Post by Joliette Thorne on Jul 21, 2006 7:07:10 GMT -5
__Kelay Tavern__
Deilakrion pushes through the door, the force of her entrance slamming it back. Her chest is heaving as if she has run, yet the only clue to her rush is the wide grin pasted to her face. Exhilaration dances along her nerves, and she lifts her chin as if scenting the air. Side to side she looks, intent on one person. Then she sights her quarry, and she darts forward once more. Onto a table, through patrons’ drinks and meals until she can make the leap from table to bar, whereupon she skids to a halt before that one vampires: Tenebrae. Dropping from bar to floor, she lifts her hands to gesture quickly to the woman in greeting. “Come. Come. Come. Trouble. . .dead. Many dead.” She tilts her head to the side, grinning as if the entire trip is a game. She shifts, moving around Tenebrae in anxious anticipation.
Satoshi stares in startled silence at the peculiar entrance of Deilakrion.
Tenebrae abruptly placed her drink to the bar, head tilting back as she blinked, gobsmacked, at the naked elf stood upon the bar. "I'm there. Gimme a moment..." Ebon hair was a swirl about pale features as she leant to retrieve her pack from the floor, the heavy bag slung to her slender shoulder, the necromancer on her feet in moments. Whatever had happened, it didn't sound good, and the leader of the Cabal knew that if she could trust anyone, it was the woman she knew only as 'Creature'. "Right, lead the way." There was no need for long explanations, and nor was she likely to get any. Peridot eyes stayed keenly on Deilakrion, the vampiress' formerly relaxed features tensed with concern as she waited.
Deilakrion nodded, glancing around quickly at the other patrons. Then she was ghosting out the door, upon quick feet.
Tenebrae followed, merely a pace behind, metallic heels taking divots from the timber as she hurried to the door.
__Craughmoyle__
Deilakrion pauses to ascertain her clan leader’s position, having regained her breath from her all out dash. “This creature does not know how the dead meats got there.” Uncertainty glints in her eyes as she looks about the rock walls. Urgency too is there. “But the fierce hunter must see.” Her lips press together even as her hands drift by her sides, fingers moving without coordination. She is preoccupied, this unsteady mind, and uneasy about something. Yet she makes no move to go any further, returning her stare to Tenebrae as if to wait for some kind of approval.
Tenebrae’s frown had deepened to a furrow in her brow, lips compressed as tightly as the elf’s. The necromancer had followed Deilakrion’s hurried pace in silence, intent only on making haste behind her, until the sudden stop. Fingers clenching and unclenching, she too was on edge, eager to see what had caused the panic. “Meats? Creature.. what kind of meats?” She was aware of the limitations of communication, having become used to the terms that would seem utterly cryptic to anyone who wasn’t familiar with them. “What flesh is it?”
Deilakrion licked her lips, muttering words to herself and staring at the vampiress’ feet. “Big. Big fleshes. The biggest.” She begins to wring her hands unconsciously, then presses them to her side with a sigh. “Many, this creature has never seen.” She grimaces, shaking her head. “The fierce hunter will not be pleased.”
Tenebrae grimaced slightly at the news, nodding. “Well, perhaps we should go take a look, hm?” She couldn’t imagine what it was that had upset Deilakrion so; nevertheless it had to be something important for the elf to fetch her, and in such a state. Big fleshes… a myriad possibilities went through Tene’s mind, but she pushed them aside in the interests of keeping her mind clear, in case danger threatened. Her hand came to rest on the pommel of her blade. “Wish I’d bloody thought to put a bit of armour on…” This, muttered to herself. There didn’t seem time, she’d just have to make do, in any eventuality.
Deilakrion shook her head, features becoming grimmer. “No fleshes, just meat.” With a small wince, she trotted westward once more.
__The Cracked Flatlands__
Deilakrion halts, her mission completed as she brings her clan-mate to what she has discovered. The lands here, once barren and empty for miles, have become a graveyard. Recent battle has been fought here--and of the epic kind. Fresh carcasses send skyward a horrible stench of death, clouding the sky with drawn vultures. Great clouds of flies stir as the group passes through, disturbing their feast. Vultures too hop back, glaring spitefully at the group. A fight, a battle has taken place here. The combatants? Dragons. What must be a score of the great creatures have fallen to . . .something. Were they fighting amidst themselves? It would be difficult to tell. Whatever the case, something has stirred in the workings of the world, for this is definitely not a scene of normality. Tension hovers, made no better by the insane elf as she hops from dragon to dragon, seemingly careless of flies and vultures--not to mention stench--as she crouches amid the bloody ruins of bodies, taking her dagger to scaled hide or cutting through meat. She grunts and lopes back to Tenebrae. "Day or more." She seems unconcerned with what this might mean to the clan, or what it might mean to Hollow itself. What could have possessed dragons to kill each other. . .or worse yet, what were they fighting that so slaughtered them? Deilakrion's eyes follow a vulture, her mind obviously leagues away. But then she tenses, head tilted to the side. Her lips part in a feral expression, and she tears off, climbing over a tail to stare at a scene most grotesque. Just as there must be a score of dragons, so too are there a score of beings--dragon riders. Each and every one has been staked on a crude spear through the stomach, their bodies halted in descent by the thickness of the spear. It must be a warning of some kind, else the poor souls would not be displayed thus.
Tenebrae’s stomach lurched, first at the horror of the scene as they’d stepped with hurried paces along the dusty, even pathway, the ghastly vista visible at some distance. The massive bodies were clearly saurian… Reaching the battlefield, she could only gape, hands pressed tight to her belly, and it was all she could do to keep tears welling, to keep her knees from buckling. Dragons. A dozen, maybe more… it was hard to tell, in the tangle of fallen bodies, pairs still twisted together as though they’d still been fighting, even in their death-throes. Worse, there were other bodies, some half-torn to bloody scraps, some whole, impaled like broken dolls on stakes driven hard into the barren earth. A trembling step toward the nearest conformed her suspicions. The necromancer sank to her knees beside the body, fists pounding on the lower half of the stake. “No…” It was a guttural cry, given as she rose to rest on her haunches to inspect the body. Her small hands pummelled at the man’s tunic, upon which was still to be seen, even through the blood, the insignia of the Eldritch Cabal. “No! Bastards… They –will- pay for this!” Her voice had risen to a keening shriek, Tenebrae heedless of Deilakrion’s actions for the moment as a maddened rage sluiced through her nervous system. She scrambled to a stand, pupils like pinpoints in the midst of a pale and icy green, the whites of those terrible eyes stained crimson. “Creature…” This single word, quieter, cracked and edged with a tremendous and bitter sorrow, had her seek the elven woman’s form. “Creature… What have they done?” For this was an entire unit of the fledgling Eldritch Eyrie. And these were her people…
Deilakrion grew quiet upon seeing her clan leader’s reaction. She edged forward, peering at what Tenebrae had been looking at. Her head cocked to the side, she noted that insignia. Sudden understanding dawned within the simplicity that so structured her world. Her face blanched, eyes widened and breath sucked in. She stepped back, taking in the scene once again with full appreciation for what it meant. “. . .Pack. . .?” Her voice was hushed as she momentarily disregarded the question Tenebrae had asked her. “Must be pack . . . .killed.” She swallowed, regaining her tone as she viewed what to her was an intention to be taken out. A growl was building in her throat. “Killed by prey.” Her tone had deepened—despite all the words the fleshies put together of war, it was not something she understood. This was all it took for her. She began inspecting the corpses, counting and viewing every bit of damage taken. Each was a death note to be paid. . .and then more so. After she had finished she returned to her leader, back rigid and chin lifted high, her snarl a rictus upon her features. “Twenty-four large fleshes, twenty-three small fleshes,” she stumbled over the numbers, but got them out nonetheless, “Large fleshies were all killed by other large fleshies but for. . .” She gestured to one on the edge, stretched out away from the carnage. It seemed to be mostly intact. “Fierce hunter, come.” She walked the incensed and dangerous vampiress the short distance to the dragon. She then gestured to the mark that had been burned onto the dragon’s side, sealing its fate in death.
Tenebrae’s gait was rigid, her gaze more so. Despite the fact that her outward appearance seemed to calm, her features setting to almost serene composure, anyone who knew her more than slightly would have recognised the amber flaring in arctic green eyes, and by the fixation of her stare upon first one body, then another, that the necromancer was approaching a level of rage that would see a rigorous and bloody justice done, if it took her centuries to accomplish. Her upper lip twitched as she, too, examined the corpses in turn, eyes following Deilakrion’s progress around the slaughter. The pale dragon and it’s paler rider that she’d prayed to the dark Ones would not be counted among the dead was indeed not present. That was … something, at the least. As the elf returned, her head canted abruptly to the side, a rifleshot crack sounding in her ears. The expression ‘hell to pay’ was not adequate to describe the vengeance she would wreak… Nodding to Deilakrion, mutely, she took those stiff steps toward the distant corpse, and reaching it she once more knelt, to trace fingers over the insignia seared into the cold flesh. It was as she’d thought. And now she was assured of –who- hell was to pay. Her face was grim, even for her, as she turned her glance to her clansmate, the single word she spoke the only one she could manage for the now. “Claw.”
Deilakrion opened her mouth as if to taste the air once the word had been spoken. “Prey.” Who or what ‘claw’ was she’d find out later. . .but now she knew those who had done this ill deed were recognized. In that, well, she’d have her own revenge. No—her eyes traveled to Tenebrae, taking in the grief-stricken rage that was a ghost in her smooth countenance—they would take revenge. As a pack. As it was meant to be. But there was one thing that was niggling at the back of her mind. . .her eyes traveled over the scene. Even she, deranged and on a different level than most, seemed rather shaken by this travesty. She bit her lip, voice shaking slightly as she spoke to Tenebrae. “Should there not be same numbers of fleshes?” She was puzzled. Yet she was also wary, for the air about the vampiress fairly crackled with heated energy. Tension, hatred. She knew not what might set the vampiress off, but she did not wish to see her beloved leader do some heated thing which might threaten her life. She paced closer to the woman, hand hovering above the smaller woman’s shoulder.
Tenebrae nodded, lips parting at last. “Prey indeed.” This was fairly spat out, as slim, hard-muscled thighs propelled her upward. She could not tear her eyes from the mark scarring the dragon’s hide, not until Deilakrion raised a question that, were Tene in her right mind, might have been more obvious to the vampiress. “Hm?” That verdant stare snapped toward the elf. “One’s missing…” Jet-black locks shifted against pale skin and scarlet leather, as her head turned to make a rapid scan of the grounds, lips moving as she counted to herself. Yes, there was one body missing. She presumed it a body, anyway. For who could survive such carnage? “We shall make a search, Creature, find the rider, before we take those bodies down.” With the ground too hard for burial, and too many to haul back before sun and scavengers took their toll, she’d make a pyre. The bodies would burn, and she’d make the fire a beacon of her revenge, that just might be seen all the way to Cenril.
Deilakrion frowned, staring about fitfully. She shook her head. “Prey should have staked.” She gestured to the others, clustered about the same area. Against her will her lips skimmed back from teeth in a growl. The sight burned at her eyes. She looked at the lone dragon, singled out. “Taken?” Blood and dust smeared her skin, coating her in a ghastly parody of her normal skin tone. So it seemed to her, fleshies had a desire to take other fleshes against pack mates, to gather fleshy things. This was all a gruesome mistake that needed to be corrected. She would see to it recompense was made. They all would. The very thought hammered within her mind. “Other pack around?” She maintained eye contact with her leader. Maybe if others were around, they could get through this night intact.
Tenebrae’s shoulders rose and fell, the action jerky. “Possibly. I’ll send my crow…” Maladroit had, as ever, followed. The undead bird had ceased its circling and come to rest upon a saurian carcass, beak jerking up and down to peck at iron-hard scales in a ghastly mockery of feeding. One glance from the necromancer had the once-goblin suddenly galvanised, ragged-pinioned wings taking Tenebrae’s familiar to an awkward swoop before it flapped off into the distance. Drawn from the killing fields then, a score of living birds reluctantly abandoned their meals to follow. If there were any Cabal about, the crows would lead them to Tenebrae and Deilakrion. “I suppose we’ll find out, soon enough.” The vampiress raised a pallid hand, palm rubbing over her face. “Maybe they took him. It’d make sense…” The hand dropping back to her side, she looked blankly at the elf. “But to where? I’d say Cenril’s a possibility. We might start there.” The bodies weren’t going anywhere. The funeral could wait a few more hours.
Deilakrion spent a few moments to let the scene sink into her mind. This she would not forget. No one who saw this could forget it. Of that. . .it was certain. She pushed matted hair away from her face with bloodied hands, smearing it across her face and in her hair. Another bath would be needed after this trek, but for now it did not matter. She wiped her hands against her hips, picking her way out of the carnage. She looked back towards her leader, calm gradually returning to her mind though a hot, hard ball of anger burned steadily in her stomach. “This creature follow.”
Tenebrae’s curt nod would have to do by way of reply; she was beyond words. Turning on her heel she stalked back toward the path, eyes averted now from the atrocity that had once been her latest pride and joy. Olivius… only now did she let his name come whispering through her mind. The pale man’s fury would know no bounds, once he learned of this. She afforded the scene only one last look, a hurried glance over her shoulder, as her feet found the hard-packed dust of the trail. Tene could not help the shudder that passed through her, then, as the skewered bodies were seen in stark relief against the pale horizon’s light; the hulking, twisted corpses of their once-proud mounts lain like bloody sculptures on the cracked earth. She kept walking, gaze cast toward Deilakrion briefly before being firmly set toward the road ahead.
Deilakrion pushes through the door, the force of her entrance slamming it back. Her chest is heaving as if she has run, yet the only clue to her rush is the wide grin pasted to her face. Exhilaration dances along her nerves, and she lifts her chin as if scenting the air. Side to side she looks, intent on one person. Then she sights her quarry, and she darts forward once more. Onto a table, through patrons’ drinks and meals until she can make the leap from table to bar, whereupon she skids to a halt before that one vampires: Tenebrae. Dropping from bar to floor, she lifts her hands to gesture quickly to the woman in greeting. “Come. Come. Come. Trouble. . .dead. Many dead.” She tilts her head to the side, grinning as if the entire trip is a game. She shifts, moving around Tenebrae in anxious anticipation.
Satoshi stares in startled silence at the peculiar entrance of Deilakrion.
Tenebrae abruptly placed her drink to the bar, head tilting back as she blinked, gobsmacked, at the naked elf stood upon the bar. "I'm there. Gimme a moment..." Ebon hair was a swirl about pale features as she leant to retrieve her pack from the floor, the heavy bag slung to her slender shoulder, the necromancer on her feet in moments. Whatever had happened, it didn't sound good, and the leader of the Cabal knew that if she could trust anyone, it was the woman she knew only as 'Creature'. "Right, lead the way." There was no need for long explanations, and nor was she likely to get any. Peridot eyes stayed keenly on Deilakrion, the vampiress' formerly relaxed features tensed with concern as she waited.
Deilakrion nodded, glancing around quickly at the other patrons. Then she was ghosting out the door, upon quick feet.
Tenebrae followed, merely a pace behind, metallic heels taking divots from the timber as she hurried to the door.
__Craughmoyle__
Deilakrion pauses to ascertain her clan leader’s position, having regained her breath from her all out dash. “This creature does not know how the dead meats got there.” Uncertainty glints in her eyes as she looks about the rock walls. Urgency too is there. “But the fierce hunter must see.” Her lips press together even as her hands drift by her sides, fingers moving without coordination. She is preoccupied, this unsteady mind, and uneasy about something. Yet she makes no move to go any further, returning her stare to Tenebrae as if to wait for some kind of approval.
Tenebrae’s frown had deepened to a furrow in her brow, lips compressed as tightly as the elf’s. The necromancer had followed Deilakrion’s hurried pace in silence, intent only on making haste behind her, until the sudden stop. Fingers clenching and unclenching, she too was on edge, eager to see what had caused the panic. “Meats? Creature.. what kind of meats?” She was aware of the limitations of communication, having become used to the terms that would seem utterly cryptic to anyone who wasn’t familiar with them. “What flesh is it?”
Deilakrion licked her lips, muttering words to herself and staring at the vampiress’ feet. “Big. Big fleshes. The biggest.” She begins to wring her hands unconsciously, then presses them to her side with a sigh. “Many, this creature has never seen.” She grimaces, shaking her head. “The fierce hunter will not be pleased.”
Tenebrae grimaced slightly at the news, nodding. “Well, perhaps we should go take a look, hm?” She couldn’t imagine what it was that had upset Deilakrion so; nevertheless it had to be something important for the elf to fetch her, and in such a state. Big fleshes… a myriad possibilities went through Tene’s mind, but she pushed them aside in the interests of keeping her mind clear, in case danger threatened. Her hand came to rest on the pommel of her blade. “Wish I’d bloody thought to put a bit of armour on…” This, muttered to herself. There didn’t seem time, she’d just have to make do, in any eventuality.
Deilakrion shook her head, features becoming grimmer. “No fleshes, just meat.” With a small wince, she trotted westward once more.
__The Cracked Flatlands__
Deilakrion halts, her mission completed as she brings her clan-mate to what she has discovered. The lands here, once barren and empty for miles, have become a graveyard. Recent battle has been fought here--and of the epic kind. Fresh carcasses send skyward a horrible stench of death, clouding the sky with drawn vultures. Great clouds of flies stir as the group passes through, disturbing their feast. Vultures too hop back, glaring spitefully at the group. A fight, a battle has taken place here. The combatants? Dragons. What must be a score of the great creatures have fallen to . . .something. Were they fighting amidst themselves? It would be difficult to tell. Whatever the case, something has stirred in the workings of the world, for this is definitely not a scene of normality. Tension hovers, made no better by the insane elf as she hops from dragon to dragon, seemingly careless of flies and vultures--not to mention stench--as she crouches amid the bloody ruins of bodies, taking her dagger to scaled hide or cutting through meat. She grunts and lopes back to Tenebrae. "Day or more." She seems unconcerned with what this might mean to the clan, or what it might mean to Hollow itself. What could have possessed dragons to kill each other. . .or worse yet, what were they fighting that so slaughtered them? Deilakrion's eyes follow a vulture, her mind obviously leagues away. But then she tenses, head tilted to the side. Her lips part in a feral expression, and she tears off, climbing over a tail to stare at a scene most grotesque. Just as there must be a score of dragons, so too are there a score of beings--dragon riders. Each and every one has been staked on a crude spear through the stomach, their bodies halted in descent by the thickness of the spear. It must be a warning of some kind, else the poor souls would not be displayed thus.
Tenebrae’s stomach lurched, first at the horror of the scene as they’d stepped with hurried paces along the dusty, even pathway, the ghastly vista visible at some distance. The massive bodies were clearly saurian… Reaching the battlefield, she could only gape, hands pressed tight to her belly, and it was all she could do to keep tears welling, to keep her knees from buckling. Dragons. A dozen, maybe more… it was hard to tell, in the tangle of fallen bodies, pairs still twisted together as though they’d still been fighting, even in their death-throes. Worse, there were other bodies, some half-torn to bloody scraps, some whole, impaled like broken dolls on stakes driven hard into the barren earth. A trembling step toward the nearest conformed her suspicions. The necromancer sank to her knees beside the body, fists pounding on the lower half of the stake. “No…” It was a guttural cry, given as she rose to rest on her haunches to inspect the body. Her small hands pummelled at the man’s tunic, upon which was still to be seen, even through the blood, the insignia of the Eldritch Cabal. “No! Bastards… They –will- pay for this!” Her voice had risen to a keening shriek, Tenebrae heedless of Deilakrion’s actions for the moment as a maddened rage sluiced through her nervous system. She scrambled to a stand, pupils like pinpoints in the midst of a pale and icy green, the whites of those terrible eyes stained crimson. “Creature…” This single word, quieter, cracked and edged with a tremendous and bitter sorrow, had her seek the elven woman’s form. “Creature… What have they done?” For this was an entire unit of the fledgling Eldritch Eyrie. And these were her people…
Deilakrion grew quiet upon seeing her clan leader’s reaction. She edged forward, peering at what Tenebrae had been looking at. Her head cocked to the side, she noted that insignia. Sudden understanding dawned within the simplicity that so structured her world. Her face blanched, eyes widened and breath sucked in. She stepped back, taking in the scene once again with full appreciation for what it meant. “. . .Pack. . .?” Her voice was hushed as she momentarily disregarded the question Tenebrae had asked her. “Must be pack . . . .killed.” She swallowed, regaining her tone as she viewed what to her was an intention to be taken out. A growl was building in her throat. “Killed by prey.” Her tone had deepened—despite all the words the fleshies put together of war, it was not something she understood. This was all it took for her. She began inspecting the corpses, counting and viewing every bit of damage taken. Each was a death note to be paid. . .and then more so. After she had finished she returned to her leader, back rigid and chin lifted high, her snarl a rictus upon her features. “Twenty-four large fleshes, twenty-three small fleshes,” she stumbled over the numbers, but got them out nonetheless, “Large fleshies were all killed by other large fleshies but for. . .” She gestured to one on the edge, stretched out away from the carnage. It seemed to be mostly intact. “Fierce hunter, come.” She walked the incensed and dangerous vampiress the short distance to the dragon. She then gestured to the mark that had been burned onto the dragon’s side, sealing its fate in death.
Tenebrae’s gait was rigid, her gaze more so. Despite the fact that her outward appearance seemed to calm, her features setting to almost serene composure, anyone who knew her more than slightly would have recognised the amber flaring in arctic green eyes, and by the fixation of her stare upon first one body, then another, that the necromancer was approaching a level of rage that would see a rigorous and bloody justice done, if it took her centuries to accomplish. Her upper lip twitched as she, too, examined the corpses in turn, eyes following Deilakrion’s progress around the slaughter. The pale dragon and it’s paler rider that she’d prayed to the dark Ones would not be counted among the dead was indeed not present. That was … something, at the least. As the elf returned, her head canted abruptly to the side, a rifleshot crack sounding in her ears. The expression ‘hell to pay’ was not adequate to describe the vengeance she would wreak… Nodding to Deilakrion, mutely, she took those stiff steps toward the distant corpse, and reaching it she once more knelt, to trace fingers over the insignia seared into the cold flesh. It was as she’d thought. And now she was assured of –who- hell was to pay. Her face was grim, even for her, as she turned her glance to her clansmate, the single word she spoke the only one she could manage for the now. “Claw.”
Deilakrion opened her mouth as if to taste the air once the word had been spoken. “Prey.” Who or what ‘claw’ was she’d find out later. . .but now she knew those who had done this ill deed were recognized. In that, well, she’d have her own revenge. No—her eyes traveled to Tenebrae, taking in the grief-stricken rage that was a ghost in her smooth countenance—they would take revenge. As a pack. As it was meant to be. But there was one thing that was niggling at the back of her mind. . .her eyes traveled over the scene. Even she, deranged and on a different level than most, seemed rather shaken by this travesty. She bit her lip, voice shaking slightly as she spoke to Tenebrae. “Should there not be same numbers of fleshes?” She was puzzled. Yet she was also wary, for the air about the vampiress fairly crackled with heated energy. Tension, hatred. She knew not what might set the vampiress off, but she did not wish to see her beloved leader do some heated thing which might threaten her life. She paced closer to the woman, hand hovering above the smaller woman’s shoulder.
Tenebrae nodded, lips parting at last. “Prey indeed.” This was fairly spat out, as slim, hard-muscled thighs propelled her upward. She could not tear her eyes from the mark scarring the dragon’s hide, not until Deilakrion raised a question that, were Tene in her right mind, might have been more obvious to the vampiress. “Hm?” That verdant stare snapped toward the elf. “One’s missing…” Jet-black locks shifted against pale skin and scarlet leather, as her head turned to make a rapid scan of the grounds, lips moving as she counted to herself. Yes, there was one body missing. She presumed it a body, anyway. For who could survive such carnage? “We shall make a search, Creature, find the rider, before we take those bodies down.” With the ground too hard for burial, and too many to haul back before sun and scavengers took their toll, she’d make a pyre. The bodies would burn, and she’d make the fire a beacon of her revenge, that just might be seen all the way to Cenril.
Deilakrion frowned, staring about fitfully. She shook her head. “Prey should have staked.” She gestured to the others, clustered about the same area. Against her will her lips skimmed back from teeth in a growl. The sight burned at her eyes. She looked at the lone dragon, singled out. “Taken?” Blood and dust smeared her skin, coating her in a ghastly parody of her normal skin tone. So it seemed to her, fleshies had a desire to take other fleshes against pack mates, to gather fleshy things. This was all a gruesome mistake that needed to be corrected. She would see to it recompense was made. They all would. The very thought hammered within her mind. “Other pack around?” She maintained eye contact with her leader. Maybe if others were around, they could get through this night intact.
Tenebrae’s shoulders rose and fell, the action jerky. “Possibly. I’ll send my crow…” Maladroit had, as ever, followed. The undead bird had ceased its circling and come to rest upon a saurian carcass, beak jerking up and down to peck at iron-hard scales in a ghastly mockery of feeding. One glance from the necromancer had the once-goblin suddenly galvanised, ragged-pinioned wings taking Tenebrae’s familiar to an awkward swoop before it flapped off into the distance. Drawn from the killing fields then, a score of living birds reluctantly abandoned their meals to follow. If there were any Cabal about, the crows would lead them to Tenebrae and Deilakrion. “I suppose we’ll find out, soon enough.” The vampiress raised a pallid hand, palm rubbing over her face. “Maybe they took him. It’d make sense…” The hand dropping back to her side, she looked blankly at the elf. “But to where? I’d say Cenril’s a possibility. We might start there.” The bodies weren’t going anywhere. The funeral could wait a few more hours.
Deilakrion spent a few moments to let the scene sink into her mind. This she would not forget. No one who saw this could forget it. Of that. . .it was certain. She pushed matted hair away from her face with bloodied hands, smearing it across her face and in her hair. Another bath would be needed after this trek, but for now it did not matter. She wiped her hands against her hips, picking her way out of the carnage. She looked back towards her leader, calm gradually returning to her mind though a hot, hard ball of anger burned steadily in her stomach. “This creature follow.”
Tenebrae’s curt nod would have to do by way of reply; she was beyond words. Turning on her heel she stalked back toward the path, eyes averted now from the atrocity that had once been her latest pride and joy. Olivius… only now did she let his name come whispering through her mind. The pale man’s fury would know no bounds, once he learned of this. She afforded the scene only one last look, a hurried glance over her shoulder, as her feet found the hard-packed dust of the trail. Tene could not help the shudder that passed through her, then, as the skewered bodies were seen in stark relief against the pale horizon’s light; the hulking, twisted corpses of their once-proud mounts lain like bloody sculptures on the cracked earth. She kept walking, gaze cast toward Deilakrion briefly before being firmly set toward the road ahead.