Zion: Light of the New Moon Part 2, Ch 3.1 Doen
Zion - Light of the New Moon, Part 2 Chapter 3.1
Doen A Wave of Crimson
The Doenian group has a very harsh challenge ahead of them; with most of the party moderately injured (the Sickle Moon rolls did NOT go well) they will be facing huge swarms of Blood Beasts. Now is the time you may want to look away-- unless you're one of those rubber-neckers that can't help but take in a horrific scene of traumatic destruction. The fact that tehfox didn't vote for the last chapter further impedes the party with a -1 Favor. Assuming they pull through, at least they get to look forward to the following modifiers: - Danger, + Willpower, + Tresure, and something... special. Should failure be the flavor of the month, the other possibility is: -Luck, - Willpower, + Delay, ++ Danger.
It's strange to think how one person can have two entirely different points of view between experiencing something and reflecting on it. For example, the week following the Sylvan attack on the caravan felt like the longest in my life. The pain from the wounds were nothing compared to the Sickle Moon ritual that healed them. It wasn't so much the physical agony of my injuries forcing themselves closed as it was the mental anguish of watching my friends and companions cause harm to themselves for my benefit.
Dillan, who was also healed, didn't seem to share that same inner turmoil. The moment his wounds were wiped clean he hopped up, gave a light nod to the newly injured members of our party and whistled his way back to his wagon. As the only other uninjured member of our group, that left me to care for Taggart, Jasper, and Narissa, who each shared the worst of the backlash from the Sickle Moon's life transfer. The damage done to my friends wasn't so much an issue of bandaging wounds or sewing up cuts; they had lost life force, and that was a dangerous prospect if they weren't well cared for.
When I said the week following the Sylvan attack felt like the longest one in my life, what I meant was that everyone's continued health was up to me. Even with Rust, Zeke, and Haldyn still standing, the ritual of transference had taken its toll on them and they spent a lot of their time resting. Me, on the other hand, I was perfectly fine. Dillan managed to lead the caravan while Rust, Zeke, and Haldyn traveled on mounts to conserve their energy... but that meant it was my job to care for Jasper, Narissa, and Taggart... and I spent a lot of my time worrying.
It seemed like everything I had to do for one of them I had to do for all of them. I managed to consolidate everyone into a single wagon so I could look after them at the same time, but it wasn't easy. The fact that they were all conscious and able to talk (or, in some cases complain) did help a little, since how they were feeling was one of the most important things to me. Unfortunately, most of them felt really bad. It's understandable, I suppose, since they did give up a portion of their life for me and for Dillan.
At the same time, however, I would like to point out that, upon looking back at that week now, I can't believe how quickly it went. Despite the fact that a lot of the care I needed to administer was tedious, it did make the time go by. I can't recall ever having a night where I looked back at my day and thought I had enough time to get everything done. I do remember feeling that the days dragged on and on but I think that was probably because I was so worried about everyone.
The essence of life is a funny thing; it seems that each faith of the Moon Goddess has its own view on what life is and how it functions, but none of us are completely right. By that same measure, however, none of us are completely wrong. In Doen we are taught that life begets life, and, thusly, it is a self perpetuating force... a powerful energy that suffuses us all and seeks to create itself anew. Those of the Full Moon Faith, I've heard Rust say, believe that life is a precious, easily destroyed treasure that must be nurtured and cared for. Though both are right, after my experiences with the Sickle Moon, I think the answer is perhaps closer to the Myrhean way of thinking.
The Myrheans, Jasper had once said, believe that life is a spark of possibility. Whether that spark grows into a raging inferno or is snuffed into oblivion depends on factors beyond just the spark itself. Questions of optimal conditions, nearby fuel, surroundings... all of these things determine if fire is possible-- if life can continue. That week, caring for my friends who gave up some of their life energy to fuel my waning flame, taught me more about nurturing life than my almost sixteen years in the temple.
What it comes down to, I think, is that life flows like a river. You can change the direction by impeding its progress, by digging out a section of its bank, or by damming it up. Most of the time the water will keep flowing once it finds another way but, sometimes, despite what you try, it just drives over obsticles, careens through levies, busts dams, and prevails. It's possible to alter the river and still have it flow, but if you make too many changes, that's when disaster strikes.
Every injury we take is like adding another obstruction in the river of life. Yes, the waters can eventually work through it and keep going, but if the obstruction is bad enough, or if there are too many things added to the waters all at once then the river spills over its banks and stops... I guess that's the equivalent of bleeding to death? I don't know... metaphors aren't really my thing. Healers remove those obstructions; they dredge the riverbed and help keep the waters going; they build levies on the side to help keep the river flowing true. But what can a healer do when the waters dry up?
I guess that's the best explanation I have for someone getting their life essence drained; their river suddenly suffers from drought. There are a lot of things you can do to control the water in a river if the goal is to help it run smoother, but what can you do when there's just less water? What if the water stops flowing altogether? These were the thoughts that worried me the most. A healer can do many things, but they are not Aquamancers of lifeblood... and if there's no river, then there's no life.
In the end, however, it was a case of me worrying for the welfare of my friends and, thank the Goddess, that worry was without merit. After six days everyone appeared to show signs of recovery and, by the end of the seventh, they were well enough that I didn't have to monitor them at all hours. The prayers of the Sickle Moon are frightening, that's for certain, and I would never EVER encourage anyone to consider them a substitute for traditional healing, let alone the divine touch of the Full Moon. On the seventh night we gathered as a group and enjoyed a hearty dinner prepared by Taggart from generously gifted items Dillan had received from the townsfolk of Fairview.
The evening passed pleasantly, with the sound of laughter and good-natured jokes finally replacing the days' silence of concern and worry. Dillan tended the stew once Taggart gave up the position to sit next to me, sliding his paw into mine once we'd both eaten. Jasper and Zeke casually tossed light-hearted punches back and forth, though the rat was required to pull his since Zeke still hadn't fully recovered. Despite Haldyn being intent on keeping watch, he also joined in on an occasional chuckle, remaining close enough to the fire to take part in our gathering.
Rust sat on an empty barrel which was resting on its side, Narissa perched in his lap with her head resting against his chest; he had the look of a man made whole... he had appeared almost haunted during the days of Hearthsinger's convalescence, and when he had come to visit her he'd repeatedly apologized for suggesting the Sickle Moon ritual, but, each time she simply silenced him with a finger and told him it would be alright. As I looked at the two of them, I almost couldn't help but wonder how strong her Divination talent was.
Haldyn was relieved of his position once dinner was finished. He headed off to sleep, leaving Jasper and Zeke to keep watch. Narissa led Rust back to their carriage. The wide smile on her muzzle grew wider when the echidna questioned if the two of them spending the night together was a good idea considering her injuries; her response couldn't have been more Doenian, "What use is being alive if you can't celebrate living?"
The comment made me smile as well, but not as much as Taggart did when he moved beside me and whispered something into my ear. He said words that I'd wanted to hear more than could possibly be imagined. We both retired to my wagon for the night. Despite the prior days' troubles the last several hours before midnight provided much needed closure and the several hours of post-midnight heralded in the new week with... hmm... how did Jasper put it again? Um... oh! Oh right: with a 'bang'.
* * * * * *
Haldyn sat up in his carriage, unsleeping. He was staring out of the small side-window, gazing into the darkness beyond camp. Though most wouldn't have caught sight of the flickers in the night, his keen eyes sought more hints of what he'd seen during the party's dinner. There had been reason enough for concern, but not enough to destroy the festivities of the evening. As the lion continued staring at the dark shapes still congregating however, he grew more and more concerned.
The Lordling was no stranger to the ways of the creatures that inhabited the Wild Lands. He was familiar with Blood Beasts and their interest in the hunt. He knew how they worked in packs, and how large groups of 10-20 were known to be able to attack entire caravans. Unless those caravans were well protected there was almost guaranteed to be losses. Haldyn had seen the efficiency with which the wolf-like creatures were capable of picking apart and disorganizing skilled formations, taking down stragglers and zeroing out anyone who strayed too far from protection.
Gazing out into the darkness, Haldyn felt his heart beating faster by the minute; the dark shadows kept coming, moonlight glinting ominously across a sea of eyes staring right back at him. Blood Beasts preferred to hunt at dawn or at dusk and, though they did not pass up a chance to attack feral prey, they always seemed to wait until the half-light times before striking at caravans. Although this meant that there was little doubt as to the Blood Beasts' reason for gathering, it also meant that it provided him time to consider a plan and, judging from the enormous mass of creatures, he'd need a good one-- a very good one.
Haldyn slowly drew his sword, and began to run a whetstone down its blade. The weapon was of masterwork quality, but was not a true Rakken Blade. In many ways it reminded him of Parayas the Lord of the Glass Hall. Lord Parayas was a fine Lord... well suited to the task of leadership and the knowledge of bureaucracy needed to see to the day-to-day affairs of a keep, but he was not the true Lord Rakken. Just as Haldyn's sword was little more than a shadow of his family's clan blades, so too was Parayas a shadow of the man who should have been lord of the Glass Hall... and Haldyn was just as inadequate when it came to the same man; compared to Yearl Rakken's strategic mind his was just a shadow.
The lordling often wondered how life had turned out the way it had. Only in recent weeks had he finally been willing to throttle destiny into submission, taking his life into his own paws and guiding his own direction. The prior portion of his life, nearly two decades, had been spent living at the wims and desires of someone else entirely. Haldyn's mother had died in childbirth; his father had beseeched every single priest within a hundred miles to help her deliver Haldyn, but to no avail. As the Lord of Glass Hall, Lord Rakken could have said any number of things, or done any number of things to prove his anger at the temple, but the thing that he did do was inconceivable: he left.
It was a strange tactic from a man of a million strategies. Haldyn's true father, Yearl Rakken had abdicated his throne and handed the responsibility to his brother, Parayas. The new Lord Rakken, unable to sire children, was given the task of raising Haldyn as his own. The Lordling had spent many years with a burning anger inside for what had been done to him but, only in the recent months had Haldyn come to understand why his father had done what he did. As Haldyn gazed out into the blackness, watching the growing number of glinting eyes, it made even more sense.
"You wanted to meet life on your own terms.... didn't you?" the lion spoke aloud, putting his sword back in its sheath. For a moment, Haldyn couldn't help but wonder how much he and his absentee father were alike; until the Lordling had met Zachary and Rust he hadn't had any love for the clergy; until he'd had a chance to be on the road, on his own, Haldyn thought of the Glass Hall as a gilded cage; until the lion finally had a chance to do for himself he hadn't known that he was capable of being his own man. Haldyn Rakken, son of Yearl Rakken smiled. The countless sea of glowing orbs focused on the camp suddenly didn't seem to be such an imposition; in his mind, they became an opportunity. If he and his father were THAT much alike then maybe... just maybe-- and, slowly, a plan began to form.
* * * * * *
The Doenian group elected mitigate damage using Sickle Moon prayers... sadly, it worked poorly. This is going to make Chapter 3 exceedingly painful. Let us all wish them well.
For the contributing readers, make sure you vote carefully: 1) Haldyn formulates a plan and awakens everyone early. (Combat with a bonus based on Haldyn's tactics). 2) Rust sees what's going on and rallies the party. (Combat with a bonus based on Rust's leadership). 3) Zachary rises with the sun and attempts to create a ward. (Combat MIGHT be avoided/delayed if Zachary can succeed with his ward. He takes 1 Major Fatigue).
Oh yes... and, just in case, Contributing Readers should make certain that they set their combat stance... the Author Contributed characters certainly will!
Votes are due by midnight on Thrusday, January 12th. Good luck... you'll need it!