Oram had just gotten Alyssia out of the pool and wrapped in a wool blanket when a loud, tolling peal rang out. It seemed to come from the treasure room. Had he done that? the traveler wondered, his mind going guiltily to the coins in his pocket.
But no, it seemed to be something else entirely. More visions came just then, visions of dragons -or rather, of a dragon, talking to two (comparatively) more human-looking persons. The dragon held eggs in its enormous claw, and was entrusting them to the woman. That was bound to be one of the Immortals, Oram figured, or maybe some Heroine of Yore; he couldn’t see a dragon entrusting its eggs to Some Lady. The older man, whom Some Lady of Yore called “Father” then did something that caused the islands they stood upon to heave themselves from the bosom of the water and rise to the sky.
Oram realized he had heard this story before, that he should know the characters, yet could not recall any of the names. The man was one of the Originals, he guessed. Why could he not remember their names?! Cassion would probably smack him on the back of the head for forgetting, hard enough to give him an counterproductive concussion, then cheerfully tell the story himself. But that Cassion -the for-sure real Cassion- was not on hand.
When the vision passed, some of the eggs in the room began to stir, including two of the ones Alyssia had picked up. She had picked up more eggs?! Oram marveled, but -thinking once more of the coins- realized he could hardly fault her. The eggs broke open, and lizard-like forms emerged. They had scales that shone like gold and silver, and feathers as well. Oram stared at them, wonder-struck. Was that what dragons looked like? Was that what these were?
He did not have long to ponder this; something new was wrong. With him in particular. In the corner of his eye, he saw his shadow shift. At first he thought that some light source in the room had moved, or that he had imagined it. But within a couple trills, he realized with a gasp that something was amiss with his shadow. It was moving, on its own, in ways that should not be possible. It shortened and gathered at his feet, pooling around and climbing his ankles, his legs, covering his whole body in darkness. Just before the shadow took him, he pushed Alyssia away with the butt of his spear and then pointed with the head at one of the passages.
”Go!” he called. He had meant to shout, yet he could hear that his voice did not reverberate as it should in the cavern. He wonder if the girl heard her at all…
When the darkness receded, Oram was no longer in the cavern with the geese; he was in a place of ruin, beneath a ruined sky. The tatters of a collapsed building surrounded him; judging from the dust still hovering in the air, it had fallen recently, and utterly. What looked like the molten remains of some metal device dominated the space framed by the ruins. Lying near this molten hulk were withered bodies. Oram did not recognize them, yet somehow he suspected that at least some had been Immortals. What could kill Immortals? Who could kill them?
He caught sight of a large, fiery-looking man, and somehow realized he was Faldrun. Had *he* done this? Cassion -if it had been Cassion- had warned their group that Faldrun was up to no good. Yet his manner was not the gloating one of someone whose plans had come to fruition. He looked chagrined. And hurt.
In another corner, a red-haired woman -likely an Aukari Occult, Oram guessed, even though he had never before laid eyes on one- struggled vainly in the clutches of a monstrous, tentacled being, whose upper quarters disturbingly resembled a sensuous young woman. Whatever Faldrun and the aukari had planned had seemingly gone awry, catastrophically so. Next to them was a hooded female form that Oram reckoned he knew:
Audrae he realized, his eyes narrowing as he glared at her. But the dominant figure by far was another, also female, who floated over the ruin with an air all triumph and power. She was beautiful, yet there was a frighteningly unhinged manner about her; madness shone from her eyes as she smiled and spoke.
"Welcome, heroes of Idalos, and you as well, mister Revel, to a golden opportunity,” the floating woman said. It was then that Oram noticed the others who had arrived with him. Two he recognized: Nir’wei and Zoro. A third he thought at first was Praetorum, but this ithecal was even larger, more imposing, with iron-hard scales that seemed to cover an intense heat just beneath, like a barely-hardened crust of lava. It was frightening, yet apparently was one of the “Heroes” as well. The hunter did not recognize the girl nor “Mister Revel”, and he hadn’t missed that their new mistress of ceremonies had addressed the man in a way that excluded him from the other heroes.
The floating woman invited them to kill Faldrun, promising them rich rewards.
From what treasury? Oram wondered, eying the devastation of land and sky. And Faldrun then called her “Kata”, a name that the traveler vaguely remembered belonged to one of the hostile Immortals -not that he hadn’t worked out that last part already. And she had said something else he knew wasn’t true: they hadn’t been summoned to kill Faldrun, only to foil his schemes and those of the Aukari Occult, schemes which, judging from the position Faldrun and the aukari woman were now in, had already gone irretrievably awry. This wasn’t “their” mission; it was just more meddling and manipulations. Oram had had his fill of that.
Of the six who had arrived, the enormous ithecal responded first. It sounded like he and Faldrun had history, and not a positive one. For a moment, Oram thought it would attack the Immortal; gouts of fire shot towards Faldrun. Why would somebody who knew Faldrun try to attack him with fire? Even an unschooled hunter like him knew that to be futile, maybe even counterproductive. But as the ithecal turned with his ax abruptly on Kata, the hunter realized what it had done: the fires weren’t an attack, they were a resource.
That was clever; it might even work. But now what was Oram to do? He certainly-
The one known as “Mister Revel” acted next. He screamed in terror and was clearly out of his mind. He lurched forward to interfere with the ithecal, but was blasted back by a curtain of air. So the ithecal was one of those element mage thingies like Balthazar, Oram realized. Good to know. But now he had to deal with a squawking, babbling fool who wanted to do whatever Kata asked, simply because he was terrified of her. That was an understandable reason, but a bad one. As the air blasted the man back, Oram planted his boar spear upright in a pile of rubble and then grasped the panicking fool by the shoulder with one hand. With the other, he fished out a
bone whistle he wore on a lanyard under his gambeson.
Twisting “Mister Revel” towards him, Oram blasted the whistle right in his face. That was unnecessary, he knew; it wouldn’t actually enhance the item’s fear-dispelling and morale-raising effects, but he was annoyed with the man. When he was finished setting the poor fool’s ears ringing, the hunter dropped the whistle from his mouth and shouted:
”What are you thinking?! That she’ll spare us or reward us if we do her bidding? Look around you! Look at the sky! *That* will be your reward! We need to stop this! We all need to stop this!” He twisted the man with a shove to face Kata.
”Pull yourself together and do something to help us!”
As he dropped the whistle, leaving it to dangle freely from its lanyard, Oram held up his right hand and summoned a fireball. This was an ability he had acquired but recently; he had never used it anger before. He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to use it now. But it seemed like it would prove useful, somehow.
Nir’wei, in the meantime, had unleashed his wolves on Kata, while himself attacking tentacle woman with a bow. Oram could feel Choir straining to join Nir’wei’s pack in attacking Kata.
Go! Oram bid the song wolf mentally,
Sic ‘em!whereupon Choir eagerly flew at the floating Immortal with the other wolves.
After he threw his little fireball, Oram planned to retrieve his spear from where had planted it, for what good that would do. Not much, he guessed; he needed something more. They all did. More allies. Immortal allies. He called on all the ones he could think of that might view him positively: Cassion, of course, and Ziell, Saoire, Karem, Xiur, Vhalar, even Ralaith…
Daia. Daia had promised him
one favor after the Forging. Such favors should only be used in the direst of occasions; the end of the world probably qualified.
Daia, Oram thought.
I’m calling it in. Please do whatever you can for us. Quickly. And, having muttered his hasty petitions, Oram decided what to do with the fireball. Kata was set upon by the powerful ithecal and a pack of wolves including his own. Nir’wei was peppering Tentacle Lady with arrows. The former was by far the greatest threat here, but not the only one that needed tending to.
Between those two loomed a cowled figure, unnoticed and -if Oram guessed her type aright- hoping to remain that way. But no more. Oram had never used his fireball ability in anger before. Audrae’s face seemed like the perfect inaugural target. He threw the thing right into that murk framed by Audrae’s hood, then snatched up and readied his spear against whatever might come next.
