Magik & Myth: Falling of the Dusk: (Chpt 4)
It's a small chapter, but brings in an important character, and mentions another. Have fun! <(^_^<)<(^_^)>(>^_^)>
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Chapter 4 - Between Solitude & Love
"SNAP!" said the piece of wood. Well, it didn't so much say it, as do it, but the sound echoed through the trees like a voice calling out in pain.
There was a pause, the deep forest quiet for a moment, then again, "SNAP!"
The Dracojhan stood tall, lining himself up. He slowly raised his leg, kicking outward toward a wooden board he had wedged between two low tree branches. Upon contact with the scaled foot of the dragonfolk, the board snapped, almost seeming to cry out to the trees around as it did so. He walked forward, picking up another board from the pile he had nearby, and wedged it into the same place, tossing the broken one aside.
It landed in a pile of other broken boards, a pile at least twice the size of the pile of boards yet to be attacked.
The Dracojhan jumped into the air, spinning himself around and crying out as he landed another perfect hit on the board splintering it into several pieces. When he landed, however, he clutched his right angle hard, growling deep in his throat. There was a white wrapping around that foot, stopping just after the ankle and before his clawed toes. He stood, barefoot, as most Dracojhans did, rubbing his ankle gently for a moment.
He stood after only a few moments of this, setting up another board, and throwing the same mid-air kick. He landed, wincing as the pain of his ankle, but it was less this time. The heal was getting stronger.
Such a stupid wound to have, to break an ankle, and on landing no less. Mind you, landing when falling with two torn wings isn't exactly an easy thing. He had managed to get all the way into the Baithen Druid Fortress, the most secure prison in all of the Four Empires. Even the Maga Tower in Heldryn, wasn't as secure, or so the Druid Guards claimed. They weren't really Druids, though. They had adopted the title to show their rank as guardians of the most vile criminals in Baithen. Those, and the Dracojhan's lover.
He had gotten in fine, not one guard seeing him. One almost did, but people don't see much after having their necks broken. Not even fake Druids.
He had gotten to the highest tower in the place, opened the door, and found a note on the bed. It simply said:
J,
I trust you to find me when
you can. Until then, thanks
for trying.
Love F.
It had been getting out that bothered him, because it seemed after mere moments that the Druid Guard had seen the note as well, and although they didn't know quite who the "J" was, they knew the he could help them find they're escaped prisoner.
The Dracojhan, having, as Dracojhans do, other plans entirely, leaped from the highest tower, out of the window, and dive-bombed for the ground. To slow himself, he uncurled his wings, but the Druid Guard above chose that moment to let loose a volley of arrows, filling his wing membranes with holes. He had yelled in agony, plummeting to the ground, but managing to roll on impact, only nearly breaking his ankle. He was now far enough from them, that by the time they Druid Guard had gotten to the ground level, he had already vanished, even with his injuries.
So here he now stood, recovering his leg and waiting. Waiting because he was so damn furious! Not furious at his wounds, nor at his failed attempt to rescue his lover. No, it was fury over the attempt in the first place, the stupidity of it. He should have trusted her. He knew her better than anyone, but his love and concern had stopped him from thinking clearly. He should have know she'd get out without a hassle. There wasn't a prison built, that could hold Freya Starlight.
That was part of the reason he didn't search her out right after getting out of the prison. He felt like he had to finish recovering first. He felt... like he perhaps didn't know himself well enough, to truly know his lover. So here he now stood, stuck between his solitude of recovery, and his mate's love.
His claw in a fist, he punched the tree before him, walking off slowly, no longer limping as he walked, at least not by much. He sat down by the small fire he had made himself. He wouldn't need it much longer, as the dawn was approaching rather quickly, but it had been burning throughout the night and he now found himself staring into it's dieing flames, his thoughts drifting. 'By hell why did you even bother, McDohl.' he thought to himself, shuffling the firewood next to him, of which there was little left after keeping the campfire going all night.
He stood again, looked over his chopped wood, that good enough to train with. Picking up another board, he wedged it carefully in the branches of tree he'd been using, and stared at it for a moment. 'Jowy ain't all that clever sometimes.' he thought, self-mockingly, aiming himself at the angle he needed. He looked down at his bandaged foot for a moment, a plethora of thoughts running through his mind.
Finally, Jowy looked up, holding himself ready to strike.
"SNAP!"
* * *
Smoke was rising high into the sky. That being said, smoke was the least of the problem with the scene that lay before them.
It was a small travelling theatre group. They travelled the Rouge Plain in search of small towns and camps where they might find a coin or two to be spared, and they most always stopped here.
Today, however, they couldn't take their eyes off the carnage before them. One stepped forward, a middle aged human, his face rough beyond his years, his clothing worn, but still well put together. He put a hand in the dirt before them, sifting it for a moment, then looked back to the three others behind him. The rest of their troop sat quietly in the back of the large wooden wagon, seeing for themselves, from the wagon's open back, the scene that had stayed they're progress.
The middle aged man walked over to another male human, somewhat younger, with much darker skin. Taking him aside slightly, he spoke in a low whisper, "This has got to be some kind of mistake. How can this be the place?"
The other lowered his head, holding back the sick feeling welling in the pit of his stomach. "It's the right place. They've been here for years, and then we find this? What else are we suppose to think?" his voice was broken by the sight he now gazed on. His young face feeling like every second he stood there etched another line deep into it.
"But if it is, then where are all the tribesmen?"
"Did you hear about the Temple?"
"... of course, but what could--"
"Look there." the darker skinned human pointed to the north, then off to the east. Even an inexperienced tracker could see that there was a large force that had moved through the area.. One from the north, and another, much larger, and much more devastating, to the east.
"But why would they attack here? What's to be gained from it?"
At that moment, another of the travellers stepped forward, a woman, about the same age as the lighter skinned man, but with very pale skin of her own, and even more wear upon her face than her male counterpart. "Perhaps..." she said simply.
"Perhaps what Reba?"
"Perhaps...." she continued. "They were simply... in the way..." her voice was quiet, mournful, as she looked over the former home of some of her closest friends.
Silence fell upon the gathered travellers. They couldn't take it in. They were looking at a sight of fire and smoke, blowing out from the inside of half collapsed tents and huts. Bodies laying scattered, unattended across a mile diameter, and a heap of burning corpses just to the north, all in the same leather armour, or what little of it could still be seen.
The dark skinned male looked around carefully, then his eyes went wide. They had fallen upon something most would miss. He called out to the others, running into the ruined encampment and crouching in the dust. His hand waved over the marks in the dirt for a moment, reading them, as his years of experience had taught him. Every trodden blade of grass, every crushed leaf and flower, was a story to unfold, if you could read with the right eyes.
The other male rushed over, "What is it, Raak?"
For a moment, Raak didn't respond. Then he looked his friend dead in the eye and said bluntly, "If I'm reading these tracks right, someone got away. Several someones. At least three people managed to escape."
"Three? Are you sure?"
"At least, it's difficult to tell with all the other tracks in the way, but they are the freshest tracks here, and are clearly from at least one of the tribesmen."
'And the other two?"
"Well..." Raak paused, looked over the tracks again, the back to his friend. "Symon, it looks like the other two were human."
The white male stood, his face going whiter, Raak standing with him. "So then somewhere out there, we know there are survivers. We've got to find and try to help them. No matter what, we can't let the Lunas Tribe die." Symon stormed back to the wagon, jumping on, Raak and Reba hopping into the back, as they tore off west, the sun rising to it's height behind them.
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There we go. Hope you enjoy the read, pardon the grammar and spelling as I'm still in the process of editing what I have before I continue with more. (^_^)
~ Halo Darquine Enfinity (HDE)