and finding toxic false joy within. I hate it. Too weak a word. It needs to be flensed away. Burned. Excised.

Rahag Khuthuu. Thi sah kathar…

no. breath. do not fall to Rage now. breath.

How many others are like the girl back in Brolko, soul-broken by this book only barely free? How many more have been broken by Cormund and his lies? How many like the dream-sad eyes? No. I cannot think of them now. Not now. Save who I can and burn the one who brought this hateful, soul-killing thing back into the world.

Preparations for War

By

On 2024-05-15

In Other Stories, Rogue Trader

Personal Journal of Essiala Ariathia Sorjiik den Morgenstern ban Vor'cle, Navigatrix Primaris
Encryption Sigil: Vor'cle-HEXAMATIS-6184.malacant
Vessel: Gloriosa Lux Misericordiae Imperialis, rogue-trader of Dynasty Void-ghast
Location: Damaris System, Koronus Expanse, halo-Segmentus Obscurus
Date: 3.398.816.M41
Thought for the day: Only by His sword is Mankind saved.

< Prev Record: A Gala at the End of the World
> Next Record: The Battles for Damaris

I must apologise for my delays in completing this journal. These last cycles have been laden with much activity and preparation for war and I be brief in this record for the ork vanguard is approaching within battle range.

Magos Shard, the planetary leader of the Mechanicum upon Damaris, offered his holy knowledge and techno-insight into the incident in the Enginarium. Following a deeper examination of Gloriosa’s burning heart, he expressed suspicion that the message was a subtle manipulation of her machine spirit, intended to manipulate us in turn as a regicide player does a pawn. A most concerning idea, made infinitely much worse by the magnitude of beings that could accomplish such a feat. At the Magos’ request I will not record the name he spoke or commit it to mnemovault, merely record it as =][=.X.A.41-287.’DECIEVER’ for the benefit of our Good Friends.

The remaining time before the arrival of our foes was consumed by preparation. Voidmines have been placed at the system’s Mandeville point to blunt any assault that may descent from out-system, and mercenaries have been recruited to supplement the meagre planetary levies.

Helm Mistress Petriam showed her naval mettle and drilled the command chamber crew to perfection, while Lord Captain Locke forged our meagre gathering of vessels into a squadron worthy to face the Ork. Master Katsuhiro recovered well from his augmentic implantation and was swiftly briefing General Dante and the planetary levy on how to face and defeat the orks, though I am still hesitant of their chances if the beasts make planetfall. None of them have fought a true xenos foe and know the ork only from the earnest but unhelpful words of the Imperial Infantryman’s Primer.

My own time was spent in recuperation and healing, retraining myself to use my hands correctly and disciplining one of my Tertiaries for deigning to comment on my condition. As they will insist on using their words for idleness and insubordination, then they shall learn to exist withough them. If Tomaris proves themself worthy of speech again by the end of this voyage, I will return his capacity for it in the hope that he uses it more wisely.

The first threads of attack began .001 ago with an unseasonal and inexplicable meteor shower. I cast the Emperor’s Tarot and found threat in the unknown skeins weaving around us all, and so roused the command crew to action. There was understandable consternation at this disruption of rest so close to war, for all know that orks are brutish and stupid creatures incapable of great cunning.

I was right to do so. For, within an hour of the meteor fall, word was raised that an outpost near the crash site had gone dark. The planetary miliary was unable to respond with sufficient haste and it was felt meritorius that the leaders of the defence should take this moment to show their mettle. So, Lord Captain Void-ghast, Master Katsuhiro, Mistress Petriam and myself landed at the site with a squad of hand-picked armsmen at our back.

Pict-record of an Ork fought at the Outpost

The outpost was too quiet. Its walls were holed with precision weapons and its bunker guns silent. The orks did not rampag through the ruins, firing and looting and fighting as their brutish kind is wont to do. Instead they skulked in shadows, faced painted in lurid purples, waiting to strike from ambush and using suppressive volleys of fire to cover close assaults. These were the strategies of the professional soldier rather than the brutish xenos.

Yet for all this primitive cunning they were no match for our fire and sword. I did not realise how inexperienced our Lord-Captain was until this moment but he came through his baptism of fire and blood with a measure of glory. He cut down one of the beasts with plasma fire while Petriam sundered the another with her power-sword and Katsuhiro shattered the remainder of them in a hail of bolter shells . For my own part, I had forgotten how tiring it was to exert the full force of my gaze, even against a single target, but I was also able to modulate my True sight to allow only the fringes of power to stretch forth like a corona in eclipse and so ensnare one of the orks so it could be cut down like the filth it is.

Our examination into the fallen bunker was cut short by a detonation, for the beasts had sabotaged the site. With no orks remaining on the planet and injuries in need of chirurgical attention, we returned to Gloriosa Lux to consider what we had seen. If the Emperor had not protected us, the ork demolitions would have sent us all into His arms, and the Damaris’ defence would have been decapitated. Concerns of treachery or espionage were raised and will be investigated. The razor of Hanlon may dictate that incompetence is more likely than malice, but incompetence in the face of the enemy is sinful and must be cut out.

Adjunct entry
Date: 3.398.816.M41

We have sighted the enemy – Roks accompanied by Onslaught-class raiders – unsubtle but dangerously effective weapons fit for the crudities of the ork. Gloriosa and all her complement stand ready for battle. None may be allowed to make planetfall.

Simple pict-record of Ork Rok and accompanying escorts

May Him on Terra grant us strength to sunder these brutes.

Wayward Youths

By

On 2024-05-14

In Other Stories, Zelucellia

The Journal of Morwyn mac Tíre

<- Hunting the Hunters | Desert Fires ->

Brolko was trouble like all towns are. Too many people in one place and the world curdles.

Took the woman – Gryffa – to a healer, but did not get a chance to find flower for wife’s grave. Raised voices, even more raised than most, in the town. Large orcish man on a snake-horse steed. Pretty creature, beautiful fangs, chained by a saddle and burdened by his bulk. He was shouting at an orc-blooded old man with sheriff badge, extorting fees from him and the town. Felt my teeth lengthen at the reek of his oily pride and stinking cruelty.

Hatsuko-enzidh spoke. Complemented the pretty mirskazisu with shining scales. Demanded explanation, sought discussion. Strange, she could not understand the orc’s intentions. Cormund, the orc, refused her words, insulted the sheriff and enzidh. Others emerged from the shadows. Cormund’s pack, wiry and stinking of confidence and youth.

Battle began with the grass-wind blade. Swift and brutal. The sheriff was struck down by the snake-horse that rampaged and struck all around. Leera-ninna evaded its venom to rain her falcon-arrows down on foes. Hatsuko-enzidh duelled blade to spell on rooftops with Cormund and two knife-fighters. Lishan-azah played fox to bandits and scattered them with divine dread. Charlotte-zaazi fought precise and keen, nimble and merciful. Vivian-bhakhiir stalked the fringes and made prey of would-be ambushers. And I fell into the Rage.

So many sounds and hurts in quick succession. It rose within me with fury I have not felt in a season, but I gripped it in my claws and never slipped beyond the wasu-im. My howl wrenched consciousness from some of the prey. Another tried to stab me. Succeeded in stabbing me, though I felt nothing at the time. I saw enzidh stumble for a moment in her duel and I lashed out. Claws of deathfrost moonlight tore the air and bled Cormund, scattering him into sand and ash and the stench of curdled starlight.

Selesnya the snorse, showing her fangs

His pack shattered and fled. Some were caught and ensnared. Others escaped. My Rage was spent with Cormund and I remember little. There was a knife in my side, bleeding stopped when it came out. Enzidh and Ninna found the mirskazisu, saved her. Very kind of them. Poor thing was beaten, mistreated, afraid. Selesnya is her name. A pretty name for a pretty creature. She wanted to be free, to hunt prairie dogs and not be fed on rats.

Charlotte-zaazi called Cormund a warlock, with magic taken from the Old Ones. He may not be dead, stolen back by his master to safety or punishment. Agyamut-ka – Old Ones – another sign of intrusion from beyond the moons. A bad wind, or the reason for the skeins and the grass-wind sword dreams? Time will tell. I will listen to it.

The taken bandits talked. Youths seeking freedom from the chains of this nowhere town. Respectable dream, poorly achieved. These were some of the missing people, disappearing piecemeal over years, caught in Cormund’s pack. None had his power, taken from a secret place in the caves they lair in. With a secret god he did not share with them. Another intruder to be hunted?

They will find guidance by helping the town they hurt, and give the sheriff a purpose and a pack of his own. Deputies in service until a better path found. Its a chain but they made it themselves. And one found herself, though was denser than a wyvern’s egg. That pain in her eyes felt familiar, like the face in my old dreams. It does not matter. She will become herself and her friend. Her companion? Something more? She will help her on her new path.

Tomorrow we hunt the small god and its shadows. Tonight I will sleep. I hope I do not dream.

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