A Time To Heal. (Closed)

[Hanno Frostfawn]

“I'll be right back, sweetheart.” Haraza's words lingered like heavy fog, clouding around his daughter even as he dashed away towards city streets. “Papa! No-!” the Vantha girl protested, grasping at him along with Veldrys, but he was already gone. Pursuit was useless; she could not catch him before he left the circle of firelight. Frowning with worry, she stared past the illuminated orchard and into darkness that swallowed her father. “We should go with Master Jarret,” Veldrys said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Hanno looked up at him with wide eyes before glancing back to the shadows, torn between the Symenestra's instructions and her father's commands. In the end, however, she didn't want to be alone. Whistling for her dog to follow, she wrapped a pudgy hand around Veldrys' fingers, clutching at him as they followed Jarret into the crowd. Beyond the sudden appearance of the bear, something was definitely wrong. People scrambled in wild confusion while others held firm, directing the madness. The air was a tangle of shouting and barked orders underlaid with the hiss of distraught whispers. Animal roars boomed near and far. What was happening? Had creatures attacked from the woods? Hanno tried to listen for some explanation, but everything she heard was indecipherably Adult, not meant for her ears. She felt so small, a tiny stranger lost in a wilderness of men who loomed as tall as pines. Dragged through the midst of it, she wondered: Why did we ever leave home? All the reasons her father had given her no longer seemed to matter. She wished only that she was back in Frostfawn Hold, bundled up tight next to her parents, drifting asleep to the lulling cadence of their stories. But wishes were never enough. Those days were far away. She could only walk through the commotion, leaning against the Symenestra. They stopped at the side of a naked woman collapsed onto the grass. Hanno tilted and ducked, twisted and jumped, trying to see past the ministrations of Jarret and Veldrys. She caught glimpses of pale skin, a lolling face, and smears of blood. Blood! This was serious, she realized. Bigger-than-one-bear serious. People had already been hurt! Biting her lip, she looked back to where Haraza had run. What would happen to him? What if he was injured, too? What if he died? He would be gone forever! She began to shake, choked back a sob. Then a figure stood over her in the eye of her memory. “It's okay, Hanno. Don't cry!” Her mother bent down to lift her from a drift of snow. With a soft thumb, she brushed the tears from her face. A comforting smile, placid as an ice-dusted lake, smoothed away lingering whimpers. “Remember, if you ever get in trouble, just think: what would an Icewatchman do?” “An Icewatchman,” she murmured, still gazing into the night. And then she understood: an Icewatchman - a protector of Avanthal and Morwen - would save her father! She backed away from her guardians, preparing to dart off towards Denval proper. “Don't even think about it,” Jarret warned. Hanno tensed, caught mid-step. Nonchalantly lowering her foot, she twirled back to face the doctor, face screwed into a thwarted pout. “I'm not!” She argued, her vehemence betraying her plans. There was no chance he'd let her get away now. Frustrated, she hopped from one foot to the other, scowling as only children can. She couldn't just wait here! Her father was in danger! She had to do something! But the more she hopped, the more a creeping inkling told her that Jarret was right. What good would it do to run off into the dark? She could get lost before she even found Haraza. But right here, a lady was bleeding: a lady who needed her help. That was it. That's what an Icewatchman would do. Slipping between Jarret and Veldrys, Hanno sank to her knees before Lucy. Looking up at the two men, she asked, quite calmly, “How can I help?”

[Lysander]

The next few chimes were filled with a din of confusing thumping, screaming, and the cries of various carnivorous beasts intent on ripping the closest Denvali to shreds if they weren’t fleeing in terror with the rest of them. The only constant in the blur of twisted faces was the scowling countenance of the farmer that had him by the arm, dragging him into the center of the confusion. They were salmon swimming upstream, struggling against the elbows of escapees; the push of the crowd was suffocating. Lysander thought he’d cried out to Seodai, once, but when the blond head refused to turn, he wasn’t sure.

Three words resounded in his ears, louder than any shriek, any rhythmic thump of an infuriating drum.

Make them stop.

Before he could cry out to Seodai for the second time (or was it the first?), the crowd parted and the pair were spit out into a clearing. Seodai had instinctually grabbed the closest offending instrument, effectively muting a segment of the maddening song. Lysander, on the other hand, lacked the tact to offer a swift end to the noise.

“Hey, you musicians!” he shrieked, and was thusly ignored. The twisted stone faces that banged drums and plucked lutes were ignorant to his tactic. Lysander huffed through his nose, stumbled forward, and angrily put one raised foot through the aforementioned drum skin. Perhaps that would break whatever spell had come over the drummer’s vapid countenance.

“You’re making everyone insane!”

[Tabarnac]

The chaotic din grew to a painful point at which people feared they might lose their hearing, and then the changes began. The cutting music became white noise, a buzzing in ears that had little room to hear aught else. The light went strange, all things visible in its pale echoes. Those who had fled, Kelvics and otherwise, felt themselves pulled inexorably back to the feasting grounds as if by gravity, and no amount of scrabbling of claws in the dirt would dissuade them from returning. The moon waxed full and bright, then grew dark as a fiery corona surrounded it, a halo surrounding a void, too awesome to stare at directly. Emereki and Astrid began to glow with Priskil's light in the double Presence. All those with connections to gods felt something creep away from their very souls, a miasma of corruption and despair held at bay. All the present Ethaefal found themselves horned and filled, more than anyone, with a sense of awe and dread. A woman appeared, gold hair swirling around her head as if she were swimming through the air. Her eyes were closed. On foot touched down, singing the grass. She held the moon in her hand, his frame thin, his features fierce, his gaze opaque, reflective, revealing nothing. His foot barely bent the grass, and they half-floated, creatures of the skies not meant to tread upon Semele's skin. The musicians were no longer playing. There was no buzz, but silence, an awful absence of activity as the entirety of those gathered held their breaths, unable to do more with the weight of two deities changing the very fabric of reality around them. Fabulous, incipient. Justus fell to his knees, trying to shut out the needs of the divine. Gentle Siwa crouched low with him, holding him up. Others bowed out of reverence, out of respect. "Embattled Denval," She said, "The time is coming." "The time has come to remember who you are," He added. "Secrets uncovered have been lost from your keeping," She said, pointing an elegant finger at Astrid. "I see many things." She did not open Her eyes. "People who were forgotten foment chaos among you," He said. His eyes turned toward the fallen priest of Nikali and his acolyte. "Action must be taken." "Seek ye out the Sunsinger," She demanded, "who was sent to you before." "He comes," He averred. "O My children, you do not know the danger skulking at your door." "O My children," She cried, "gird your loins for battle. They are coming for you in the night, in the winter. With winter comes death if you are not valiant." There was a pause, then He looked strangely at Zahir, the acolyte filling in for Zahari until he should return. "Your grandfather, the Chaplain, is dead." There were cries and groans at this, Denval's grandfatherly Chaplain of Aquiras having disappeared in a flash of light as had the guardsman Talen, though he had returned to them. The season of death indeed approached, but the gods waited, as if for the right questions to be asked. "Cinna, Marx, Zagary," Astrid said, each name the quiet crack of a whip. "With me." With a bow to the gods, she backed away with all due reverence to check the Arsenal for missing artifacts. If her interpretation were true, they were indeed in more trouble than they had imagined. Pre-Valterrian magical weapons as yet uncatalogued remained there, awaiting the arrival of certain experts from Zeltiva. She did not have the heart to be selfish and ask how to protect the life growing in her womb. She could not stay with Sitkanis in the presence of his Lord. They departed.

[Legion]

Delano Marx scraped to a halt as if jerked backwards by an unseen hands, expression dumbfounded as he stared at Haraza and Galio. The gleam of the ivory bow echoed that of the transforming moon and he stepped back, then again, drawn as they were drawn, as the tides were drawn, magnets to the moon. On another lonely corner, Cinna Dahl jerked too. The stalwart words of the Isur who had chosen to take a stand at her side seemed to clatter and fade, and within the dark of the alley an unearthly wail rose up to rival the fiddle at the feast. "Petch," the guards-woman swore, grabbed Vanos' arm and turned him towards the call of the quiet, the compulsion centered at feast grounds. Cian Noc was so much of a pacifist that he had been denied Denvali citizenship for over eight years due to his refusal to take up arms despite the dedication of his service. Thus when Lucette launched herself, full of tooth and claw, at the Priest of Rak'keli, what happened next was considered strange indeed. He did not just move, he moved. It was fast as lightning strikes. Swift as Striders bucked. Agile as an acrobat and frightening close to cracking Tanroa's own clock. No human should have been capable of moving like that, but he did in a somersaulting spring backwards only to roll back to his feet again. The cheetah's tail lashed his thighs and his hands came up once more, blood dripping in stripes from where razor claws had caught defensive forearms. They were empty. He was waiting. Fortunately for both of them, the music crashed to a halt at that juncture, what remained beneath the brave and slightly insane advance of Talen, Seodai and Lysander bleeding out into white noise and then silence as the musicians collapsed. With the end of the music came the end of all that aggression, all that feral fury haunting the kelvics. It was replaced by stillness, by a holy quiet. The appearance of the gods left the healer white and, much like Justus, his knees literally fell out from under him. He fell to the trodden grass prostate like a puppet jerked free of its strings. A tremor held his bones as he warred as Justus warred, only instead of with the gods' needs, with the gods' ambitions. Questions, wrong or right, rioted in his mind. Hopefully, as Delano and Cinna rushed to fall in with their Captain, there would be others less overcome capable of formulating questions for the gods.

[Sitkanis]

Sitkanis watched after Astrid as she was pulled away. "I'm sorry…" He spoke quietly after her. She wouldn't have been able to hear him even if he had been speaking loudly. Everything was too loud. The Kelvics were going mad, the musicians were playing too loud for anyone to think straight. If this was in fact a festival for Rak'keli, the Goddess must have been insane. The Ethaefal was not sure what to do first. Try to find Astrid? No, he doubted he would be let near her any time soon. Sadly, he did not have any friends to speak of. Veldrys was an acquaintance but right now did not seem to be a time to run to the side of someone he had just shared a few bells with in the Stranger's Welcome. He had to find Lysander. That was his number one priority. If anything happened to the boy he would never forgive himself and he was sure Leth would not be too happy either. Running through the frenzied crowds, Sitkanis tried to find Lysander. He felt as though he rarely saw the boy as of late. There was something more pressing happening though. There was a noise, or was it a lack of noise ripping through the air. Things seemed to be rushing and happening all at once. Deep within Sitkanis he felt a feeling of dread, even worse than that when he saw the Ethaefallen girl sacrifice herself to the waves off of Denval. He was changing, losing his Drykas form to his less imposing Ethaefallen one. His dark brown hair turned a pale gold while twin horns curled from his head, seeming to shine a beautiful topaz. He hated this form. Perhaps that was why Leth was less than satisfied with him. The Ethaefal did not appreciate the gift his God had given him. This was not the main concern at the moment though. Leth was before them. Sitkanis could barely breathe as he looked at him. "Father Leth…" He felt his body shaking at the sight of him. There was so many things he wanted to say and too many apologies he had been screaming to the Ukalas hoping the Moon would hear. Now he was here and speaking to them. The Ethaefal would have fallen at Leth's feet if he could have moved his own. The words sounded and reverberated through Sitkanis, especially those of Leth. The man who wanted to stand taller, speak louder, and be stronger than everyone else felt himself falling to his knees, tears rolling down his cheeks. Normally the man would have hid, if he wept at all. He did not want anyone to see him as anything less than a warrior, even if it had been countless years since anyone could have called him that in good faith. Everything he was, everything he had become, he would give it all to Leth. It was not only to show reverence, but to plead and pray the God would hear his apologies. No one was stepping forward to the Gods before the so Sitkanis walked ahead… The man was scared. It had been so long since he had been in Leth presence and felt his gaze upon him. He did not dare stand too close. He was not in the Ukalas anymore. He did not have free reign with Leth as he once did. Once again, the Ethaefal fell to his knees before his father deity and his lover. "Leth… I would do anything. I have not learned how to fight again. I will learn. I will do anything to be who I was again." The words were true. More true than any words spoken since the man fell from the Ukalas. This was not about him and after a few moments, he realized this. There were still people retreating and running all around. "We all would do anything for this city. At least most of us would. Denval took me in when I fell from your realm. It is nothing like the Ukalas but it is becoming home." He was still crying, his words slipping out between tear falls. "I want to remember who I was. I want to remember everything." There was still something he wanted to say. It was hidden and locked deep within him. It was hard to apologize. He had never been good at it, even in past lives. When would he have another chance though? "I'm sorry Leth. I'm sorry for everything." The tears rolled down his cheeks even faster. "I'm sorry for making that Ethaefallen girl kill herself. I'm sorry for hurting Adalia and scaring her away." It hurt to say. Every word felt like it was stabbing through him. "I don't know who I am or who I am supposed to be. I don't want you to be disappointed. I want you to be proud." The Ethaefal sounded like a child begging his father for forgiveness. The man who had pushed everyone away, who made sure everyone knew he was not to be crossed was falling apart in front of his deity. His lilac eyes turned to the woman holding Leth in her grasp. His lover, Syna. "Lady Syna, why are your eyes closed?" He looked down right after the words were said. This was not proper. The Gods did not need to answer the questions of mortals, even those who were Ethaefallen. "Who is the Sunsinger?" He had met children of Syna before. Even one who seemed to be a singerThis is Estrelita, a Synaefal who has come and gone from the site.. It couldn't have been her though. She had come and gone. Sitkanis looked at Leth, although what he was about to say was meant for the pair of Gods before him. "I will do anything for you and for Denval." These words could either save or condemn him. He hoped it would be the former.

[Lysander]

A foot larger than the hole it made shook itself free of the now silent drum, and Lysander straightened. He was himself again—at least, he was in his proper evening attire. Lysander could not entirely place who he was. Rees was one name he’d once heard in a dream, Rees the slave child. He was no slave child; he was a proud embodiment of his father god, walking upon the earth as …

As …

… As Leth himself.

They had descended from the heavens themselves, speaking words of warning in the in a crowd reluctant to remain calm. Little of it made sense, but Lysander found himself captivated by the sight. Seodai’s bewildering, comforting embrace was broken smoothly and without meaning to offend, as the young Ethaefal’s arms went limp in his slow advance towards the ethereal pair. Sitkanis was already well-ahead, clad in the horns and slight form he so disdained, crumpled into a sobbing mass of regret not characteristic of the oft-angry fallen Drykas. A candid snort caught the cool fall air when he was within earshot of Sitka’s latest inquiry. Gods, Sitka, you can’t just ask people why their eyes are closed.

This pair, these Gods, They were here. They were real. So often he’d dream of seeing Leth again, falling into His arms and begging forgiveness for whatever he’d done to earn exile from a place he could barely hold in coherent thought. Lysander’s mouth opened and closed a few times making little sound, twin ponds of liquid gold fixed on the moon-pale face of his Father. “Are you come to merely warn us?” The words that fell from Lysander’s lips were bold, and the wrinkle in his brow told of a confused boy that wanted little more than to fall into those arms and beg for a second chance. For once, Lysander kept his composure.

“Can you not help us? What’s a Sunseeker? Denval is …” he ripped his gaze from his patron deity to scan a sea of faces, stopping on a particularly familiar sun-kissed blonde, “It’s our home. My home.”

[Seodai]

Successful or not, Seodai was certain they were making progress. At least, he thought they had been. Then something went terribly wrong and instead of quieting the raucous noise, it was only heightened. It made little sense, since the musicians were literally disarmed and covering their own ears with hands that did little to ease the misery of the sounds. Seodai turned, without really knowing why. His willowy arm was still clinging desperately to Lysander, even if it wasn’t his Lysander. In fact, though he may have felt them well before he saw them, it was the change in Lysander that Seodai witnessed first. Gone was the gangly, awkward youth. The return of that perfect, familiar face, those shimmering horns, that gold on gold on gold, filled the farmer with a rush of warm relief. And then, the hand he had been so desperate to hold, was taken from him. Discarded without a thought, and Seodai at last lifted widened blue eyes to follow the point of Lysander’s stare. Bala was the goddess who, when he was only a boy, had captured his spirit and his heart. He had loved and served her every moment since then. If there were a second in his affections, a goddess who had captured him nearly as much, though she had never deigned to favor him with as much as a notice, it was Syna. The sunkissed boy worshipped her with his very breath as he spent hours and days in the fields, toiling beneath her golden glow. Adoration of Syna was as simple as that to him, something so integral to his being as drawing his next breath. As for Leth, Seodai had come to appreciate him. Oh, he was thankful for the cool rest he gave the world, because that was as important in any growth cycle as the hours spent basking in Syna’s glory. More recently, however, he had come to adore the advent of night all the more. Pleasant by association, perhaps, Seodai was only ever graced with Lysander’s company when Leth reigned. He knew every dip and flow of that face which commanded him, waking or sleeping, primarily in the glow of Leth’s light. It had become magical, somehow, intoxicating. And there they were. Seodai felt a bump to his side and, without glancing away, recognized it as Talen. He was appreciative of the touch, the grounding sort of tug back towards reality, because he had been well on his way to stepping forward too. To making a fool of himself by asking all the wrong questions. With awe causing his limbs to tremble, Seodai swallowed the lump in his throat, and tried to churn over the spoken words again and again. It didn’t make sense to him, and it was frankly a bit terrifying. The place where he had spent every moment since birth suddenly felt so off-balance, so dangerous, so unwelcoming. And what were they to do, but wait for a… who? Seodai wanted more from them. More than ambiguous words and riddling clues. As it were, he simply remained planted in place, as the two horned creatures all but made obeisance to their patrons.

[Talen Stirling]

Talen didn't aim to maim, but with equipment and the entirety of his weight ramming into a pair of playing musicians, even making sure the surface area he hit them with was big and the force controlled it had to hurt. He staggered forward to check on them, but the noise hadn't stopped even though he knew that the two others had already arrived to assist him. He trembled, covered his ears, and twisted around looking for the source of the noise. Lights changed, gods walked the earth and Talen did not know how to respond to any of it. What was he to do now, at this moment in the face of things that he could barely comprehend, speaking words that made little sense? Riddles and magic, petching magic, that did not guide him. Lysander, changed back to his more glorious form, approached the pair of deities with a fool's courage. Talen felt a tinge of admiration and acknowledgement of the boy, who seemed to retain a sense of honour and pride even in the face of his father. Unlike his elder brother, who lay speaking broken apoligies and terrified questions. His cousin moved, and instinctively Talen gripped at his kin halting his advance with a nudge. It was a two-fold thing, he did not wish him to cause further confusion, and deep down he feared being left alone with his lack of purpose. Besides, Talen had no questions to ask, he was too busy listening for answers.

[Veldrys]

As Hanno began to shake, the Symenestra looked up. „Do not worry about your father, child“, he tried to comfort her and reached out to her. „He is going to be alright.“ He knew that his appearance didn’t always inspire trust, that his race had a questionable reputation. It was strange for a Symenestra to try and comfort a human girl that would make a good surrogate one day, but at the moment he only wanted to make sure that this situation passed with as little pain and bloodshed as possible.

„But you can’t help him there“, he continued. „You help him the most if you stay here with me.“ He furrowed his brow as she asked how she could help and then he told her, „Put your hand right here.“ He pointed at Lucy’s arm. He had already wrapped a bit of bandage around it. „And leave it here while finish bandaging her wound.“ He resisted the urge to cover his ears with his hand. The sound grew louder and louder. There was something wrong with the light as well, something that made him hurry Lucy’s treatment.

He wanted to get away from here as soon as possible, but at the same time there was something that almost seemed to pull him back. As the two beings appeared, he held his breath. There was not a doubt that he was facing gods, for the second time in his life. He barely noticed that the musicians weren’t playing anymore. His attention was entirely focused on them. What did it mean? Why were they were? Had they come with another ominous prophecy, another warning? His heart began to beat faster as he waited.

The goddess‘ words didn’t make any more sense to him than Viratas‘ prophecy had. Remember who they were? What were they? And was he included? He was an outside, a venomous thing that had come to live among the Denvali. Who was the Sunsinger? And which danger was coming? Was it the same danger that Viratas had spoken of?

„The Chaplain is dead?“ he repeated. He remembered that he had talked to the man only a short time ago, that he had offered to heal him. He had seemed old, but nowhere near death. Why had it happened so quickly now?

„What kind of danger do you mean?“ he asked, even though he didn’t know if they would answer. Viratas had remained cryptic. „What can we do?“

[Lucette]

Lucette’s claws dripped with blood. Cruelly, her lips snarled to expose formidable teeth, and her tail thrashed the air madly. The man had moved too swiftly for the feline to comprehend, but she was ready to strike again, to overpower him with the rush of her body weight. A moment before she sprang, the music stopped. Its sudden absence, filled with white nose, hurt her sensitive ears. Roughly she shook head, almost dancing upon her paws by the force of it, to forget the bleeding man and her own savage intent… The man….. Cian Noc, Lucette finally remembered his name. He was bleeding and her claws smelled of it. The black velvet nostrils sniffed at them confusingly. But her muzzle lifted into the air, drawing in new, unnamable scents. The air was charged, it puzzled Lucette, as it took all her attention to find the source of it. Two figures stood. She had not noticed them before. But automatically Lucette’s long legs bent and her belly dropped low to the ground instantly, grazing the grass in submission. Cautiously, the Cheetah edged closer, almost at a crawl. She did not know them, but primitive instinct warned that the man and woman were dominant. The wish to be near them was strong, and Lucette crawled closer, while her powerful nose tried to place them. It could not. The strange pair spoke. And Denvali people replied. But the Kelvic didn’t understand, their explanations and questions were beyond comprehension. She had no thought to speak. There was nothing to offer them; could the others not feel that as she did? Lucette only wished to be in their presence and near to them. Again she crawled pathetically, and when she was near enough, yet still a respectful distance, the normally regal creature let her body flop to the side, to expose her whitish belly in a show of submission. But her gold flecked eyes remained ever on them, alert to their actions and movements.