The Journal of Morwyn mac Tíre
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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?
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 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.
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