Ed. Note – this appeared out of order and is the last story in the timeline right now
Bowstring taught, aim ahead and slightly down into the cave, the young man in the Alabaster Guard’s white and crimson leathers advances slowly into the darkness. His measured tread avoids the scree of the cave entrance with automatic precision, and his alert eyes dart back and forth with restless alertness.
As he leaves the natural light of the sun behind, the young man’s bow slowly begins to emit a steadily brightening white light, illuminating the broken stalactites and stalagmites strewn about the entry point. Further in he sees more, all pointing outward. The stumps both above and below give the impression of rotted teeth in a neglected mouth.
“Why,” he mutters under his breath, “do the blasted traders not hire enough help to do this job them-blasted-selves…”
The reports, he reflects, were not very cohesive. They did seem to agree on some important details, though. Something big, something mean, and something that came out of this cave was wreaking havoc on the ironmongers turnpike.
A dragon, some claimed.
No wings, can’t be, said others, and besides that there are no dragons.
A giant lizard, avowed still others.
Whatever it was, one of the chief arteries of the Alabaster City’s trade was suffering losses of nearly one shipment in three, and now it was time for the Guard to put a stop to it. Somehow he knew that would mean him, before the assignment was even properly conceived, nevermind handed down.
If only I’d gotten on better with Ra’ish in chaos theory, I could be in magister’s purple by next year…
No, Ferril, focus!
A calming breath, brief pause, and he resumes his effortless stride.
The temperature descends in tandem with the cavern. The clean scents of summer yield to the sharp mineral tang of lime in the air. The brightness of the chaos light from his bow grows painfully bright and Ferril cuts it back down to a useful level. Moments later, a new scent hits his nostrils – water. At any fork in the path that scent would be the one to follow.
Soon enough Ferril finds a fork, and then another, and then a third, before a different odor strikes him, this time forcefully. Bile climbs up his throat as he fights to suppress his gag reflex. Something not far away is defecating, and it is vile.
Stopping to collect himself, Ferril channels a touch of chaos through his system to mute his olfactory response. Head clearing, he lets the light go from his bow and channels more chaos, this time to his eyes, and the outline of shapes begin to appear to his vision despite the dark. Rounding the next bend there is a shape waiting in the darkness. Its massive silhouette explains the conflicting reports.
Nearing 4 cubits from the ground at the top of its sharp-angled head, the beast’s four huge, taloned flippers are already dragging its massive armored form toward him. The irregular plates on its armored back each sport a crowning spike, and its massive sharp beak of a maw already gaped hungrily out from the shell, seeking the new source of fresh meat.
Already holding the chaos he needs, Ferril releases his first arrow and springs away on power-quickened muscles, averting his gaze from the blinding explosion of incandescent thunder woven into the missile.
The massive… thing, Ferril has no idea what to call this overgrown turtle creature, doesn’t seem notice the arrow sticking out of its flipper, but reacts violently to the blast of light and sound, lashing out wildly in all directions.
“Demons, that thing’s got no right to move that quick at that size.” Ferril focuses the chaos power once more into his limbs, feeling the familiar thundering of blood as he pushes full bore on his physical enhancement, muscles jumping to mental commands moving at blistering speeds of thought. He also pushes ahead of him with the chaos, smoothing what little motion of the still air that was in his arrow’s flight path and fires.
And fires.
And fires.
In the span of three eyeblinks, he looses twelve shafts at the… well, turtle dragon fits well enough, he decides.
Despite his nearly irrational self confidence, Ferril never shorts himself on preparation. Before this spelunking expedition, he’d spent hours tying loose bits of chaos to those arrows in precisely the patterns he anticipated most useful. The years of practice to safely fire off the charged shafts at such chaos-fueled speeds showed in the results.
The first 4 shafts explode on impact with tons of concussive force, and more light and sound filled the huge chamber the beast called home. As fragments of its shell explode off in chunks and dust, the next four arrows catch the beast around the head and promptly burst into blazing scarlet flame. The last four shoot into it with such incredible speed and force that they tear all the way through the beast’s nearly eight cubit length, clattering to the ground behind it in a puddle of its blood.
While dashing towards his next chosen firing spot, Ferril’s eyes catch a flash of metal glinting in the brilliant chaos explosions, and his attention is arrested by the sight of chain mail links for the briefest of moments…
The thrashing flipper of the thing catches him flush in the sternum, talons ripping effortlessly through his leathers and scoring deep lines in his flesh. Instantly the long holes in his body run hot and bright claret. Crashing nearly headfirst backwards, Ferril tumbles nearly 10 cubits through the cave, bouncing off of stalagmite stumps and debris.
Ferril and the dragon turtle both recover their senses quickly as darkness and silence return, before the bloodied combatants renew the harsh discord of mutual destruction. The turtle charges with it’s way-too-fast-for-turtles-or-giant-things flippers pulling its massive bulk forward in surging lunges.
Ferril leaps to one side even as he starts drawing more arrows – halfway gone, demons damn my eyes for underpacking – and looses the first even before he is set, his hands a blur in his vision as three more concussive arrows follow.
More shell fragments fly as Ferril’s power blasts away the thing’s shell. The last two arrows make it past the armor and blow huge gouts of gore up and out, splattering Ferril as he dodges past. Blood covers his eyes, and in the moment he blinks it away the turtle’s tail catches him, sends him sprawling. A mouthful of wet clay and dragon turtle shit greets him on the floor.
Scrambling on all fours while gagging out the foul mixture, Ferril dives behind an outcropping just ahead of the lashing beak, grasping for one of his prepared arrows as he moves. Chaos burns familiar fiery trails through his muscles as he delivers a return stroke in the beast’s neck. The arrow he’d bound to burst forth from his bow at velocity fit to pierce an iron portcullis didn’t need the bow to work, and Ferril’s touch of power shot it forward through the turtle’s head and out its cantaloupe sized eye.
Truly crippled now and no longer seeking to chase Ferril, the dragon turtle thrashes in a mad effort to keep him away. Too late, beast, too late, thinks Ferril as he nocks another arrow, taking his time now. Is that the tympanic membrane all that blood is pouring from? Looks like a good target…
*****
When they found him, the traders couldn’t believe he was breathing. The bloody, torn, ragged mess of raw meat barely visible from the road looked like something to avoid until one of the guards realized Alabaster Guard leathers were underneath all the blood, cave clay, and turtle shit. Ferril has no memory of the ironmongers loading him on the cart and hauling him back into the city.
Awake now and in the healing dormitory, Ferril feels like one giant throbbing vessel of pain. Besides his rescue, he also has no recollection of what must have been a tortuous climb out of the cave, and for that he is grateful. In addition to his physical injuries, he is chaos blind. The energy that powers all things must still be there but not to his senses.
Well, it isn’t the first time he’d pushed too hard and it wouldn’t be the last. Probably he’ll bounce back faster arcanically than physically. The healers won’t push this one. Wounds like his were near universally fatal, and pushing the body too far past it’s limits in mending them could do more harm than good. Near on a score of days they said before they would be ready to get him walking again. Plenty of time to work on pushing through his chaos deficiency. He needs to be ready magically speaking as soon as possible, for the Alabaster City is not kind to the defenseless.
Mick On Everything 