Knowing the general heading Aisling was taking, I wend my way southwest. My quarry started this hunt with the advantage of invisibility, but the rain may go some way towards balancing the scales. In the soft, muddy streets coursing through the ruins below, I'm able to discern tracks making their way to the edge of the former town.
As I reach the beginning of the blighted fields, her trail becomes harder to follow. The earth here is preternaturally dry, the raindrops leaving no trace upon the dirt. My eyes strain as slow to a glide. Though I know that her destination is the swampland, I do not know where the conclave may be hidden within. I can feel in my craw that if I lose her trail now, I will not find it again.
There is way around it; I land on the ground. From here, I hope to have more luck finding her path once more.
I do my best to keep a watchful gaze on my surroundings, lest a predator take advantage of my situation. Being moored as I am is never comfortable to one of my kind, but the lingering touch of these afflicted lands has my nerves near screaming.
There! One of Aisling's tracks, near the fallen corpse of a petrified tree. In my anxious state, I let my discomfort get the best of me, Hopping forward in a rush. I land to the side of her footprint, taking no heed of anything but the clue before me.
Having picked up her trail, I flap my wings, but find myself held fast; creeping from beneath the tree's husk are thin, blackened vines, armed with curved thorns. Fool that I am, I landed ankle-deep in these briars. Whether it be by capricious fate or the tendings of a dark will, my feet have become thoroughly entangled.
My breathing picks up its pace as a small voice in the back of my mind begins to keen. Trapped! Defenseless, on the ground! Black spots swim in my vision as my head feels light. With a force of will, I close my eyes, and force myself to take one deep, laborious breath after another. Even this does little to calm me. Blinded, I make myself yet more of an easy target should any creature should pass this way.
As my heart pummels my breast from within, I can feel the moment slipping from my grasp. Before I sink too far into despair, I conjure once more a weathered memory. Four kind eyes, two doting smiles. One family, despite what time has wrought.
I let loose a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, and open my eyes. No foul beast has come to claim me. The vines, though viciously barbed, are not inescapable. This will not be my doom.
It is the work of many hours to unravel myself from these cloying bonds. What pale sunlight had once lit this day has already descended to its grave by the time I am free. One of the thorns had pierced deeply in the gap between two of my toes, and, even once it has been removed, I feel its mark burning still. I consider using the last of my Blood Ivy as a balm, but something tells me I will have greater need of it in the hours to come.
Now that I am free, I follow Aisling's steps until I am certain of the direction she has gone. Something white catches my eye as I prepare to take flight; discarded amongst some brush is a thin, splintered bone. Closer inspection reveals it to be the femur of a cat, its many lives finally spent. Here is an example of a hard-bought lesson: even in death, mortals can still affect the world around us.
If I were able to mend the splintering slightly, this bone may come in handy. Unfortunately, my best efforts are in vain, my broken foot too clumsy. With time, I may find someone with more deftness to affect this change. I take up my piece of Blood Ivy in my beak, and gently take hold of the splintered femur with my good foot. With a downwards thrust, I finally release myself into the gloaming above.
Now that I have spent so much time studying the marks Aisling left in her travels, they appear to glow dimly in my vision. My wings cut through the murky sky as I continue further South. The scent of the Swamp has begun to pervade the area, and, faintly, I swear I can hear what sounds like crying up ahead.
There are many wonders in this world. Even in the small patches of land I have traveled, I have seen countless mysteries, marveled at the impossible etched real. Before me now, another dark miracle has revealed itself to the night.
All along the edge of the swamp, small sparks in motley hues swat gently on the breeze. They fall to the ground in slow motion like maple samaras, fading away without a sound. Amidst these glimmering lights, Aisling is sitting at the edge of a small pond, staring wistfully into its mirrored surface. Every few seconds, a new tear drips off of her beak, cataclysmically rearranging the reflected stars.
My landing is audible in the relative quiet of the night around us, but she does not acknowledge my presence for some time. Only when the pond's surface finally remains still does Aisling look my way. Where before I had seen fear in her eyes, now I only saw guilt and shame. The wisps swirl around us in a silent dance as she begins to recount her tale.
Aisling, like all of her congregation, is sworn to protect any and all life she encounters. No matter the species, creed, or beliefs, all lives are judged as equal to those who tread the Salted Path. In this dying world of gloom & greed, they choose to be act as a flickering candlelight of hope. Thus, I find myself at a loss for words when Aisling tells me that she fears the reason her powers wane is because she intentionally let a supplicant die of their wounds.
I press as gently as I can, wishing not to cause her any undue pain. Merely a week ago, she had come across a scene of great carnage, on the outskirts of the Dead Forest. Broken bodies lay so thick upon the grass that not a hint of green could be seen. Whatever wasn't hidden by the corpses was instead stained wine red. As she found her senses assaulted by the wanton death, she made a crushing observation: each and every one of the bodies belonged to a young chick, babes cut down like wheat.
Before she could come to her senses, a wavering shadow loomed over her. She turned, seeing an old, wounded rooster, seemingly the sole survivor of whatever had transpired here. The rooster, introducing himself as King Rhaib, was barely standing under his own power. Aisling asked him what had taken place, but he refused to answer until she began had tended to him. With no other option, she had him lie prone before her.
It was not difficult to find the tears she needed to help Rhaib recover, given the blood-soaked down surrounding them. In a few hours time, when the rooster had fallen asleep, Aisling stared at the battlefield in horror. Unwilling to let herself rest in the face of such tragedy, she instead began to slowly dig graves for the fallen children.
The monotony of the efforts allowed her mind to drift away from conscious thought. When the sun began to rise anew, Rhaib let out a weak and guttural cry, heralding the dawn. Aisling paid him no heed, and continued with her grim work, until she heard him begin to weakly chuckle behind her.
Eyes dried of tears, Aisling turned in his direction in shock. Rhaib had forced himself to his feet, and was limping his way towards one of the graves that still lay open. It was foolish, he said, to bury the honorable dead who had perished at his command. To leave their cast-off shells open to the sky would serve as a reminder to all of his foes the power he wielded. With no will left to interrupt, Aisling stood still as he continued on.
Rhaib, born with a clangorous voice, had deemed himself fit to rule all others. At first, he engaged in reckless battles to steal away hens into his harem. Once they began to provide him with heirs, his lust for power grew; each newborn was taken from their mother and raised to follow Rhaib's instructions to the letter. Their sole purpose was to spread his empire, their grandest destiny to fight to the last in his name.
When his brood grew large enough, Rhaib began to lead his sons & daughters south towards the Dead Forest. Each new mile, every new step closer, was paid for in their blood. The night before, he had commanded the children to engage a den of snakes that lay claim to the border. Wave after wave of his own flesh and blood were marched to their doom, and the snakes had gorged mightily. As the last of his soldiers had fallen, Rhaib strode forward to deal the final blows to his foes. The snakes, swollen from their feast, put up a weak resistance to Rhaib's attacks, but all had fallen in the end.
As Rhaib turned his eyes to the horizon, he began to explain how much stronger his next army would be, when many of their number would be born from a powerful Brined healer. Eyes bone dry, expression blank, Aisling lunged forward. Her tackle took the weary Rhaib by surprise, and knocked him flat into the open grave he stood by. Already injured, the fall wiped out what little energy Aisling had returned to him with her tears the night before.
The enraged Rhaib cried out in a shade of his once-powerful voice, telling her, commanding her to help him from the pit and heal him further. Broken, Aisling walked to the edge of the grave, and stared at the rooster with a vacant expression. When the sounds of his weakening shouts finally faded behind her, Aisling collapsed from exhaustion.
She awoke from a dreamless sleep at dusk. The sun was already mostly eaten by the horizon, when an echoing clamor sang out from the abattoir she had left. The cry ruse in pitch and intensity, before trailing off into the newborn night. Mere seconds later, the voice rang out again, so eerily identical to the first that it appeared nearly as an echo. With each note in the dirge, a blue-limned shape moved inexorably closer. Rhaib had risen, his vitriolic spite somehow transforming him into a vengeful spirit.
Her story complete, Aisling falls into silence once more. I cannot tell if it's my imagination or not, but the night seems more oppressive somehow, the colors of the wisps muted by the dark. What can I say to her that she has not already told herself? We both know that she as good as killed Rhaib, and I suspected we both knew that had been a kindness to the world. Guilt surrounds her like water, threatening to sweep her away. I know this feeling all too well.
Words refusing to come to my tongue, I instead sidle closer to her hunched form. I am not much larger than she, but my wing is large enough to wrap around her back in support.
I awake some time later, the sky still dark. A chill begins forming in my marrow; what had woken me? I recall the sound of bells in my dreams......but, no. No, it wasn't a dream, was it? Faintly, ever so faintly, I hear it ring out again. Rhaib's scornful keening passes through the brush and muck around us.
He is no longer hunting for her: Rhaib is here.
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Prompt 10: Create your own event or draw again on this table. "Your target is taking efforts to elude you. Make a [Search] check to stay on course. On a Success, take your next turn as normal. On a Fail, you must land in your current Hex to pick up fresh tracks." Failed.
Prompt 11: The terrain becomes difficult. Make a successful Hop check, or you become stuck for several hours and take on injury. Failed, received an Injury.
Prompt 12: You find [A fractured cat femur: it's broken, but it's handy. When using this item, make a Use Tool check with Authority.] that is broken. Make a Use Tool check to see if you can fix it. If you fail, it can't be used until you find someone who can fix it. You can choose to discard or keep it. Failed, but chose to carry the bone until I can have it mended.
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