Catch and Release

Being the sort of person that Beira was, always fascinated by old, dust-gathering things that were better left in the darkness of vaults so secret that they would never see the light of day, the young God Slayer was quite fascinated to hear of a strange item which had spun tales of wonder and woe, to the point of being rather preposterous. But she knew, as did the wise, that stories with repeating motifs stemmed from a communal trunk, and probably were based in reality of some sort. Whatever the reality of the artifact which had caught the young Utgardian's attention, it had been something to leave a sufficiently delicious trail for Beira to greedily follow, and after weeks of careful research and planning, the trail had led her to the foot of a stately mountain, whose peak was rumored to hold the ruins of a long dead city.

What had sicced Beira on the trail of this amulet like a wolf on a blood trail was the ranting of some drunk fellow in a bar on the lower, more hospitable region of Mount Hakobe's base. He had mentioned that he had been hired by a rather rich fellow, intrepid adventurer that he was, to seek the resting place of an ancient bracelet which housed incredible power. The Utgardian had been little desirous to follow the line of thought of the rantings of a drunk, until the man had mentioned that the ancient relic had come from a civilization which had worshiped some long-departed creatures called the Ancients. The Old Ones. Truly, it could just have been a coincidence that Beira was affiliated to the inscrutable, but much less than benign, creatures called the Old Ones, and "Old One" and "Ancient" in Fiorean sounded rather similar. Then again, having nothing pressing on her hands to do, the God Slayer had decided to get on the item's trail, especially when she discovered that the intrepid adventurer had left the item in its resting place.

Getting information out of him was too easy. After buying him a drink and being nice, she coaxed everything she needed to know from the inebriated man, and a lot of unnecessary details. From there, she began tying loose ends together, joining pieces, and seeking more information. It helped to have access to all the books belonging to an entire guild, as well as a very untrustworthy spectral library somewhere in her own personal dimension, and soon, her quest of information had directed her in steps to the foot of the mountain where she currently stood. The end of her journey was upon her, but it was here that the real adventure began. For if in truth, an adventurer had quested here and failed to retrieve the item, there would be definitely resistance along the way. She took a deep breath, and began the climb.

Aside the thick boots that Utgardians preferred to wear, and her traveling cloak, nothing about the young woman climbing the mountain suggested that she was well-prepared for the task of mountain-climbing, talk less of engaging in a perilous task of retrieving an ancient and well-guarded secret from the resting place in which it slumbered. Still, neither the rough terrain of the mountain's contour, nor the temperature seemed to bother her in the slightest, as she made her way up the range at a casual, unhurried pace. She wasn't in a hurry; whatever guarded the relic would most likely require all her faculties, and she was not keen on wasting energy rushing up the mountain when nothing existed to suggest that time was her enemy, though it never had been her friend.

As Beira traveled, she first caught the scent of smoke and of meat cooking. A human. Or some other sentient. What, she wondered, was such a person doing here? Silently, she moved into a patch of trees, following her nose to the source of the smell. In time, she soundlessly came upon a clearing, with a large metal pot, and an animal carcass over a merry fire. At the edge of the clearing was a short, stocky figure, punching and kicking a tree. The form was familiar. Beira found herself smiling slightly, in spite of herself, though she was also quick to warn herself that even though she had met this fellow without fangs bared some time back in Rose Garden, it didn't give any assurance that he would not be hostile, and as such dangerous. Still, it was good Utgardian manners to never offer a preemptive attack unless you were fully convinced of the enmity of your subject.

"Isn't it too one-sided to keep beating that tree trunk so, seeing as it's not going to return violence?" the God Slayer inquired calmly, leaning against the stem of another tree as she watched him with amused curiosity. "But please, do go on. Don't let me be a distraction."


WC: 817 words
Total: 1471/...

As Beira had expected, Vandrad's response to her appearance appeared offhanded and dismissive. And yet, he didn't throw any particularly sharp barbs her way, which meant, or at least suggested, that he was, to some extent, favorably disposed towards her. That, in Beira's opinion, was a good thing; she would rather have friends than enemies, not because she loved unicorns and wanted all people of every race, clime and tongue to hold hands and chant "peace is the way", as they waddled around some large bonfire releasing psychedelic fumes or some similar shit. She wanted more friends... or maybe 'allies' was the more appropriate word, for she knew she had a lot of enemies, and could only hope that many of them were dead. It was already bad enough that she did not know exactly how many enemies she had, and she could not even say she knew precisely who, or what, her enemies were. She knew what they were called, and that they possessed great technologies, or witchcrafts, whichever one chose to call such. Aside those sketchy rags of information, Beira realized with a lot of misgiving that she knew next to nothing about the Old Ones. It would be most foolish for someone with unknown, and potentially numerous foes, to antagonize everyone they came across.

The fact that Vandrad had actually delivered a backhanded compliment on Beira's proficiency at stealth was not missed by the young God Slayer. "I'm glad to see there's something you find commendable about me," she replied, allowing a small smile to spread across her face. "I'm sure if you tried, you'd be quite the charmer for the ladies, wouldn't you?" Still, his compliment had pleased her, for she was vain enough to like hearing good things being said about herself, though she was wise enough to be wary of flattery. His comment about almost mistaking her for stalking him was met with laughter. "Where I come from, it's not very mannerly for an unmarried lass to follow an unrelated male. It makes her appear... desperate... in an uncomely fashion. I have no idea whether that holds true with Fiorean traditions, though. In any case, seeing as you didn't come here to wait for me, then our meeting is purely coincidental, and one I'm not in the least sorry about, at least as far as company is concerned." Despite his apparent brusqueness, Beira suspected Vandrad would make a very good discussion partner, once he was interested in the subject to be talked about. For some reason, at the very moment, she was feeling slightly more garrulous than she often was.

Vandrad's invitation to sit was accepted silently but not unwillingly, and Beira immediately took stock of where she could sit. The first and most plausible option was the log on which Vandrad had seated himself. It looked clean enough, even for someone with her desire to maintain sanitary conditions in as many cases as she could control them. There was a mossy rock, which Beira turned up her nose at; she was most certainly not going to sit on the bare moss, and the crushed plant matter would stain her cloak, if she were to spread it over the rock. The next option was the ground. Yes, the log was the best choice. She seated herself on the woody construct, though she took some care not to sit too close to Vandrad; despite the cordiality between them, he was still a stranger. "Sitting is preferable. Hovering in the shadows is for the bats."

Whatever was being cooked smelled heavenly. Even if Beira didn't have her heightened Slayer senses, she could easily admit that what was going to be served would taste amazing, if the taste of it was commensurate to its smell. She gave the dark-haired man a sidelong glance. "Most soldiers I know are plainly horrid cooks," she stated, "though to be fair to them, they probably could not taste the difference between properly seasoned, well-roasted game, and rotten mushrooms. If what I'm smelling is an indication of anything at all, you're the first who knows his marbles around the fire. Is cooking considered a feminine engagement in Fiore?" The fact that Vandrad was military was no hidden matter; he had mentioned that, and even included that he had been trained in tracking, when he had commented on his not being taken by surprise by her stealth. Though she was not using her magic to sneak, Beira had received extensive training in woodcraft, a skill highly necessary for survival in the Utgardian outdoors, with the almost incessant snow all year round, and miles of coniferous forests, rugged mountainscapes and vast plains with herbs, many of which seemed to be no longer common in Fiore. That Vandrad had not been taken by surprise by her was an impressive feat on his own part.

"You will also have to tell me where you learned to cook."


WC: 821 words
Total: 2918/...

Beira was surprised, but not at all displeased that Vandrad had decided to point another compliment in her direction, though in his terse manner, he alluded that his reason for the compliment was simply to attempt to exercise his faculties of charm. "Mm, that's more like it," she intoned with a smirk of her own. "Now we'll just have to work on that oaken face of yours." Truth be told though, Beira was of the opinion that Vandrad's grumpy look suited him. Maybe it was because she had first met him as an apparently irascible grouch, in her opinion, and first impressions had done their dastardly work. The thought of him smiling the kind of smiles that the famous guys on Fiorean female-biased magazines usually had pasted on their faces was somewhat disturbing to Beira. She was sure she would be more freaked out than amused if she saw Vandrad trying to be sweet. Well, lime trees were prickly, and their fruit sour, yet they were still cultivated. Different strokes.

Beira wasn't initially sure why Fioreans would equate thirst with a woman chasing around a man with not very chaste intentions on her mind. Her curious side desired to know more, but she was not going to ask Vandrad why; he himself had just commented on his lack of interest in Fiorean parlance, and that because he was not from the country. She decided to set her mind to the task of solving the equation of desperate females and thirst, and quickly decided against it, when her thought process suggested a rather dirty, but very likely reason for the comparison. Best to just focus on Vandrad's not being from Fiore. It was her safest course of action. She wasn't particularly one hundred percent certain about the details governing fact that her being an Incarnata with nine souls gave her a collection of useful powers, and behaviors to go with them. In any case, until she was more certain how the whole Incarnata business worked and the extent of her souls' influences on her behavior, it would be best to be as mentally vigilant as possible, to avoid giving in to some influence and later regretting it.

Beira chuckled at the dark-haired man's intention towards anyone who looked down on him because he could cook. Her reason for the question was because she had heard someone once say to her that the kitchen was the natural space of a woman. It  seemed to onlookers that he had been trying to be rude, but Beira somewhat agreed with him if the woman in question was herself, though her reasons had very little to do with cooking. "Well, I once did meet some fellow at a public place who told me that a woman's place was in the kitchen, which is why I had to ask. The other women there seemed offended by the statement, though it wasn't aimed at them, and eventually became offended at me because I replied that if I were a standard for women, he would be mostly correct. I wonder why. Naturally, in a world as hostile as the one we find ourselves in, the best place to be would be a kitchen. Where else in a house are knives readily available?" To her, fighting being considered a masculine engagement was a bit odd. All Utgardians, male or female, great or small, were encouraged to  learn to fight. During a frost giant raid, the giants wouldn't see a girl and decide to leave her alone and go after the boys because they were bigger.

Vandrad's declaration of being self-taught as far as culinary skills were concerned was commendable, in Beira's opinion. That he mentioned he was taught a lot of things implied that he came from a family of mixed professionals, like a performing troupe or itinerant folk. Or he had blue blood. Beira could assume that, because it had been the same with her. She had been made to learn a lot of apparently unnecessary things, and had always wondered why she had been forced to waste time learning Utgardian nuptial rites and flint petroglyphic lettering, when she was sure the time would be better served improving her spear play. Soon enough though, the discussion shifted to her, as Vandrad asked her where she was from. "Utgardr," she replied, as though she expected him to know where the place was. Actually, she would have been shocked if she met anyone that actually knew where Utgardr was, not to talk of being Utgardian. It was best to explain a little further. "I don't think it's on Earthland, or at least not anymore. Whichever the case, as far as regards my culture, and dressing especially, which I fail to see why it bothers so many Fioreans, I'm just an average Utgardian damsel. But as far as birth nationality goes, I'm not sure I have an idea. I don't even think I have parents."

Vandrad was the first person she was actually telling this. While it was natural for one who had few friends to be so forthcoming about personal details, Beira saw no possible way that her telling him would be detrimental to her. But just for kicks, she stopped there. "So, you mentioning that you had to be taught many things, much of which you weren't eager to learn, suggests to me that you grew up with performers, migrant traders or the lot of some hotchpotch of talents. Either that, or you're an aristocrat. Only children of noble houses get to be cursed with learning mountains of utter irrelevances, so they can grow up and have nothing relevant to do. So, which one are you? I also wouldn't mind you throwing in where you're from while you're at it."


WC: 961
Total: 4844/...

Vandrad expressed mock surprise at the absurd idea that every room in Beira's house was supposed to hold assortments of weapons. She giggled at the thought, and shook her head. "What, you expect me to live in an armory? What would my potential suitors say? I thought it would be more up your alley, being in the military and all that." After all, it was Vandrad who had admitted to being, or having some affiliations, whether past or present, with an army. Since she had never admitted to such, it was easier to turn the mild barb back in the direction from which it came. Still, the only reason Beira often appeared unarmed was because she was quite able to fend for herself in the occasion of battle. She knew of some Utgardians who did actually have weapons in every room. But she didn't want Vandrad to feel he'd gotten away with that one.

Beira raised an eyebrow at the man's first sentence in response to her questions. To use words like "You could say" meant that he was willing to allow Beira's mind to make up all the postulations and arrive at the answer by herself. Like he didn't want to particularly commit to giving her an answer. It wasn't as though Beira found that particularly bothering. Unlike most people, she had little to hide. If her conversation partner wasn't all that willing to disclose every detail about himself, that was his prerogative. All the same, Beira decided that she would be content with extracting what information she could from him, not to seek some way by which to gain leverage over the man, but simply because she was a curious creature, and took joy in the discovery of a new tidbit of information, and though she preferred to quest for information that would be useful to her, it was just as well to have trivia when she had nothing better to do. Besides, what was considered trivia today could have life transforming properties tomorrow.

"Interesting. Though that mindset seems too deliberate for the eclectic considerations of your average performers. I take it that your family comprised a rather special set of performers." It was, after all, very unexpected of mere performers to want to train their children to 'be prepared for anything that came their way'. Most times, performers saw themselves, and their children, living all their lives carrying out their trade, and as such, they trained their little ones majorly for that reason. Those who wanted to train their minors to be prepared for anything were, by Beira's judgment, very wise, very conceited, or had lots of enemies, and garden variety performers did not fall into any of the three. All the same, Beira didn't deign to press more questions in the direction of his family's characteristics. It was better to have an evening of comfortable conversation than guarded exchanges.

So Vandrad was from Bellum. Beira had never been there before, but she had read a bit about the place. It was saturated with magic, and was hostile to Fiore. Oh, and Pergrande. Though Beira was not from Pergrande, having a Pergrandian accent meant that she would have to do something about it if ever she were to set foot in Bellum. It was likely that Vandrad was not politically affiliated with his home nation, else he'd have been hostile to Beira because of her accent. And if he was in Fiore, apparently living there, in an enemy nation, he was either a spy, or a runaway. "Well," the God Slayer said, a naughty glint in her eye, as she eyed his musculature appreciatively, "it does seem the training has done quite some impressive amount of paying off." Suddenly realizing her train of conversation, the Utgardian quickly attempted to steer into more harmless territory. "I mean as regards your mental acuity," Beira continued hurriedly, hoping the crimson glow of the fire would hide the burning in her cheeks. "You're quite the opponent in verbal confrontations."

She attempted to stare forward without catching Vandrad's eye, until his voice prompted her to turn and see the meat being proffered to her. "Many thanks," she stated, taking the food gratefully. It seemed at this point, Vandrad was interested in having Beira explain a little more of the enigmatic things she had mentioned about herself. "And yet," she echoed, a look of reminiscence in her eye, "I'm here. Utgardr is quite unknown to most, if not all people today, for two major reasons. The first is, I'm not sure whether Utgardr exists on this world or not. It may have been on another world. Have you by chance heard of Asgardr? Utgardians are of their stock." She had met someone before who claimed his magic was closely related to Asgardian powers, though he knew nothing of Utgardr as well. That had not surprised her, because of the second reason she was about to give. "Secondly, Utgardr was destroyed long ago, and by long, I don't mean fifty, or even a hundred years. I'm not even sure it happened a millennium ago, but I cannot say. All I know is that Utgardr was destroyed a few months after my twenty first year. And while I was busying myself fighting to the death, some infernal magic came to play, and exiled me in space and time, and behold, Earthland found itself graced with the august presence of Beira the Third, Daughter of Utgardr."

She paused to take a bite of the meat in her hands. "So, my little understanding of armies and their organization informs me that it is uncommon to just quit the military life and walk away. May I be so bold as to wonder what you're doing in a country which your home country doesn't consider amiably? Or is it a matter of you having to kill me if I got to know what you're doing in Fiore?" Whether Vandrad chose to answer the question or not, Beira was hoping to at least have an idea of whether his loyalties lay with Bellum, or with himself alone. Just in case she ended up getting wanted in Bellum.


WC: 1027 words
Total: 6877/...

With each moment of discourse with the dark eyed man from Bellum, Beira was more and more convinced that whoever he was, he was not the son of some run of the mill performers. After all, what sort of performers would train their child to be proficient in the use of a variety of weapons? Even weapon smiths, or at least the average ones, were not that focused on their trade to determine to learn how to use every single arm they created. Of course, there was the likelihood that he had been raised by a group of assassins, but if that was the case, he would probably have been much more unwilling to reveal anything about his heritage to her. The fact that he could mention snatches of the data she pieced together to form her own inferences meant that where ever he was raised, it couldn't have been as illegal as a tribe of hit men, but for reasons best known to him, he didn't feel it safe, or wise, to be open about his past. Beira, for her own part, would not push him to reveal beyond what he felt comfortable with sharing.

It seemed her slip was noticed by Vandrad, but fortunately for Beira, he made no attempt to harass her beyond allowing her to know that she'd been caught. The Utgardian mentally kicked herself again  and hoped her decision to guard herself more would be enough to keep her from misbehaving further. Attaining mastery over one's emotions had been one of the more stressed upon lessons which seemed to be of particular importance to Utgardian royalty, and Beira was quite sure she could see the usefulness of that lesson, which had, for her, been one of the most difficult to learn. Though she was relatively introverted by nature, the Winter Goddess, in spite of her element of control, could be a veritable fireball, especially when she was angry. The fact that she could check herself from time to time meant the lessons were not in vain. Yet, she was still far from having total emotional control. There was still time to improve.

Beira totally agreed with Vandrad about the lack of information of other planes and worlds and dimensions beyond Earthland. And it seemed there was too little being done about it, probably because there were too few scholars eager to make enough treatises on the subject. "Well, I'm actually very much interested. Who knows, one day maybe I shall write a book on the worlds beyond Earthland," she mused aloud in response to Vandrad's suggestion for the reason of limited information about the confines beyond Earthland, as her azure eyes reflexively turned towards the heavens above with their starry expanses, and mysteries unplumbed, far beyond the reach of mortals. "But first, I'd have to do some traveling, and too often, it's either I don't have the Jewels, nor the time." Well, if the things she'd heard about herself were true, she still had quite a lot of time to live.

The young God Slayer was surprised at Vandrad's considerate reply after hearing about the fate of Utgardr. Well, he definitely wasn't so bad after all. She nodded gratefully, glad for his words. She'd managed to occupy herself with activities, the hunting of this quest included, to avoid having to deal with the sting of losing her homeland. So far, she felt she had done pretty well. But it still did hurt some, always being reminded that one didn't belong, even if nobody said so, even if nobody meant so. The teasing about her age was a very welcome diversion, causing her to laugh and feign modesty. "Oh stop that, you," the God Slayer said in a mock dismissive tone, as her facial expression proved the exact opposite of her words. "Though your flattery is not at all erroneous." Vanity, one of her favorite vices.

For some reason, Beira was glad to hear that her discussion partner was not on the run from any military force, or any such thing that would make his presence in Fiore as a result of him being a fugitive. He was even half-Fiorean, a love child, it would seem, on the hunt to find his father, though the reasons for him looking for his father were not known to her. "Well, I guess that makes two of us," the God Slayer stated with mild amusement. "We both had wrong information fed us about our origins. But that's where the twist in the story comes. You were told you were adopted, I wasn't told I was." She shook her head. "Life is one heck of a convoluted mess. No wonder they say 'threads of fate'." She raised an eyebrow in response to Vandrad's false threat, a smile twiching the left corner of her mouth. "Kill me to make sure that what? That you're still 'daddy's boy' at your age?"

Yep, she knew she was looking for trouble.


WC: 827 words
Total: 8935/...

Beira made a huffing sound, turning up her nose in a mildly dramatic fashion, as Vandrad jokingly berated her over having all the appearances, but not having enough money to do whatever she desired with. "You make it sound as though I owned my own country," she said in a chiding tone. "Though I suppose that would have been a rather nice thing to have, if one could do without the attendant excessive pageantry and responsibilities of having to sit on some ornery throne and trying to find one's enemies in the court so that the headsman could remain entertained, oh, as well as the people. Did you know that common people seem to actually revel in spectacles of public bloodshed, even though they pretend to recoil from such matters of violence to appear, what's the word, decent?"

She had a look of mild disgust as she spoke her last sentence, shaking her head slightly before she returned to the meat which she held in her hands. Though the spices which had been used to cook the meat were mostly unknown to her, salt aside, the taste of the food reminded her strongly of home. Despite the arctic nature of Utgardr, it was a common Utgardian sentiment that barbarians did not know how to use fire and thus did not cook their food. Of course, the more "modern" civilizations like Fiore would see Utgardian culture as barbaric, but the Utgardians cooked their food, and for them, that was, in addition to their runic writing script, enough to set them apart from those that had no culture. One of the quirks of Utgardian culture was that on the day of a particular holiday, after a large-scale hunt, as the forests of Utgardr were teeming with deer and wild pigs, and meat would be in great supply, bonfires would be built in the royal courtyard, and meat roasted. Sitting before a fire and eating freshly roasted meat, though Vandrad's campfire was much smaller than the Utgardian courtyard fires, brought back memories of a time long past.

Beira was looking absently into the fire, lost in her memories, when Vandrad's voice pulled her back to the present. Talking about ruining his family's reputation made Beira decide to assume that unless evidence proved otherwise, Vandrad was surely from a noble house. Yet, she decided she would say nothing of it, at least for the moment. The Winter Goddess gave a laugh of her own, though like Vandrad's, there wasn't much mirth in the sound. "You know the craziest thing about my case? It was here in Fiore that I got to know that I'm not, as far as blood is concerned, Utgardian, when fragments of my past suddenly and unexpectedly seemed to force their way through the curtain of time and harry my mind. Interestingly though, I had always seemed, always felt... different, different from everyone, but the mystery I cannot get myself to comprehend is whether those who served as my... parents and siblings, whether they knew I wasn't actually part of the family all along. At any rate, I think my elder sister may have caught on, for we never really did see eye to eye."

Beira half-wondered whether her 'daddy's boy' barb had hit too close home for comfort when Vandrad raised an eyebrow, but the dark-haired man simply smirked in response, merely pointing out reasons that proved he was most likely not like his father. "Yeah well," she replied jovially, "arresting people does have its advantages. Though I see the greater merits in making sure you don't have to be looking over your shoulder all the time." The matter of not having a place to sleep was no problem at all to Beira. She had slept in more inclement locations, and had still gotten up the next morning and performed whatever activities she needed to. As a matter of fact, she had been planning on leaving Vandrad's camp, after finishing her discussion with him, and finding a comfortable place to pass the night. She could always sleep in a tree. She'd done that before...

...only to find him offering her his bedroll. Her eyes widened, and then softened into a slightly more emotional expression. "Awwwwwwww, you're actually so sweet, killer machine that you are!" the God Slayer gushed, feeling grateful, not because she needed the comfort, but because Vandrad put her interests before his own, unexpectedly. "Underneath that spiky exterior, you're actually so cuddly and huggable, just like a-- what do they call those fluffy dolls-- oh, teddy bear! A teddy bear under very dark, macabre, spiky armor." Then, anticipating a rebuttal coming up, she dove for the bedroll, unrolling it in record time and finding solace beneath its covers. "You're such a gentleman, though, you really are." That last sentence was said with conviction.


WC: 805 words
Total: 10786/...

Vandrad's depiction of humanity was particularly accurate, in Beira's opinion. If the Utgardian thought her people were not human, well they certainly behaved like humans. The nicest person she knew, her brother, had apparently spent his life being used, before being betrayed and killed for the selfish reasons of others. All she had seen on getting to Fiore was hardly any different. The powerful seemed to be free to do whatever they wanted, and justice, the law and what was 'right' were unfortunately determined by those who had the power to make the rules. There were good people in the world, but they seemed to be at a disadvantage, at the mercy of those who would exploit their altruism for selfish motives. As someone who had felt used all her life, Beira had decided that she would not allow herself to be used ever again. And yet, she often felt that she was still being controlled by something, or someone, beyond the shadows.

An island nation sounded like a good idea, a form of sanctuary away from the madness of sentience. Of course, the island would have to be policed by denizens that were well under Beira's control, but she didn't think that would be so much of a problem. In the end, the problem Beira had was her inability to sit still. Maybe she would cart a lifetime worth of books to the island, and stay away from the rest of the world. However, the feeling that she was made for an existence way beyond sitting by the beach and perusing old tomes of esoteric knowledge kept resounding in her head. But if she had a purpose which went beyond occupying herself with her own pursuits, what was responsible for determining such a destiny. Were destinies fixed, or did they become what people made them to be? While the latter felt like such a pleasant sentiment, the feeling she always had, that someone or something was pulling her strings from the shadows, made her feel that the ability to command one's destiny was just a cruel mirage dangled before the eyes of sentient creatures, to make them spend their lives trying to run from a fate they could never truly escape from.

The Utgardian had to agree with her Bellumese camp mate on his belief that real family involved those you could trust, those that had your back, no matter the situation. Such people were a rarity, and as such it was best to reciprocate the actions generated by the feelings of camaraderie and friendship shown by those who cared. It seemed that, in the end, no matter how much of a loner one wanted to be, they could never truly do without people. Perhaps another cruel joke forced on sentient souls by the forces of fate and destiny, if such things existed. Or maybe the innate need for others was a call to remember that one was not the ultimate being. The thought of such matters was enough to instill a sense of humility in one. She had read somewhere that hubris was the weapon of the gods against people they wanted to kill, whatever gods were. But even gods, she was sure, were plagued with episodes of hubris.

Vandrad's response to Beira's comparison of him to a teddy bear in spiky armor was not very dramatic, although Beira wasn't eager to take chances and assume that he would respond graciously. He did, in any case, confessing that he felt like forcing her out of the bedroll, but blamed his refusal to do so on good manners. Beira responded with a cheer and an applause. She hoped he would be able to rest well, with his sitting position on the earth. There was also the thought of whether sleeping inside a bedroll was fundamentally workable, in case of an attack in the night. Well, that would mean she would have to tear through the bedroll, if she had to rise from sleep to defend against an assailant. Hopefully then, there would be no unwelcome visitors. As Vandrad's eyes drifted closed, Beira said, "May your dreams be pleasant... but don't dream of me."

It was not long before sleep claimed her. Her dreams were strange, as though something on the mountain wished her to dream. She saw ruins, broken structures resembling the ancient bones of temples to gods long forgotten. One of these ruins seemed to have a series of winding ways beneath the earth, and as the Utgardian wandered down the dark passages, she suddenly came upon a gulf, a wide chasm opening out into nothingness. While she tried to stare into the darkness to see if she could make out anything from the murky sight of an apparent abyss, something, or maybe someone, pushed her from behind. She plummeted into the darkness. Normally, while that would have been only a disturbance in the waking world, as Beira's control of nether rime could help her in situations wherein gravity was not her friend, she found she had lost the agency of her magic. On an on she fell, and the realization struck her that she would never stop falling. Then she awoke.

It was dawn. The rays of the sun had begun to scatter the night, and the birds were singing in the trees far below, towards the base of the mountain. It was strange that despite the forested nature of the area, the birds seemed to avoid the higher slopes of this mountain. The Utgardian maiden sat up, considering the dream of last night. She was used to nightmares; she had them often, but this one was weirder than her usual fare. It felt like something was trying to give her the dreams, like something was suggesting to her to dream. She wondered whether Vandrad had had a similar experience, or whether he had had dreams of his own making. The God Slayer looked to where she had last seen him sitting to sleep, though a part of her was almost certain that he would not be there as she turned her eyes to where she had seen him last.


WC: 1023 words
Total: 12673/...

The God Slayer knew her senses were still clouded by the mists of slumber, else she would have immediately been able to pinpoint Vandrad's location, if he was anywhere close by. Normally, Beira was conditioned to be able to snap from deep sleep to full alertness in a split second's notice; such things were often the difference between life and death, so said the martial instructors who had been responsible for part of her military training. And Beira believed they were right. But in a place such as this, there was no evident threat, which was why she could allow her senses approach full wakefulness at such an unhurried pace. Without the emergency of an urgent situation, she took her time locating him. As Beira had guessed, the dark haired man was not where she had seen him settle for the night. Instead, he was somewhere else, still within the camp area, performing one-handed push ups.

Of course, watching a well-built man performing physical exertions that showed rippling muscles and all that made Beira switch from slight grogginess to wakefulness dialed to 11. Sadly, for her intentions to behave with the decorum and regal aloofness that was supposed to attend royalty, she was a hot-blooded young woman, and that was not helped by the fact that one of the souls which made up her being had to be that of a succubus. Still, for all her amorous tendencies, and probably against popular opinion, the God Slayer was a lot more innocent than she seemed, and lacked quite a lot of experience as far as sensual matters were concerned. And for that unfortunate reason, when Vandrad noticed she was awake, she was looking at him with an expression which appeared to be a cross breed between starstruck wonder and something naughtier, with flushed cheeks and slightly ajar mouth.

His statement about being an early riser helped slap the Utgardian maiden out of her apparently stunned state, and she huffed dismissively, hoping that the offhand response would mask her embarrassment at the realization that she had been staring at him like a stupid fish. "I didn't demand your excuse for not waiting for the sun to come up before you decided to jump out of bed," she replied, rolling out of the bed roll before folding it as neatly as she could afford, which was actually well done. She handed the item to Vandrad, smiling slightly at him. "Still, it was in very good taste for you to have given me the privilege of sleeping in your bed roll, a gesture for which I am quite grateful. I hope you were able to get a few hours of peaceful repose, while I occupied your sleeping quarters."

Beira had expected Vandrad's question as to the reason for her presence, although she had not expected it to come this late. All the same, there was no reason to hide her motives for being on this strange mountain. But first came her desire for the necessary ablutions that came with personal hygiene and all that. Fortunately, if Beira really felt like she had to take a bath, she could always teleport back home, engage in the ablutions, and then return to where she had been before, by walking the Travectio Infinium. But there would be no need to waste her magic energy by gating herself back home; there was a stream Beira had seen on her way up the mountain, though she had parted ways with the running water as she climbed. Still, she was sure that a short hike across the uneven ground of the mountain range would bring her to where the stream made its way down the mountainside. Unless Vandrad was in a hurry, and he didn't look like he was, she was more partial to giving her reasons for being here, while breakfast was being dealt with.

"All of that in good time; a lady needs a bath," Beira replied to the inquiry. "Don't worry, I'm not going to suddenly abscond and leave your questions unanswered, but talk is better done when food is being attended to. And I want a bath before I eat. Don't worry, breakfast, or some degree of it, is on me." Bathing was a luxury she could do without, but why do without it when you could have it? "I'll be back soon, be good and don't go running off without me." So saying, she marched off in the direction in which she suspected the stream would be. It took fifteen minutes of quick walking before she found the stream, about ten minutes to get herself cleaned up, about five minutes to forage bunches of edible berries from some shrubs growing in great numbers in the area, and a little less than fifteen minutes again to make her way back to camp. Once there, she used the cover of Vandrad's vegetable stew pot as a makeshift plate on which to place the berries, and retrieved a pack from where she had stored it in the Librarium Obscuri, from which she produced two loaves of bread. Having a mobile dimensional store was handy for events such as this. Handing Vandrad one of the loaves, she made herself comfortable.

"So, I'm here because I heard tales of some relic bracelet in some abandoned city in the mountains," the God Slayer began, "and while many of the stories I heard about it are preposterous, there did seem to be some truth in the tales. I eventually came across someone who attempted, and failed, to bring home the relic. To his credit, he did come back alive, so I got much of my details from him. Then I did a little puzzle piecing here and there, and my sleuthing brought me here, right up this mountain and into your bed roll. That, and an evening stroll." She threw a handful of berries into her mouth, making sure to finish chewing them before speaking, yes, she knew of Fiorean table manners. "So, what brought you up the mountain as well? I'd wager it wasn't to bully defenseless stumps of wood out in the behind of nature."


WC: 1025 words
Total: 14700/...

Despite her mastery of Fiorean, and her ability to speak it like the best of them, even though her accent was still foreign, Beira was still very much a novice when it came to the nuances of the language, as well as the slangs, hidden meanings and implications that the dynamics of Fiorean afforded. So when she had referred to herself getting into Vandrad's bedroll, she had actually intended the wordings of her sentence to be as innocuous as possible, although Vandrad had somehow read something else into her words, definitely on purpose. His teasing warning about people getting the wrong impression about what she had just said actually flew over Beira's head, for he had not identified exactly what words or phrases she had used that required scrutiny. Unable to immediately discern what Vandrad was talking about, Beira had not responded in any way, though she still attempted to figure out what he was talking about, to no avail.

The next time Vandrad raised the matter, he was elucidatory enough to present the problematic phrase, as he accused the Utgardian of apparently indecorous behavior. She remembered the definition of the term 'thirsty', which he had incidentally talked about when last they had met in that tedious nuptial event in Rose Garden, else she would have wondered what bedrolls had to do with drinking water. In retrospect, looking at the way she had put it, the God Slayer realized the ways her words could be interpreted, with not so innocent implications for the person who had made such a comment. It was probably the way the Fiorean language was structured. It tended to be slightly vague, so that the interpretation of a statement was almost entirely dependent on the context in which it was used. Utgardian was more deliberate, and it was thus difficult to come across phrases and sentences with double entendres, or hidden suggestiveness. The Utgardian maiden's cheeks colored slightly, and she attempted to express sufficient outrage, though her flustered composure only managed a gasp and a scandalized "oh!" as her hand involuntary rose to partially cover her mouth.

"You, kind sir," she eventually managed to say, "have a very improper mind, if I must say so myself. And to have the opinion that I'm 'one of the more thirsty ones' is quite an affront to my comparatively innocent moral sensibilities. Such shocking behavior. You really ought to be ashamed of yourself." Neither her words nor her tone of voice carried any hurt or offended intonations, in any case, so it was clear that, while she may have been truthfully scandalized by Vandrad's allegation, the level of outrage she felt was not particularly destabilizing. As a matter of fact, the scandal had only arisen due to the fact that Beira was not particularly accustomed to such conversations, having lived a relatively sheltered life back in Utgardr, and her present status as affiliated with a dark guild, which made interactions with other people often guarded and uneasy.

It was interesting to see that by coincidence, or perhaps it was by design, Beira and Vandrad were on the mountain for the same reason: a treasure hunt of the same item. The God Slayer was not particularly sure that her discovery of this artifact was just a twist of fate, seeing as she had stumbled on the information relating to the bracelet by apparent accident. Vandrad himself had gotten on the trail of this quest because he had seen it as a mission in his guild hall. The God Slayer shook her head in reply to his question about the hunt for the bracelet being placed on the mission board in her guild. "If this mission was presented to multiple guilds at the same time, my guild did not get the memo, fortunately," Beira replied, considering that any client who did that definitely had some measure of mischief intended. "I'm here because of-- how did you put it-- an interesting pastime. Chasing my curiosities is a rather fun hobby, especially seeing as my imagination is quite untamed."

Of course, as soon as Beira discovered that she was interested in the same goal as Vandrad, she knew that the issue of who would have the relic might be a problem. Though Vandrad so far had proven to be a gentleman, she was not sure she could count on him going further to relinquish possession of the bracelet to her, once it had been retrieved. After all, he had a mission to complete. While Beira didn't have such a burden, she could not say whether the relic was connected somehow to her, and if it would be important to her. It would be best to not fight for the rights to get the item, seeing as the risks to get it were yet unknown, and might require more than a single person's efforts and abilities. "Aha! I suspected that it was strange that you'd be on this mountain just as I was, and had already surmised that we were after the same thing," the blonde mage said exultantly. "There won't be any need to fight now or when we get the artifact. You see, the bread I gave you is laced with a very potent poison, so there!"

She paused a moment, to see his response, then broke into laughter. "I'm fooling around, silly. There's nothing in the bread." As if to persuade him of this, she pulled off a chunk of the loaf in his hand and ate it, smiling at him, though the expression was one of mock innocence. "But really! To leave the horseplay until when we've gotten our hands on the prize, wouldn't that foster secret scheming and underhanded tricks? Of course, I could just easily mention that I have no serious desire to have the relic for myself, then buy you a drink when we get back to civilization, only for you to awaken the next morning naked, groggy and tied to your bed. But I'm sure you'd really like that, wouldn't you, with that dirty mind of yours? Well, let's be nice to each other, okay? When we get to the artifact, we'll see how it goes from there."


WC: 1032 words
Total: 16921/...

Beira was feeling quite good with her delivery of the 'poisoned bread' trick. As a matter of fact, it was definitely going to be a memory she would laminate and store in some well-preserved area in her mind, seeing as, so far, he seemed to have been a step ahead in their social tussle. Speaking of memories, Beira suddenly recalled the expected behaviors of Utgardian royalty when dealing with stranger, especially ones such as Vandrad who were more or less allies, but could turn into a foe in a little moment. The response was expected to be guarded and polite, attempting to give nothing and take as much as you could from the interaction. And for the love of the stars above, do not laugh. Beira wondered what her wizened instructors would think of her if they saw her here, jesting with a situational ally and a potential foe. Well, they'd been dead for eons now, so who knew?

Beira waited until Vandrad was through with his response before making a reply of her own. "Don't worry a single bit about me," she said, "Despite your rather biased opinion, you've absolutely nothing to fear. I'm quite innocent and harmless... almost." An enigmatic smile crept to her lips. "But I must admit that it is quite refreshing to come across someone who grew up with the nuances of court politics, and yet seems to be quite favorable towards honesty. All you're missing is the shining armor and a horse." Her words carried a tone of mild jesting, but there was clearly some degree of respect that could be heard in her voice. Beira had made sure to mention 'court politics', so that Vandrad would be aware that she harbored her suspicions of him having been raised in noble settings.

At his prompting, Beira rose and thus began the march up the mountain. Well, not so much a march. Beira was in high spirits, and she was practically romping along. The path was easy, and though there had been a road of old, which led up the mountain, it had of course fallen to disrepair due to the inexorable hand of time. Still, its remains had not been entirely eradicated from the landscape, and thus provided an easier path on which to tread. As the two made their way up, they began to come across ruined buildings and remnants of mortared stone. A giant hand of marble lay covered by ivy, and elsewhere the remains of a tower offered a very rickety shelter against a storm if it swept over the mountain. Through it all, an observant person would have the feeling that the pair were being watched. If Beira noticed, she seemed to pay the sensation no heed, prancing along without an apparent care in the world.

Soon the mages got to the top of the height they had been ascending. It looked to be the ruins of a temple or maybe palace complex. In its days of glory it would have probably been an amazing sight, but even in its posthumous existence, there radiated a sort of majesty of an age long gone. Due to the pieces of roofing materials all around it was evident that this place had been mostly roofed. "I would have liked to see this place when it was still inhabited," Beira said, looking with interest, but not wonder, at the pillars. Judging by the height of the pillar remains, and the blocks which lay about, this building seemed to have been rather high, but Utgardr had possessed colossal buildings too in its day. "Do you have a map or something, that will direct us on where to go?" Beira asked, but the details she had managed to glean that had sent her on this journey informed her that having reached the top of the mountain, one just had to follow a number of landmarks until one came to a square-cut hole leading into the depths of the earth.

"This looks interesting..." the Winter Goddess stated, as she walked into the ruins of what looked like a miniature bowl-like construction made of marble, with circular stairs leading down into the center of it. At the rim of the construction stood eight statues surrounding the structure, equidistant from one another. In the center of the bowl was a small cuboidal podium, with strange etchings on it. "I cannot read what these things say," Beira muttered, as she squinted at the odd markings. She could not guess what the marks meant, or what they were supposed to accomplish, but just by looking at their structure, arrangement and design, the God Slayer could wager her traveling cloak that these etchings were writings in some strange, perhaps long forgotten language that had probably gone extinct along with the civilization that had produced it. Still it was interesting to see how the marks seemed to have been pressed into the stone, as though some tool which could easily make imprints on materials as hard as rock had been used. The culture of whatever, or whoever, had built this place was, in the young Winter Goddess' opinion, definitely worthy of study, and maybe subsequent cataloging. "I don't suppose you can speak 'Old-Dead-Guy-ese', Vandrad, but come have a look." As the two looked at the structures, they would hear some clanking sounds. From behind four of the statues on the rim of the construction, four strange figures clad in armor from top to toe stepped. From the gaps in their armor, a strange black vapor seeped, and they held swords and spears in aggressive positions as they slowly marched into the 'bowl'. "Uh, I don't think it's something I did..." Beira said, moving slowly behind Vandrad, almost as if she wanted him to face the armored figures alone. But if he turned, he would see that from the other four statues behind, four armored specters had come as well. Beira had positioned herself to face them.

"I don't suppose they want to play Thieves' Bones," Beira said, preparing herself for battle. It was unlikely Vandrad had heard of the Utgardian game, but Beira didn't have any Fiorean games she was familiar with. She was sure he'd get the message, in any case.


WC: 1039 words
Total: 19021/...

It seemed that though Beira had more or less stumbled upon the mission to find the artifact, she was not so much more ignorant than Vandrad was on the resting place of the item. Either that, or Vandrad was trying to hold out information on her. Beira was sure the latter was not the case, as hiding information would only end up setting the two mages back, unless said information would be vital to getting the artifact and escaping with the item with minimal resistance from Beira. For her own part, she decided she would not bother her head with considering how the two of them would amicably part, when the artifact was in their grasp. Thinking too much about such things would definitely make her more and more interested in having her eyes on Vandrad all the time, and that was annoyingly distracting.

As was expected, Vandrad was unable to read the markings, but quickly enough the markings became a secondary matter of concern. The primary issue was the eight armored things marching from all sides towards the mages. Beira was not sure that they were alive; they were probably constructs of magic, or some sort of ward to keep thieves and other such unsavory elements from disturbing the secrets which lay hidden in such a place as this. In most cases, such guards tended to be quite common to defend tombs and resting places of kings and others who possessed great power when they still lived. This place was most likely not a palace or a temple; it was a tomb. And going by the description that Vandrad mentioned about where the artifact was expected to be, it was very likely that this tomb was underground. For now, though, taking care of these guardians was the priority.

Beira felt a surge of magical power, and looked over her shoulder to see Vandrad blast through one of the approaching suits of armor. Even though the armor was damaged, it did not prevent the construct from still marching forward, almost as though it had taken no damage at all. At least that was proof without doubt that these things were very much not alive. In any case, it seemed that if they could not be blasted to pieces immediately, they could at least be halted. The advantages of being a Winter Goddess. Beira smiled at the statement Vandrad made, even as she began releasing her own magic aura, which was felt as a noticeable reduction in the ambient temperature, though it wasn't enough to make one shiver. "Quite innocent and harmless, I maintain, good sir," she replied, flicking her wrist at one of the approaching armor suits. From her hand flew a dark purple shard, which struck the closest opponent to her, encasing it completely in purple ice and halting it in its tracks. "It does seem there is some advantage in being a Winter Goddess, after all."

There was a creaking sound, and then the ice shattered, as the automaton raised its greatsword above its head, fragments of ice flying in all directions from the animated armor. The smile on Beira's face fell, as she saw her spell had done little to restrain the foe. "Or not..." the Utgardian muttered, just before leaping out of the way to avoid a downward swing of the armored creature's sword. The greatsword bit into the stone elevation in the center of the bowl, cutting into it like a hot knife through butter. "Point of note: those weapons are incredibly sharp," Beira announced, more out of shock than anything else, though she quickly recovered her wits. "Did I mention that red hair suits you, Vandrad? A spell that changes hair color must be very nifty to have. You should have done your hair-changing thing at that nuptial ritual in Rose Garden. It would have matched my dress."

She was sure that the change in hair color was probably a way of Vandrad's body responding to his magic, but it was fun to still poke at him, even if she found his blast quite impressive, though she said nothing about that. Creating a thin longsword of nether rime, Beira stabbed through the neck of the greatsword wielding enemy, and felt nothing there. So there was no flesh within, just the strange dark stuff. Beira could not tell if it was matter or energy, but she wasn't interested in finding that out. Dodging to the side, she evaded the attack of another animated armor, and attempted to slice off its right leg. Her ice weapon was up to the task, the construct's leg falling to the ground, as the monster, apparently unconcerned about its leg, attempted hopping towards the God Slayer, trying to balance itself well enough to thrust at her with its spear while standing on one leg. It seemed that whatever black smoky stuff existed in the cut-off armor part quietly evaporated, leaving the empty armored leg on the ground.

Beira was quick to go for the second leg, removing it as well, lust before avoiding another swing from a third assailant, whose missed blow knocked the head off of the spear-wielding armor. As the helmet detached from the rest of the body, the armor fell to the ground with a loud clang, as the black stuff within it evaporated out of it rapidly. "I found the solution, Vandrad sir," Beira half-yelled in a sing-song voice. She paused to avoid another downward swing, acrobatically flipping to the right to dodge a sword slash, and making a reprisal attack of her own, which was parried. "Take off the heads. That should just about do the trick. Oh, and definitely, mobility is key. You seem to be a relatively good dancer, so you shouldn't have a problem with that, yes?" Another missed downward blow hit the ground with a resounding ring, and cracks began rapidly forming on the marble floor of the bowl-like contraption in which the mages fought. "That doesn't sound good..." Beira said nervously.


WC: 1001 words
Total: 21164/...

It was quite interesting, getting to watch Vandrad from the corner of her eye while she dodged this way and that and engaged herself with the attacks of the animated armors which had been summoned to get rid of the intruders. For someone like herself, even though her magic was strangely colored, it was after all strange to see ice appearing in a dark purple hue, it would not take long for an observer to determine that Beira's primary magic was ice based. After all, if it looked like a duck, sounded like a duck, walked like a duck and did all those strange things that only ducks could do, then logic dictated that it surely was a duck, even if its plumage was of a violet shade. Likewise, even with Beira's ice possessing a number of unique properties, it was still ice, for the most part. Even the gods- and angels-killing part of the ice hardly changed its major properties, maybe aside aesthetics and the limits to what it could freeze.

Vandrad's magic, however, was a bit of an enigma. Definitely, she could surmise that whatever he was ding seemed to revolve around manipulation of some form of energy. But Beira was not accustomed to energies that could turn people's hair a shade of red. And exactly what sort of energy was it, and what could it do? Perhaps lend more power to his punches, and create shields. That looked very nifty, and suggested that this energy could somehow be condensed, if to form a body shield, then perhaps it could also be projected to form physical constructs such as walls, armor, weapons, and a host of other things. But that was all conjecture. The thought that she might have to face that power before the end of the day resulted in a mix of emotions for the young God Slayer, ranging from concern to excitement. In any case, energy meant long-range attacks; she had seen Vandrad punch a hole through one of those armor ghost things, and while Beira's physical body was tougher than it looked, and felt for that matter, she wasn't sure she wanted to be on the receiving end of that blast.

The Winter Goddess quickly generated a spear of nether rime, as she weighed her options, taking note of the cracking floor. For now, it seemed to be relatively stable under her weight, but she could not assume that it would hold her weight safely until she was through fighting the armored guards, or even the weights of the armors, in any case. Evidently, each armor case was heavier than she was, so their walking all over the cracking ground wasn't helping matters. Only they didn't seem to be bothered one bit about the cracks spreading about on the marble surface. The way the cracks were appearing meant that there was a hollow space under the marble bowl. And who knew how deep the hollow went? Beira was not interested in having the floor give way beneath her and her armored opponents, suspecting that they would probably still be keen to press on the attack while everyone fell through the floor. With a quick, graceful step forward, she thrust the spear in her hand through the helmet of the nearest animated armor. It whirled away and took about two or three staggering steps, before collapsing on the stairs, the shadowy essence within the armor escaping without a sound.

"Oh!" Beira exclaimed in surprise as she felt an arm round her waist. Whatever Vandrad had done to cover the distance between them was rather impressive, as she wasn't expecting such a feat of speed. The next thing she knew, she was pulled out of the way of the attacks of the two remaining armored guards, and found herself being lifted into the air. Normally, she might have aimed an elbow at the head of whoever had the gumption to grab her by the waist as though trying to force her to dance or kidnap her. But as long as they were on this treasure hunting business, Vandrad was considered an ally, even if a temporary one, and Beira was not comfortable with trying to harm her allies until she was quite certain they mean to cause her harm. "Well, I say!" the Utgardian stated vehemently, realizing to her consternation that, mixed with her feelings of irritation at being suddenly interrupted by someone grabbing her, she did feel some bit of excitement... okay, to be honest, it was a little more than 'a bit' of excitement. "Someone of your social bearing should be aware that it is in rather poor taste to manhandle a maiden, especially when--"

Beira's tirade was cut short as there was a loud crack, and the marble floor gave way, with everything on the floor falling down into the darkness, and disappearing out of sight. Of course, the two mages were airborne, and as such, the falling floor held no danger over them. "Oh," Beira said again, her tone now gentler and more subdued, as her wide eyes turned from the void below the flying mages to Vandrad's face, her expression one of mollified sheepishness. "I beg your pardon, kind sir," she apologized, realizing the reason for Vandrad's 'manhandling' of her person. "And I thank you for the ah-- rescue. It was quick thinking on your part. Now, despite my gratitude to you for saving me from such a sticky situation, I'm neither accustomed to being in the embrace of male folk, and even less so without my feet on solid earth. So would the gentleman be so kind as to set me down on stable earth?"

This being done, Beira curtsied at Vandrad, the gesture executed quite gracefully, despite the humorous air with which she performed it. "I would have been rather surprised, if I didn't know you this much, to hear that you didn't belong to some guild such as Sabertooth, or perhaps the Rune Knights," the Winter God Slayer said, a smile of gratitude mixed with something more teasing on her face. "A gentleman with honest and noble virtues, who can fly. You sir, are a textbook superhero." Beira realized that she did not hear the crash of the falling marble and animated armors, so either they had descended into some muck, or the depths into which they had fallen were more alarming than they seemed. Carefully, Beira peered over the edge but only saw darkness within. "That is alarming, to say the least. I suggest we seek to just complete this quest as soon as possible."

The square hole in the earth was not hard to find, and its descent led to an impressive sight. After the two mages descended through the hole (Beira chose to go down first, perhaps as a sign of trust and goodwill), the tunnel suddenly expanded into a massive space beneath the mountain. The steps, about a hundred meters in length led straight down to a sarcophagus. Not too far away, a hole in the ceiling of the subterranean vault marked where the mages had done battle with the animated armors, and the light that shone through the large hole revealed that aside the platform of stone on which the sarcophagus lay, which rose from the depths of a great chasm, there was no other piece of land to be seen, everything else disappearing into a great void.

"This is... grand," Beira said, though her voice did not sound convinced. Walking down to the sarcophagus, she could not sense any residual magic around, so she pushed the cover of the sarcophagus off to reveal a skeletal figure in majestic robes lying in state, with a bracelet on its wrist, said bracelet matching all descriptions to the relic in question. "I think we found it," Beira said, just before the skeletal figure rose up into the air and cackled, a rather disturbing sound. "Two adventurers," it hissed, a strange light in its eyes, as it held up its hands, and an ominous green glow began emanating from it. "Now I can continue my existence in your world. One of you shall relinquish your skin to me and serve as my vessel. The other shall be my meal. Now, you may both bow to me and die."

Beira noticed, however, that the sarcophagus seemed to have a pool of magical energy from which this wraith seemed to be drawing sustenance, probably before it transferred its life into some hapless adventurer. "A very rude way to make demands," the God Slayer said, suddenly punching the sarcophagus. It was made of sturdier material than Beira suspected and did not break, though a fissure ran vertically along its height. The floating skeleton screamed and fired a blast at her, sending the Winter Goddess almost over the edge of the stone platform. It then began to chant, as it slowly held out its arms.


WC: 1485 words
Total: 23823/...