The Rose and the Ruin: Io's Journey

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Page name: The Rose and the Ruin: Io's Journey [Exported view] [RSS]

2009-06-18 17:41:03

Last author: Neimo
Owner: Neimo

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The Rose and the Ruin: Page 3

[The sky was darkening to a deep violet as the last of the brilliant white sun’s rays valiantly strayed across the twilight expanse. High within the atmosphere, a light glimmered above the Back Mountains as a beast bastardized for burden wheeled gracefully like a dancer upon nimble feet, carrying itself and its riders slowly downwards in a wide spiral, shifting to and fro upon shifting wind currents. As the sun finally slipped beneath the horizon, the creature’s smooth, scaled hide shimmered, highlighting the two forms bent over its sleekly muscled back.

It was the farthest southwest many of the bastardized wyrms had ever reached…and the sounds, scents of such a long flight poke to the beasts most primal instincts, buried deep within its reptilian brain beneath the stupidity its forced birth and breeding had forced upon it. A high, reptilian shriek echoed across the skies, alerting the Airial Elves a bit further west to the unusual presence of a Drow`ayne beast.

As a patrol ship spotted and floated closer, the beast took a sudden, aerial dive, its long, muscled body contorting dangerously as it plummeted, surely causing an unexpected expletive from the Elves upon the skyship. The mumbled, unmanly squeak of the crippled Dwarven rider was lost in the whistling wind as the beast shrieked again, spinning wildly in its deep descent, the ragged, razor-sharp peaks of the Black Mountains leaping at the wyrm and its riders with ominous speed. At the last moment the creatures wings unfurled, the sound similar to long yards of leather crackling merrily in a stiff gale, ballooning outwards as the weight shifted and the beast’s sharp claws extended outwards towards an outcropping of stone. The collision with the mountain’s peak would have been bone-jarring if not for the surprising dexterity of the creature. Its claws scraped and tore at the stone, the dive turning into a scramble nearly horizontal across the peak’s surface, running lengthwise along the rock face, wings extended for momentum and balance, relying on the harsh wind currents to hold its weight where the talons wouldn’t until the slippery scaled body turned upwards and leapt, its hand-like claws curling around a slender, spiraling peak, hugging the frozen stone to its belly as the long wings wrapped securely around the pointed outcropping, the long tail lashing its lower body even more securely to the mountain.

Reptilian eyes glared out over the shadowy mountains as it rested for a moment, the long, serpentine neck twisting this way and that as the wyrm grunted and tasted its surroundings. Thus far its rider had tolerated the play, easily shifting her weight with the wild gyrations and forcing the Dwarf directly before her to do the same lest the sheer momentum send them spinning off. The Dwarf was a deathly pale beneath his dirty beard, his crippled body and instinctive fear of heights turning his tortured body rigid with terror and pain. His short, thick body was held only by the strong, slender arm of the female rider at his back, her legs curled around the wings of the creature the only thing preventing them from tumbling backwards and downwards into the black oblivion of rock. But eventually, even she grew tired of the stone-like attitude of the reptilian beast, a faint flicker of slender reins catching the creature’s attention. Muscles bunched beneath the cool, scaled hide as it pulled its body beneath itself, and with another cry, the wyrm leapt backwards from the peak, its body twisting with enough grace to make a feline envious, contorting and spreading its wings as it found another current to ride upon, legs tucking up against the sleek belly as it followed the stead direction of its rider, deeper into the pitch blackness until both beast and riders were swallowed whole by the darkness.

….

Light burst upon the senses after nearly an hour of darkness, illuminating the inner cavern as the wyrm slid through a crevice in the mountainside, claws scraping, sending tiny rock showers everywhere. Deeper within, large, thick stone gates stood in silent testament to the presence of Dwarves. The entrance to that particular gate was ancient…and absolutely inaccessible to any but the Wyrms of Old and their Fey riders. It had been an untold amount of time since it had been used…and if it had been guarded by anyone but the somewhat paranoid Dwarves of Celtrillus, it would have been abandoned. However, given that the Dwarves were in fact a bit paranoid, it came as no surprise to Io when her finely tuned senses detected hurried footsteps and voices through the feet of thick stone gate. Nearly an hour later, smoothly oiled gears shifted, and rock grated upon rock as a vanguard of armed Dwarves slipped cautiously through the gates, bearing torches and weapons, their expressions fierce in the flickering light. Enforce, they were a small army all of their own, their number counting twelve, capable of handling anything but an army of Elves in the tight quarters. Cudgels, short swords with edges to make razors weep with envy, blunt, heavy hammers and an assortment of other weapons bore every shape imaginable upon their stout persons as the regarded their new, unwelcome guests with wary ferocity.

By that time Io had dismounted, her tall, cloaked body a singular shadow standing before the quiet, occasionally shuffling beast at her back, her Dwarven companion forced to perch and cling in an undignified manner to the creature’s back as she waited. There was a long pause between Death Fey and Dwarves as they sized one another up until suddenly the foremost Dwarf lowered his weapon, his gruff voice ringing out in the cavern. “Lady Io, as I live and breathe!” There was another pause until Io’s light voice greeted the Dwarf in turn. “Elgrim`Dgal`Yureft Bolarr. I see you have yet to succumb to the Mother’s Fire. What a pity.” A heartbeat. Two. And suddenly the Dwarve let loose a deep, rumbling laugh as a thickly callused hand slapped a stocky thigh in amusement. “Bhah. The Mother will have me in her own time and nae a moment a’fore.”

His laughter was echoed by the rest of the Dwarves as Elgrim turned, hollering back through the gates. “Never fear, lads! ‘Tis only Io. The wretched bitch has come a’begging for more o’our good Dwarven whiskey!”

The words were a specific safety call, allowing the Dwarves within to know that there was no enemy at their gates, for in all truth, they had the greatest respect for the Lady Io and her Kin. But the Dwarven methods were often seen as crude and uncouth by the Elves, who had chosen to grow sensitive to words rather than meanings.

A moment after the stout Dwarf called back to his fellow Kin, the nigh impenetrable gates groaned, opening further to allow a glimpse into the vast nation of Dwarves. Io stepped forward as more Dwarved poured from within, some eager to see the only known Fey walking Celtrillus, others to greet the woman they had grown up knowing as the Lady Io. But even as they approached, their heads not even reaching her slim waist, Io signaled them back. “This is far from a social call, Emgrim of Bolarr. I have business with Gim’Bal’rim of Urt. I trust he still lives?” Taken aback for a moment, the Dwarves were silent until Elgrim spoke. “Aye… But I fear he has been in a foul temper since his son, D’Durisun’Urt vanished a few Turns ago. Not fit company for anything but his hammer and whiskey.”

Io nodded wisely. Dwarves were renown for their tempers…but for a Dwarf to admit such of another was telling. “Then I was right in bringing the very remedy for his ill will.”

With that, she stepped aside, tugging the reigns of the wyrm’s bit, causing the creature to turn, bringing to light the huddled figure of one D’Durisun of Urt. An audible hush followed as the young Dwarf carefully slid down the smooth side of the beast, his booted feet hitting the rock unsteadily. Then chaos erupted. Fifty voices rose as one, Dwarves bounded forth, each intent on greeting the wayward Dwarf, swallowing him in their numbers as Io patiently led the weary, but still twitchy, wyrm away from the fray.

Only when the hubbub had died down some did Io recall the attention back to herself. “Master Duri has a great deal to tell, and a family to return to. He also requires a healer or two. Meanwhile, I wish to speak to Gim’Bal’rim’Urt. My beast requires rest and meat, as well.” That said, the Death Fey found herself quickly herded past the gates and into the cavernous underground that was the Dwarven Nation.

…

An hour later found Io comfortably relaxed on a three-legged stool, a large chalice of the finest Dwarven ale a hand’s span away, deep within the Cral, or Honorable Hall, of Urt. Gim’Bal’rim’Urt, the King of Urt, sat across from her, his deep-set eyes sharp despite the massive amount of whiskey he had already consumed and the heart-felt, or rather heart-felt for the Dwarves, reunion with his son. As far as that had gone, the stocky, barrel-chested King had embraced his son gruffly, announcing to one and all that Master Duri looked more like an ugly woman than a man any longer, with his skinny legs and pallor. Afterwards, Master Duri had been taken to the Healing Houses and Io had been given the chance to state her business.

“Nay.”

The gravelly voice was firm. “Nay even for the return of my son will I hand over the Jiil`Hivis`Tonopar`Tarnok`yobolat.” In common they were known as the Two Bond Bands of Scaleflesh.

The items in question were deep emerald green bangles, or bracelet. Crafted by the Wyrms of Old and Fey, they were the original bonding method between Wyrm and Fey until a true spirit bond could be established. The bracelets were the last remaining pair known to exist from eons before….and Gim’Bal’rim of Urt guarded them jealously.

“They are too powerful for any but Fey, Wyrm or Dwarf.” That last bit had been spoken with a bit of deep pride, for Gim’Bal had discovered the bands in his youth, and as was the custom with Dwarven young to wear whatever they might discover, he slipped them over his stubby hands to find himself transformed.

Dwarves did not possess magic as the Elves did. Theirs was not a flowery magic of creation. In fact, the Dwarves saw the Elves as the flower children of the world. Delicate, fragile, without any true sense of the world and earth. They were simply too involved with themselves and their high-minded ideals. A day’s honest work by a Dwarf’s standards was guaranteed to break any Elf who was silly enough to try. Pretty to look at, certainly, but absolutely useless otherwise. Dwarven magic was more earth-bound than that of the Elves. They could chant stone out of the mountains they lived within to the primal pounding of their hammers, find the deepest veins of mithril and other lesser metals with a gravelly lullaby, craft the sturdiest items and straighten the most crooked of broken bones with nothing more than their intuition and calloused hands.

In all truth, Gim’Bal’rim’Urt was partially correct. The Runes emblazoned upon the inner bands were of a powerful magic. Most Elves couldn’t handle such potent magic, for it drove them mad. But the bands in question were of a different sort of magic. A magic that Io knew of only through the stories of her own people. They were Bonding Bands. For two creatures to each wear one was to bind spirit, soul and mind. For one creature to wear both was to amplify that creature’s greatest asset five-fold. For Gim’Bal, it had been his innate leadership, quickly earning him the title of King within his Cral. Even at his worst, the bands would allow Gim’Bal to sway the people under his command to his way of thinking.

At his words, Io made no immediate reply. Calmly reaching for the chalice, she lifted it and sipped the fiery contents. Once more setting the bejeweled cup down, she finally spoke. “I will trade you the life of your son for possession of the Jiil`Hivis`Tonopar`Tarnok`yobolat.”

A pause…

And then all hell broke loose…

…

The Cral of Urt had fallen.

Stories of her visit would echo through the Black Mountains. Many hours later, as the heavy stone gates slowly opened to reveal a wraithlike shadow leading the dark bulk of a bastardized wyrm from the mountain’s bowels, the silence behind was damning. Wrapped tightly in the voluminous cloak, only the brilliant glow of her eyes lighting her way, she led her riding beast out of the gates.

The moment she and her beast were clear, the gates slammed closed. Near silence followed as the Death Fey mounted her beast, the glow of her eyes dimming considerably, allowing darkness to close in upon them as she settled and calmly guided the wyrm forward, the Jiil`Hivis`Tonopar`Tarnok`yobolat tucked securely away within the deep folds of her cloak as she prepared for the return to the Forest Empire…]

The Rose and the Ruin: Page 3

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