***
One final glorious roar from the Dragonborn concludes the battle. As the adrenaline wears off, those still standing now move about the field, dispatching any beasts who still live and finding comrades in need of healing.
The few hundred brave soldiers who perished are lined up along the wall of the courtyard, to receive a proper burial.
Etny comes to the line of the dead, and in true Andraya fashion, takes out from her pouch two small bags, one with beads that rattles gently, and another with crushed myrrh. She very gently and respectfully takes a pinch of the Andrayan myrrh, and sprinkles it over each warrior, shaking the beads in a soft rhythmic fashion, urging their spirits to find freedom and rest. She sings softly, an Andrayan hymn of rest and assurance. The tears flow freely down her face as she performs this ritual, buried memories and flashbacks returning to her mind of the dead of her own tribe. She couldn't save them then. She couldn't save these now. She could only quietly urge their spirits onward to the great heavens above.
Atriox watches with a saddened heart as his fallen brothers and sisters are laid to rest. He looks from body to body uncomfortably, his tail twitching from side to side as he thinks.
He sees his friends beat up but alive and he is thankful for that but now he must do something. He feels the weight of his task bearing down on his shoulders. It almost seems to make his injuries worse but he must do this
Without word Atriox heads upwards from the courtyard to the top of the mountain where the throne room awaits along with the rest of the palace. His home.
Seeing the Prince nearby, Etny shakes her head a little, swiping impatiently at her tears. She can see the weight of his burden and his responsibility in his eyes, in the sagging of his shoulders, and in the slow methodical steps he takes toward the throne room of his once great and mighty kingdom. He has lost good men and good dragonborn, and Etny can empathize with that loss.
She watches him leave, and waiting until he is nearly out of view, begins to follow him, guarding him, and being somewhat nearby without interrupting his internal struggle and thoughts.
***
It is a strange feeling walking these paths again... Ghosts of memories lingering with every step you take...
These once thriving gardens, where a young white dragonborn would play warrior with kobold friends... now overgrown with twisted thorns and brambles.
These corridors where a prince would chase a princess, filling the halls with laughter... now full of broken stone and refuse.
These rooms where the powerful, musical hum of dragonkind once dwelt. Where talk of the ancient dragonriders, the old gods, and the politics of the nations were discussed... now old battlegrounds were bloodstains and bones still stain the corners in shadow.
The windows, crystalline and beautiful, in front of which a mother would sit with her children. She would sing to them, she would comfort them, and she would shower them in love... Now broken glass and a cold breeze remains.
You take the final steps into the throne room.
Hidden beneath a blanket of thick dust and cobwebs, the glory of the old throne still fills this entire hall with an intense reverence. It is an experience that makes you feel like a child again.
Built of the finest stonework, the steps and base cradle the literal skull of a dragon, ancient, powerful and massive bones older than time itself. It resonates with powerful magic, beyond the scope of anything you'd ever experienced in your life since. You remember the old stories, the warnings, the prophecies of old, a patchwork of lore from your childhood. You remember your father sitting upon the throne, blessed and accepted by the old magic.
In the back of your mind, a thought you try to push away, his bones likely accompany those in this room--protecting the mountain with his last breath. No other beings have been able to approach the throne nor sit in it... this you know without a doubt.
Surrounding it on the ground are scraps of cloth, buried in a decade of dust. Disturbing them with your feet, your mind fills with memories. Ones that have haunted you every day since. Dark fabric with emblems of the group that assailed your home:
A massive green snake with obsidian eyes, coiled around and devouring a crippled dragon.
Atriox picks up what’s left of the banner and looks at it for a few seconds before balling it in his fist angrily. He can’t help it, a menacing growl escapes his mouth
After what seems like an eternity he reburies his anger and shoves the symbol into his bag. He focuses on everything else that’s crashing down on him in this room, in his memories.
At the foot of the steps that lead to the throne Atriox stops. He looks up at it and back down the steps. He can’t convince himself to climb those steps. So he just kneels there at the bottom of those steps and let’s everything hit him
The mountain of emotions you've locked away for ten years comes tumbling down around you.
It feels like an eternity being lost in it all... Submerged in an ocean of memory, both blissfully painful and terribly bittersweet.
You've worked so hard to get here, and for so long... So many have followed you, have died for you, and your responsibilities now extend far, far beyond yourself... Even to those yet to be born. It's overwhelming and numbing to think about at times, for anyone... let alone, for one so young.
Your muscles tremble as you kneel in the dust before the ancient throne. The power seems to increase around you... A primeval power. A foregone power.
Something stabs at your heart--causing your vampiric fangs to extend involuntarily. Unnatural, something abyssal even, that seems so foreign for this room... This holy room.
You hear a resonating hum in your mind. It vibrates your body. Your exhausted muscles. Your wounds, leaking blood to anoint the stairs you kneel upon. A voice enters your heart. A deep voice you've only heard once in a dream.
"You are never alone... My child..."
***
Etny stands a distance from the steps leading up to Skyhold's main palace where she saw Atriox disappear up into. Whether he was aware of her following him, she wasn't sure, but she felt it was her duty and honor to protect him, but also to respect his wishes. While he had not given her any direct order, she felt it was best to leave him be alone up there. She would stand watch far outside the palace grounds.
She could feel the pangs of her old black mood reaching in to grasp her heart and mind. It was am almost imperceptible sickening feeling deep in the recesses of her locked heart and mind, and no matter what she did, she could not shake herself of it. Nevertheless, she would be vigilant, and guard the Prince, for her part.
An arrow nocked at her bowstring, she waits, and let's the barest hint of a whisper of a song to the All-Mother escape her lips...
***
Another voice seeps into your mind like venom, wrapping around the comforting words like a cage...
"Yes... Never... Alone."
Movement by the door alerts you of someone's presence, along with the smell of Skaven blood on them. Small, clawed steps that pitter softly through the dust.
Keeping quiet to not disturb you, Tak waits patiently with his head bowed. It feels inappropriate to be here, bruised and dirty and covered in soot and ash. He tries not to wince at his arms, both burned almost up to his shoulders, bleeding and slathered with burnt fur and rat's blood.
But he wanted to see his brother again; make sure Atriox was okay. Tak's rage was gone now, with hardly any energy left to sulk about family. His only family.
Exhaustion floods him but he remains standing. Something about the magic here, the essence... It reminded him fondly of home. Of Pyrelanth's peaceful grave. It gave him enough energy to wait. To be a good soldier.
Atriox waits for a few minutes trying to resolve some of his his feelings and emotions before finally rises to his feet
He doesn’t turn as he continues to stare onward at the the throne but he finally speaks up in a resolved and steady tone that doesn’t give to much emotion away......which is odd for him weather it be happy or angry
“Come forward.
Tak obediently steps toward you, his gaze averted. He stops perhaps five feet from you, stealing a small glance with his yellow eyes.
You hear him stop, but he makes no sound. He waits to be bidden, ordered, or otherwise.
Atriox considers everything quietly for a few moments before talking again. He can tell it’s Tak from the noise and smell of the little creature. That and the fact that the little one has stayed silent it what is presumably caution
“You did good today Tak......you took the initiative during the battle and your instinct was well placed. You’ve done your time. Take your old position again with Vele.”
His eyes widen as he looks up in surprise. Realizing his mouth hangs open, he quickly closes it and looks down again.
"Y-yes, sir." Tak takes in the praise with a bittersweet weight. "And Tak will... will meet with the other kobold leaders, and check remaining recovery parties... With Atriox blessing, of course."
Atriox grunts in response, clasping his hands behind his back still staring at the throne
“ what you will do is tell everyone to fan out. Before anything else we must know it’s safe. Kobolds, Orcs, and Dragonborn alike are to search this place up and down. Far and wide. And send in our generals and friends after that.”
Tak flinches, realizing his error in judgment. "Y-yes. Yes sir. Wise words as always."
He bows even though he knows you're not watching him directly. "Tak see to this. Will destroy any lingering vermin."
Atriox flicks his hand absently in a very leader like form of dismissal. Though he doesn’t wish to hurt Taks feelings or upset him.....he also just doesn’t care right now
Tak steps back hesitantly at the dismissal. You can tell in that moment there is much more he wishes to say. To do. But he exhales a soft sigh and turns to leave you with your thoughts. The pattering of his claws slowly fades into the somber quiet of before.
After a long while of contemplation, the waning sunlight filtering through the window glints off of something. It just catches the corner of your vision. Something small, lost in the dust on the side of the room. It feels... familiar.
***
Coming down the almost too-big steps of the hall outside, Tak is so lost in thought that he bumps into Etny. A little startled by her readiness at her bow, he backs up a step and hurriedly mumbles an apology, one with a mix of draconic and undercommon. You're able to discern what he means though, despite this.
Etny jumps, slightly startled, and reflexively pulls on her bowstring, but, looking over her shoulder, she sees that it is only Tak, one of Atriox's best, and the one who started it all for her. She smiles.
"Careful, little one! You could have had one of my arrows in you again!" Etny chuckles, and lowers her bow, loosening her grip on the string. "Looking after the Prince, eh?"
(She says all this in perfect draconic.)
Tak relaxes, the teasing feeling like some semblance of normal--even if at the old memory of being shot.
"Yes... or trying." He goes to wring his hands and winces, stopping himself. It's an old habit that he might as well break now.
"Speaking of shooting... Perhaps huntress can go in to see him. He requesting help. Need find any more stinking Skaven and destroy them. Before anything else..." Tak trails off for a moment. "No want them sneaking round doing more harm. It be good to finally have safe place..."
He glances up at you, his expression honest. "You one of best hunters, trackers, trappers we have. Many even among us admire skill like yours."
Etny's smile fades slightly, and she knows that going in after Atriox might disturb him in his reminiscing and reverie, or so she assumes. "I will go in, but...I am a bit nervous to do so. This is very personal to him, and I wouldn't want to intrude or disturb him overmuch. Nevertheless, you are one of his best commanders, so I will do what you say."
She shoulders her bow, and gives Tak a slight, yet respectful bow. "Tak, thank you. You're a great leader, and a shrewd commander. I respect you and your kind nowadays more than you all may know."
With that, she reaches down and pats him on the shoulder, and makes her way up the steps into the citadel.
***
Tak tiredly descends back down through the halls of the great castle, back out to the courtyards and fields below. Even with all the destruction, the mountain, the kingdom, is... beyond words to describe. He always did have a hard time with words.
He looks over the battlefield with a lump in his throat. Something about battle always reminded him of his home... It always would. But he presses forward. He dares not think too long on it.
Mouth dry, he squeezes past the crowds gathered around the small area set up for medical needs. It's drastically chaotic, mostly orcs, some kobolds, and just a few others having the healing capabilities necessary. There seems to be a commotion at the other end of the field, but he's too focused to care. He finds Vele.
She looks confused. Distraught. Exhausted. The look on her face is somewhat distant when Tak makes eye contact with her. She is slow to snap out of it. Tak looks down at those around her, her charges left to her by the other kobold shamans: their healers. Her supplies were limited, more so than her knowledge of anything that they perform. Beside her, a few of the bodies lay still, including Darr.
Tak was the one who brought him here. He didn't know how to feel about it... Nor did she, it seemed. Tak's guilt lay bare in his expression. All Vele could do was shake her head slightly, as if to say, "It wasn't your fault." But it was hard for him to think otherwise.
"Saw Atriox." He turns his gaze away, unable to look at Darr's body or Vele any longer. "He gave clear orders. We must make these walls and hills safe. Search completely, leave no rock unturned. Kobold, orc, and dragonborn. Then generals and the like."
"Did...?" Her voice is soft and brittle. Her pteranodon roosts nearby, resting from the tiring battle like a gargoyle looming over the soldiers.
"He put Tak in charge again. Work beside you." He hesitates. "No... Tak not mention Darr or anything. Not good time."
There is a pause. Vele bows her head. "You're a good leader. I'm glad you're back."
Tak gives a half-hearted smile. It's a struggle, but he does it for her. "Tak go find troops that still have strength." With that, he turns and leaves, a small shadow of determination in the midst of giants.
***
Atriox looks towards whatever is flashing and catching his attention
( Investigation 15 meh )
It is small. Gold and silver, you think... perhaps a talisman? A ring? Memories tug at your mind. It feels like something you've seen before, in your childhood.
Atriox approaches it carefully. He racks his brain trying to remember why this item seems so familiar out of everything
It comes back to you. The shape, the design. It was a ring your mother wore... lost perhaps in the great battle the night you left. One of the only things left unpilfered by the many thieving creatures slinking through the halls since.
You remember it kept on a chain around her neck, and sometimes worn upon her hand. You remember it when she'd pet your head and praise you, or sing to you and your sister. It was woven like a little nest, organic and beautiful.
Your mother had quite delicate hands for a dragonborn. Nothing quite like your father's rough, firm claws. But despite that, this ring could still fit on your own hand, if you chose to wear it.
Atriox picks it up very carefully and cradles it in his palm. He finds himself smiling at the memory it brings forth
After a moment he just as carefully puts it safely in a pocket of his till he can have it examined, likely by Oxious.
***
On the other side of the field, soldiers scramble away from what appears to be a fight of some sort. In the middle of the confusion is Oxious, Dahlia, Kybirus and Dorokor.
The trip across the field to the healers had been tedious. Stepping over and around the bodies of the fallen, slipping in pools of blood saturating the dirt into a muddy mess, watching for stray traps of the Skaven beasts...
Kybirus felt perturbed helping an orc, but he knew better. His father expected him to obey this other... prince. But what a different way of battle. Of leading. Kybirus blew steam from his nose, thinking to himself, "At least the orcs and kobolds soaked up some of the damage, and spared a few of my dragonborn fighters." He honestly knew no other style than the kind he grew up with. That he was sworn to from childhood.
He glanced periodically at Kora, who's eyes glew with an unnatural red hue. She was extremely focused on the edge of the field; she did not stumble, despite her fatigue. She looked rather vicious, even after such a fight. Kybirus knew no orc nor human with the strength that these ones did. He feared what the slaves of his father's empire could do if empowered.
The red dragonborn focused ahead again. Thinking. Avoiding glancing at the orc's growing midsection. He'd noticed it during the weeks it took to get here. He thought little of it, until he saw how Atriox was around her. His suspicions about the two of them hovered uncomfortably in the back of his mind.
It wasn't until they'd gotten to Dahlia, the other strange being he wasn't comfortable with, with it happened.
Kora practically collapsed on the broken stones nearby, dropping to a knee as her breathing worsened. Kybirus furrowed his brow, unsure of what to do. He never dealt with the sick or wounded like this. That was not his charge. Watching Dahlia step up to help was a welcome relief, and he made to go.
A cry of surprise, a crack and a crunch. It happened too fast for him to stop.
Dorokor was frenzying.
Dahlia, unlucky to be the only person near her at the time, was grappled almost immediately. She was no match for the muscular vampire. Kora fought it as best she could, but the beast took over. Something in her needed healing. Now. Her muscles ached for nourishment. Her gut. Her womb.
The healer's left arm was gripped in Kora's hand, broken in at least two places. Dahlia fought as mightily as she could. Her necklace, her bracers, ones Atriox had made to help protect her, glowing. It bought her just enough time before the teeth came in. Unable to break free or even struggle, her uninjured arm merely embraced Kora, hanging on for dear life as her life blood flowed out.
The others had just started arriving. The blacksmith, his son, the few nesting kobolds who were involved in protecting their unorthadox mobile nest, and Oxious, along with some additional slave labor brought with the dragonborn.
The tiefling was not unaware of the trouble. Something stirred him to notice, and within a blink of an eye, he was off. Magically teleporting himself to where they were, he tried in vain to assist Kybirus in prying off the hungry, ravinous vampire from Dahlia. In a fit of desparation, a spell was let loose right into Kora's chest--breaking her free from the pale healer and blasting her back into the loose dirt. She made to right herself, turning into mists and launching herself at Oxious. His spicy blood a treat she grew quite used to. She was lost to the frenzy.
Several long minutes later, Oxious had set up a parimiter around one of the rooms just inside. Kybirus begrudgingly helped bring the two others in--an unconscious, well-fed orc and a very sick healer. He was gone as quickly as he could be. The tiefling nursed wounds--bite marks--that he himself got, as well as the other two. It was close. Too close. Dahlia was almost as far gone as Zinnia there. And Dorokor...
He winces, looking her over. He hated it, but Oxious felt the same for Kora now as he did all the girls he'd worked with at the Fang. He felt responsible. Tirelessly protective. He'd run from these sorts of curses for much of his life, but now he had to face them. Regardless, this pregnancy was becoming more dangerous. More risky. He sits down on an old stone bench, feeling more tired than ever.
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