Soul Arrival

[Magnolia Corvidae]

1st of Autumn, 510 AV Late Morning The Eastern Coast of Falyndar, near Syka. She would have coughed water, had she the lungs to spasm. She would have collapsed under the ache of hours at sea, had she the muscles to burn. She would have slept, had she the lids to close. But no, Magnolia Corvidae had none of these; the ghost had been torn open and nothing had fallen out, she was empty but for Hex. So she dejectedly drifted behind the healer as she washed to shore, a sentinel who had been helpless against the sea's rage- unable to protect in the direst of circumstances. Yet they had sighted land, though in all actuality had the storm not hit they never would have lost it in the first place. A ruthless current bound for Falyndar pulled them along, mere puppets on a string. For hours they floated, but now land replaced water with its imminence. Magnolia floated above the water now, eying the beach and its dangers in a fit of protectiveness. While her soulmist had recovered in the past day at sea, her ego had not. Why do I care? The beachhead was small, covered in gritty sand and shells. A precipice rose from the earth not more than a dozen meters from the surf, cragged and rocky with unhewn stone. A waterfall provided an accompaniment to the waves as it cascaded down the small cliff and trickled down the beach. Magnolia glanced over the stream indifferently, fresh water being rather unimportant. What truly caught her eye was the congregation of people down the beach.

[Hex]

Hex had been on the verge of death floating about on the sea’s back. She knew nothing of how to swim but somehow her inner strength, or by intervention of the gods, saved her. An entire day had passed as she lay limp against the bobbing wood pillar, no longer able to muster up the physical strength to hold on tightly, but enough so to keep her head above water. A few times she slipped from her cylindrical saviour and Magnolia woke her from her delirious stupor to clamber back onto the pillar like a tired child. By the gods if it weren’t for Magnolia, Hex would be dead. Perhaps at one point she did wish to die, having experienced the death of so many around her the day before, but she was very grateful she didn’t.

Falyndar’s jungle towered before them, watchful and tremendous in its volatility. The strip of beach that lined the shore met Hex’s dragging limbs; she lay barely conscious and unaware of the happenings on the beach, too exhausted to move and too hungry to think. The seawater had dried up her internal water reserves and for the first time in forever, the Chaktawe girl who could go without water for days felt parched and ill.

Possessions that helped her navigate and survive the wild had been consumed by the torrential rain and whipping waves of the storm. Hex was without her medicine kit, her vials, her herbs. Even the cloak and leather dress she wore during colder seasons was lost to the sea. All that remained on her person were the clothes on her back - the bone armour that clung securely to her breasts and the red skirt that hugged her hips. She was barefoot, dirt poor, and vulnerable to the new and terrifying threats of this new world.

Hex knew nothing of Falyndar other than the truth of its hostile and wicked terrain. What creatures lurked within its folds Hex was about to find out.

[Seyp]

The sound of waves crashing along the shore did little to dissuade the group from their moment of complacency. Most of them thought it would be a slow morning as most ships avoided these shores entirely, only wrecked ships providing any kind of sport. Most often, it was creatures and Charoda that rose from the sea that the Myrian’s kept watch for. Neither rarely proved a threat to their lands, but both often provided sport. Opportunity for them to test their ambushing skills as they attempted to fell their prey before they could escape back into the sanctuary of the sea.

Today, however, provided something different. A change of pace. Men who had actually intended on coming here. Most outside of Falyndar would consider them fools for willingly coming, thinking they could slip in overlooked during the night. The Myrian’s who caught them, however, considered them breakfast, appearing within the jungle and striking down on them the moment they began walking along the sands, and then dragging them off just as soon. Four of the group surrounded a fire with body parts roasting along the open flames while three stood vigil, two over the camp itself and the third scouting the beach. One, however, stood off to the side from the group as they feasted. His frame crouched before one who remained alive, a chain dangling from his fingers as he observed the survivor, thus far, in front of him. The man remained bound across the chest and at the wrists, seated along the ground with his legs folded. Seyp was in the middle of his first stage of work for Malediction.

His hand slowly reached out, tugging lightly at the man’s clothing as he searched folds for hidden items before beginning to root through what he had already been relieved of. Through the whole time, Seyp remained eerily silent, picking the man’s dagger up first as he observed it’s quality before tossing it back to the ground with an indifference. He then began picking up small vials, shaking the contents within as he eyed them suspiciously. “What is your name?” Seyp said in a tone as if having a normal conversation, neither pleasant or hostile.

He then slowly turned his gaze back to the man, giving him a small sidelong glance at his silence. “What is it you do?” Seyp then asked, a slight jingle of metal echoing out as his chain moved slightly in his hands.

Seyp then dropped the vial to the ground, his hand slowly reaching out as his hand began slipping through the man’s hair, his fingers collecting some of the particles of his travels collected within. “Where do you come from?” Seyp then said, pulling his hand back as he began to rub his fingers together, slowly inhaling the scent it gave off.

Finally Seyp pulled his chain up, draping it along the back of his neck. “What is your age? Where have you been to? What are your likes and dislikes?” Seyp then said, slowly spouting out more questions. “Please, tell me about your life. For it is important to me.”

Seyp’s gaze then shifted as the whistle from the scout echoed out to the rest of the group, indicating that others had once again washed along shore. “More. Seems this day, plentiful bounties drift to our shores.” One of the Myrian Huntress’ said, speaking their native language as she slowly standing up. Her gaze then slowly moved towards Seyp, looking to him with curiosity. “Do you come to meet these new arrivals with us as well, Bone Shaman, or are you satisfied with your catch of the day?”

Seyp slowly stood up, his gaze dropping back down to the bound captive still alive. “A stroll down to the beach may prove fruitful.” Seyp then said in his native tongue, pulling his chain down off his neck. “Perhaps one of these new arrivals will be more talkative in the long run.”

[Rage]

With a mere nod of her head, Kreesha sent her fang, those present at least, scrambling to pull out their weapons. Two by the fire pit had bows with arrows nocked and ready to fire before their guest, the bone collector Seyp, even got to his feet. A scout had reported more bodies washing up to the shore; perhaps some of them might still be alive. Perhaps they were part of the earlier group as well, in which case they would not be alive for long. The fools sought to buy off their cooperation when they stumbled upon her fang, an offer Kreesha met with bare blades. One look at the man leading them and she knew they were up to no good. She had only spared the leader for Seyp, to satisfy his eccentric desires. The fool would die soon enough, she assumed. Signaling those by the fire pit to stay at their posts, the leader of one of the most traveled fangs in Taloba accompanied the bone shaman and one of her warriors, not bothering to set a guard on the shaman's new toy - where would he go? Presently, they made their way towards the sentry who discovered the new arrivals, the man's spear already out and pointing at a smallish woman still hugging a piece of a ship's mast. Shipwreck survivors perhaps? None of the other bodies stirred, it looked like this woman was the only one spared by Makutsi's earlier storm. Lucky. “Stand her up,” she ordered. The scout complied, pulling the woman up by her arm, being neither gentle nor rough with his treatment, as he knew not what his fang leader had in mind. Kreesha approached, tilting the woman's face left and right before pinching her cheeks, as if inspecting a piece of meat. Without preamble, she asked, “What are you doing here?” She did not care to translate her words from the Myrian tongue, the question being rhetoric as she had obviously been witness to the storm that sunk her ship the day previous. “You have questions for this as well, shaman?” she asked Seyp. She was in a generous mood today; they had plenty of time to linger by the coast and they had ample food to gorge a greedy Dhani to submission for the duration of it. She could let the strange man play his question game. ST NotesI assumed that Magnolia is not visible yet.

[Seyp]

Seyp stepped forward, his bare feet singing slightly into the sand as he tilted his head, looking at Hex curiously. His eyes moved up and down over her frame for a moment. “No weapons, no pack, no supplies. Must have been lost to the waters.” Seyp said in their native tongue as he slowly reached out, sliding his fingers along one of her arms lightly. “She is fit, but does not have the build of a fighter from foreign lands. Most likely a hunter of sorts, or has been trained by day to day living for such. Such muscle won’t need a high amount of tenderizing before feasting.”

“Still, her story may prove more interesting than the one we’ve tied up back at camp.” Seyp said finally to the Kreesha before looking to Hex and speaking in common, hoping she was coherent enough to understand his words. “Where do you come from, outsider? Are you a hunter, perhaps? Maybe a herbalist? You body shows signs of physical training, but nothing extreme. Which means you are not a warrior first and foremost. So what is it you do? Tell me please.”

Seyp then began focusing the magic of Auristic into his eyes in order to gauge any emotion behind the responses she gave. As colors around began to dim, and a single aura was brought into focus, Seyp’s vision caught something else to focus on, something entirely more interesting that wasn’t there under the light of normal vision. The aura was blurred, but in the end there was no mistaking what Seyp saw, having seen it within Taloba more than once. The black colors seemed to roar like a flame of eternal anguish and torment, anger and rage. With Seyp’s levels, he could not make out what this entity looked like as far as a face or figure, but there was a simple black silhouette that echoed what it was, and Seyp formed a long smile at that. “Oh, you are interesting.” Seyp said in almost an amused tone. “It is not everyday we get a intruder to our lands who keeps ghosts as company.”

[Magnolia Corvidae]

Eyes like void rifts---black and unforgiving---gazed at the approaching savages. Raised in Ravok for a majority of her life, Magnolia was not entirely accustomed to the bone and braids of these natives. Regardless of the approaching party's culture, flesh was flesh and bone was bone; both were made to be broken. Magnolia, hovering off to the side, felt the ethereal hairs on her arms stand on end as the natives pulled Hex up and began discussing her. The questions floated idly as the puppet struggled with cognizance, held up by the scout's arms. Then came the one known as shaman, like a mental mortician he commenced picking at the information within Hex's mind. The ghost roiled, slowly eying the scene with vexation. The coalescing vapors ignited, a vicious growl escaping Magnolia's lips as her temper went up as an inferno. How dare they touch her. How dare they touch what is mine. Like steam pouring forth from a cauldron, soulmist cascaded from the ghost's figure and coiled around the scout's wrists. Suddenly a force rivaling a well placed punch thrust his arms out and off of Hex; whether or not the girl could stand on her own did not cross the ghost's mind. More of the fog rolled off her frame, wrapping around the savage's ankles as the first cloud pushed his chest back. As the nigh invisible mist generated forced the man's top half back, it yanked his ankles forward. A curse unfamiliar to any but the ghost erupted from the emptiness where she floated. Stupid native. What appeared before the Myrians' eyes was not something novel, though it was likely unexpected. A violent flickering, and the image of a woman appeared before the assemblage. It seized and flashed as if unwilling to allow Magnolia to fully manifest, but her voice rang out amongst the static. "The healer is mine." Her lash out at the scout had cooled her temper some, turning the hot iron of her ire into a smooth, imperious steel. Her authoritative voice rang out as her entire body flashed like lightning, "she requires water and food, see to it or the shaman's game goes unplayed."

[Hex]

The light that reflected from the sandy beach blinded Hex. She squinted her eyes painfully against the glare and mumbled the word ‘water’ in Chaktawe, her tongue sticky and dry and her lips encrusted with salty sea water. She could barely verbalize a protest when the Myrian scout yanked her to her feet. Her stomach turned in nausea at the motion and she twitched as her instincts triggered her auristics, making her attempt to read the people in front of her. The stimulation was too much and she jerked her head around in disoriented pain before letting her face go slack against the probing fingers that tugged her cheeks and examined her face. Black hair stuck to the contours of her neck and she squirmed uncomfortably against the bruising grip of the Myrian who held her up. Her ears rang and her last memories of the screaming crew and the roaring waves pounding inside her head, fading in and out as she tried to look into the face of her captors.

The shaman who approached her began asking her questions, where she was from, what she did. They all melded together in a blur, the words pounding away at her brain through the thick delirium of her headache.

“I - Well - We”She sputtered hoarsely. She could barely speak she was so dehydrated and her eyes fluttered up into her head as she fought to stay conscious. Before she could rightfully answer any of his probing questions she felt yanked and thrown to the beach floor, sand kicking up in her face as she scrambled and fell onto her side. Hair draped around her head like a curtain, too heavy was her head and too weak was her body for her to look up into their faces. But she knew it was Magnolia who had attacked the scout, spewing soulmist from her angry vessel to defend her.. property. The thought made Hex sick and her head spin, but would she have rather been a slave to the ghost or these native creatures of Falyndar?

“Please! Magnolia! Don’t hurt them!” she pleaded in a squeaky voice that was barely audible over the crashes of movement around her. Hex held up her left hand with all her strength to signal a stop to the violence. It shook on the end of her arm as she sunk steadily into the sand, losing consciousness with every passing chime that she didn’t have a drink of water.

Artist Credit: dashinvaine.deviantart.com

[Rage]

A ghost. Seyp had announced its presence, but the scout’s sudden fall confirmed that the beached woman did indeed arrive with the unseen spirit. The ghost’s own words, claiming the deyhan as her own, removed all doubt of the connection of the two. A ghost and a healer… The day was proving to be more and more interesting. Kreesha’s stoic visage did not change when her scout seemed to fall on the ground on his own and even when the cause, the ghost, made its subsequent appearance. Its form was hazy as it materialized, as if it could not or would not show the form it once had in life. With an imperious glare, the spirit made demands for the girl – its host perhaps? – similar to the way a petulant child would throw a tantrum, yelling for her broken toy to be fixed. It did not impress the Myrian warrior at all. She knew they had had no chance fighting against the spirit – none of their weapons could affect its ethereal form, except perhaps the bone shaman, if he had an item for such. It had revealed too much however, when it spoke of its half-drowned companion. It was information that shifted any negotiations into the Myrians’ favor. With barely a glance at the ghost, Kreesha barked at her man to get up. The scout did so quickly, keeping his spear between his body and the hover ghost nearby, though surely he must have realized that his weapon could do nothing against it should it decide to attack him again. His leader ordered him to pull the woman up again, keeping a wary eye on the ghost as he did so. “Now break something unimportant,” Kreesha told him, speaking in Common for the benefit of the foreigners. “Her little finger.” The man stared at her for a moment, as if she had just commanded for his execution. But an order was an order; those serving in Taloba’s army knew never to question such. With an almost apologetic look at the deyhan he was holding, the man took hold of the girl’s smallest finger and gave it a sudden twist. There was an audible crack and the girl screamed as the knuckles on that finger shattered. Before the ghost could act on the violence inflicted upon what she claimed to be “her property”, Kreesha held a hand up. The archers who had been standing idly by the fire pit now trained their bows on the girl writhing on the grasp of their fangmate. Kreesha brought her gaze to bear on the ghost then, her steely gaze matching the spirit’s smoldering one. “You are in Falyndar, specter. You do not own anything. The fact that you are here makes you – both of you – Myri’s property.” Her eyes shifted on the thirsting woman as she said the last part, her dark orbs devoid of pity for the girl’s predicament. “Make a move against me and my people again, she loses something she won't need too much to live...an ear or her nose perhaps. If you persist, four arrows will find your companion’s throat.” The woman said it so matter-of-factly there was little doubt she meant business. Any untoward actions done by the ghost will be met with pain and suffering on her corporeal companion. Her band had dealt with ghosts before, and the Myrian woman knew such lingering spirits were driven by some sort of need, hence their stay in the physical world. This one seemed to be attached to its living companion, and she used that bond as leverage against it. “The shaman will continue with his questions,” Kreesha concluded. “Whether or not your... human… gets water depends on what he reports back to me. If you want this over with quickly, perhaps you should cooperate with him as well. There have been a large number of you outsiders coming down to our shores lately in the last couple of days and I intend to know why. Until then, you will stand – float – there. Doing nothing.” Her piece done, Kreesha turned around, leaving Seyp to continue with his interrogation. The leader of the group was followed closely by her second, the same warrior woman who had asked Seyp to come along. It was at that same time that their other prisoner, the man who the bone shaman had been questioning earlier, stood up and dashed for the perceived safety of the jungle’s trees. The warrior woman started after him but Kreesha held her back. “Leave him. He will be back soon enough.”

[Hex]

Pain ripped through Hex as her small finger twisted into uselessness. The pain was excruciating and she found a second wind of energy to scream and then huff out several panicked breaths against the body of the scout who held her. She could almost stand on her own, her sea legs wobbling beneath her, she was so filled with emotion. But the feelings that stormed inside of her weren’t directed at the myrians.

“Magnolia!” She choked, “Why would you take me from my home! I don’t belong here!” Hex roared through clenched teeth and a dry throat. The words were thick with regret and hurt, but there was another pain beneath that - she didn’t belong in Falyndar, but Cyphrus wasn’t much of a home either for her. She felt lost, without any real identity. All she was was a servant of Rak’keli.

Her hand with the broken finger shook violently and Hex whimpered softly as she stared the shaman in the face. A grimace crossed her features and she sucked back the pain that wrought her body. She ached in every possible place but fought to stand against the weakness of her legs and the bruising over her skin.

While looking for the words to explain her presence on the Myrian’s land, the Rak’keli gnosis on her left hand began to glow. Opalescent swirls danced through her skin and light pulsated out from her palm. Despite her weakness due to lack of food and water, the healing gnosis spread through her body, every inch of her skin illuminating with small wriggling worms of light that searched out and sunk into the bruised and scraped flesh of her legs and arms. A large dark bruise on her bare belly retreated into the recesses of her body, pulling back with it the coagulated blood that had formed beneath the surface. Every pulled muscle in her body sewed itself back to flexible condition, and it was only a matter of a few chimes before she planted her feet firmly into the sand and stood herself up. The broken finger was not healed by Rak'keli's power but she was in much better condition than when she awoke on the beach. She was not a weak human, she had fought tooth and nail to survive the storm and she had arrived alive, soul and all.

Hex cleared her throat, sensing the urgency of the shaman’s curiosity. She inclined her head away from him and looked at him through narrowed eyelids, as if he might suck out her innards through the black caverns of her pupils. “I was raised in Ekytol as a Chaktawe, but I am mix blooded with the horseclans in Cyphrus. The ghost spoke accurately. I am a healer.” Her eyes shifted to the sand, she didn’t know what that information would gain her but honesty was all she knew. “I am here against my will” suddenly she hesitated, looking up into the shaman’s eyes, “I might return there if..” this time she fought back tears as a squall of emotion threaded through her words, “I had something to return to, other than the land itself.” Her voice grew cold, stinging with memories of unrequited love that chased her through life.

Recalling more questions asked by the shaman Hex sputtered and gasped, her throat scratchy as she steadily lost her voice. She had to clear her throat several times and repeat words that faded into nothingness in her vocal chords. “I can hunt, but in Cyphrus I relied on the fauna for food. My expertise lies in evading attacks, I do not have a lot of strength but I am small, fast and agile. Killing is not in my nature, but I know how to fight and I will defend myself if I have no other choice.” She had survived thus far and she hoped these words wouldn’t be her last.

Artist Credit:
http://j3d.deviantart.com/art/Glowing-Hand-21762091

[Magnolia Corvidae]

As the savages forced Magnolia into duress, her perimeter boiled and writhed. She did not like being forced to do anything, not in the slightest. The coalescing mists grew indistinct as they coiled and reached, anger rising in the ghost like the storm she had weathered. Unable to maintain her manifestation in the white heat of rage, her figure quickly slipped into its typical ethereal fog. How dare these... How dare these barbarians suppress us. She cast a glance toward Hex with clenched teeth, internally debating with her visceral thoughts. Tendrils of soulmist reached for Kreesha, aiming to squeeze the life from her like one of the jungle's great constrictors. Yet, seeing Hex cooperate, her anger withered and died. It was in their best interests, was it not? Magnolia threw another conflicted look to the woman who was her puppet. She would obey, for her sake. The red coals dulled, cooling to the painful ache of unspent anger. The man dashed across the sands . The very man that Magnolia, up until now, had not noticed. Yet as his form disappeared into the jungle's trees, the coals inside the ghost flared. The petching bastard has the nerve to survive. I have a remedy for that. Her entire being convulsed as it made toward where the fleeing man had vanished, yet the tethers of Hex's mortal form held her back. Magnolia had to stay put until Kreesha was enlightened as to the outsiders' arrival, so she answered, "There was a storm, it forced people to land, or destroyed their ship. Now one second." Magnolia blew past the group like a frigid gust of wind, the shackles of bondage thrown off now that she had supplied Kreesha with her answer. She ate up the ground, her form vanishing to reappear several yards ahead in the next heartbeat. Continuing to close the distance in leaps and bounds, the inferno in Magnolia's breast swelled and pulsed. Her voice was inundated with fury as it shouted out to the man, "how dare you steal from me!" She burst through the foliage where he had vanished, scouring the jungle. Though it did not take long, as the man was crashing through the dense underbrush just ahead. She whirred through the trees and bushes toward the coward, swiftly catching him as he tripped over a thick root. Not even a Myrian could outrun Magnolia's ethereal body in the jungle, let alone this fool. Soulmist streamed from her body, projecting forth to whirl about the man's head and steal the breath from his lungs. Her body writhed once more with anger, repressed hatred pouring forth to close around the soft flesh of a neck.