Craggy reddish stone surrounded them. There, in a fork in the road, a roughly hewn alcove was carved in which a large figure loomed. It stood barrel chested, holding a great axe with menace in its eyes.
It had a snout and tusks like a warthog, and cloven hooves. It appeared perhaps to be female beneath its bulky armor. Whatever it was, it was savage, fierce, its face of fearful malice forever frozen, its wagon-wheel sized axehead poised to smash anyone who passed over the gap in the stones into oblivion.
“What are these things?” Adimus asked.
At its feet were strewn offerings of fruit now rotten, and coins, and on its tusks were wilted garlands of flowers.
"There was one in his village as well.” Laina observed.
Indeed, it did seem to be a depiction of the same creature, cloven hooves and all.
“An idol. To the Bolg.” said Tirlag, "That's what I read in an old book my dad gave me."
“You read?” Quipped Argent. “It’s ‘Fir Bolg’. The giants from last night’s story.”
“No, just Bolg.” She shook her head. She seemed frustrated. “There are different types, this one appears to have been made to honor the Orculli...Now the one back at the village, that was a Fir Bolg.”
“Jidovi. Or Blajini, the Kindly Ones. These idols are plentiful in the lands we came from as well.”
“The Jentiliak.” Said Alara. “In Torant they are called this.” he explained her outburst. “We have ones like this as well.”
Adimus repeated the rhyme he’d heard many times in his youth:
Each in turn, with great care paid
Set before them, preordained
By sculptor revealed, evinced by Fate
To destined Purpose, each were made
The Fir Bolg taught us how to sow, that we forsake our savagery,
The Glastigs taught the stars above, that we may map the seas,
The Fir Domnan built works of stone, that our cities stand the ages,
The Gailion taught us how to write, to fill the prayer book's pages,
The Orculli, to fight the dark, guarding our Forms frail
The Formerians to compel these virtues and punish those who fail.
“This is what Illea teaches.” he explained, when everyone was left staring at him.
Argent snarled in frustration, then turned his head to explain to anyone who’d bother to listen who wasn’t more knowledgeable than he. “ '...And so the god plucked the giants from the earth and with his blood gave them life, and they made for us all the splendid cities of old, and taught man the ways of planting, and the stars and the changing of the seasons.' "
“...Then what happened to them? Are they not around any more?”
“They killed each other. That's what we're told.” said Alara.
“I've heard they all went to sleep, like the Formerians." Said Argent. “Slumbering literally beneath our feet as the land itself.”
"Does sound like a pleasant way to put dying to me." Tirlag snickered.
Argent superstitiously walked up to it and kissed his hand and touched its feet. ”I pray for safe passage.” He said, and muttered something in Daldistan. The whole show smacked of pretentious upstaging on his part.
“On the morrow.” Thadeus announced. “We camp here tonight.”
“Look!” Delaney cried. And she tossed it into the air, it fluttered its wings a few times, bearing itself aloft for a few short moments.
Tirlag cheered. “Yeah, she’s a keeper then!”
“Won’t be long now.”
“Yep.”
Alara, Alfred, and Torrin, (who was curiously as far away from the statue as he could get). All shared the sentiment “Have you thought of a name yet?”
She shook her head.
“Innana.” Laina said. “The name of my Goddess.”
“No…"
“Gravy Boat.” Tirlag chortled.
“No!” She shielded the bird from her.
“Penelope.” Said Rigel.
“I like that.” Alara agreed.
“Finola.” the urisk finally decided.
“Finola it is.” Alfred smiled.
Ambrose would explain later that it was customary to sleep in the shadow of the great statue; the silent guardian warded against the intrusion of monsters,’fought ‘gainst evil’.
No monster came, but thunder woke them several times that night, flashing across the snarling face of the beastly figure and leaping their hearts into a fluttered panic. It was an omen of the wet day that was in store for them as they continued their trek down the treacherous trail and into the valley.
The rain fell in sheets the next morning, pounding against the inside of the wagon.
Adimus, in the wee hours awoke to provide his offering for the day ahead. The only other awake was Laina.
“I noticed that you did not Slake after we left yesterday.” he said to her.
“This is true.”
“Come on. I can help you, if you’d like.”
“No, thank you.”
“Nonsense. It doesn’t hurt. I will be gentle with it.”
“It’s a generous offer, but I don’t want you to cut my arm, Adimus. Please.”
Furrows of water swirled across the sunken spots in the path, cascading over the road down the steep hills in tiny waterfalls as the downpour pelted them. Wind tore at the freshly turned leaves of nearby trees, plucking them from their homes prematurely, and blustered against the canvas of the wagon as if it were a kite. They passed a swollen creek over an old rickety bridge, and a standing puddle nearly knee deep, a large rut hewn from nature water gushing through the in like a culvert. There, two large, winged, female figures loomed on ornamented pedestals, clenching swords to their armored chests. The middle between their crossing wings and the points of the swords from their folded crumbling arms formed an archway, and beyond it a darkened doorway.
“More monoliths?” said Regil.
“Angels!” Laina gasped.
“I thought they were Faeries.” said Tirlag.
“The same.” Argent corrected.
“How do you know these are bad ones and not good ones?” Asked Laina. He would give no answer.
“...What is this place, then?” asked Alara. She, Argent, Tirlag and Laina stood beneath the wings to keep themselves dry. Adimus looked up at the one he stood beneath, with a crack down its cheek funnelling water as if it were crying.
“A decent shelter, I’d say.” said Argent.
The carriage and horses finally came to a stop. Thadeus stood forebodingly. “We’re not going in there.” he said.
“It’ll only be for long enough to get the chill out of our bones.”
“What kind of bard are you, boy? There are restless spirits in there, you should know that.” he paused, that the Bard might wrest his sanity and agree. When he didn’t he drove it home. “The dead of the dale will not like to be disturbed.”
Adimus stared into the uneasy shadows that filled its gaping mouth.
“Of course I know. About this place.”
Tirlag’s mocking giggle rebounded on the stone.
“Spirits? Perhaps. But benevolent ones. Like our Mansii friend points out. A place of repose for the heroes of Slaine who fell despite the blessing of immortality given them by the Ollatharii. It is guarded by these statues, sentinels...” He looked up and down at them “Legend has it that when the armies of Kessellon marched to Kainden they could not enter this place, for they were followers of Illea, that only true believers in the Goddess Aaran and the Triumvirate could enter this holy place.”
“Followers of the heathen tuathan gods?” said Thadeus. “Rather not.”
Tirlag’s eyes narrowed after a moment of listening to this. “If they are immortal then how could they be buried?”
“Buried?” He tisked. “Dear child, I mean no slight to you and your vocabulary. I said tomb, I mean cenotaph.” He wiped his nose to hide his face.
"Ceno...taph?" Tirlag rolled the word in her mouth in wonder.
"Means there’s no one in here.” he explained. Tirlag's wry grin shown that it was feigned ignorance.
Alfred peeked his head out. “Fascinating. Do go on.” Alfred goaded him.
Adimus thought Tirlag was about to pass out from stifling her amusement with the man.
“Yes. Do go on, master storyteller.” Alara chimed in.
“Why yes." He rebounded effortlessly. "How could I explain to you miracles of the immortal warriors of Slaine? By expounding upon the divine secrets all night? How about we just go in and let the eyes feast.”
“You mentioned spirits. How can it be haunted if there is no one there? And who would do the haunting since you say they are immortal?” Laina hid her knowing smirk.
“It’s also said to contain riches.” he shrugged “trophies won by the princes of Slaine within its walls, forever protected against the religion of the god kings. Well... it did, I’m assuming. You all have probably collected them, am I right? That Tolten chap has no doubt procured them for his temple’s reliquary. Or more likely to destroy on an alter as offering to the teachings of Illea.”
“Riches?” The face of Pembroke, shown to be gullible on many an occasion, was unshakable in his daftness.
“Perhaps it’s all poppycock. Nonetheless,” he said taking a cautious few steps beyond the arches. “Ah, see? We are worthy. Why don’t we go have a looksy?”
Everyone naturally doubted the truth of his word, still the boy caught Tirlag reaching out and touching one of the statues to test it as they moved forward. Alfred lent him his lantern, which the bard placed at the end of a long forked stick, and with much the same caution hesitantly stepped inside.
His voice echoed after a moment. “All is calm.” He handed the apparatus to Alfred “Now.” He said rubbing his hands together briskly. “Let us get some firewood.”
Adimus crept in behind them. There was a fissure in the domed ceiling, and ivy grew through it as if nature itself had stuck its arms in to pull it open and have a peek. It also let in a diffused glow, not quite enough to see by on an overcast day, along with a spattering of rain water on stone, which pattered in echoing drops upon the floor far below.
Ambrose and Rigel brought down the remnants of an old tree, and splitting it laid it beside the door. Pembrooke and Torrin took to the task of tying the horses down to the statues outside, while the rest piled in. Argent paced confidently behind all of them, hands on hips, proudly overseeing, and Tirlag playfully sat her hat on Delaney’s head and rang her hair out like a rag. Alfred, having thus retrieved his lantern, walked off into the darkness. The light shined upon what could’ve possibly been old benches, all lop-sided, covered with cakey moss. Large, ruddy mushrooms hid in the corners of disintegrated trappings. The whole room, in fact, was covered with an old grime, as if a flood ages past had once swallowed up the whole scene. Glove off, the Seer ran his hand across the walls, eyes closed.
Stolen story; please report.
Statues set in alcoves gleamed in the lamplight: a man holding a spear, deer-horned and one-eyed. An youthful, hooded one holding a cauldron, and an older, weary one ornate wreath of holly and leaning mirthfully upon a white staff--they were only perhaps Delaney’s size, and the pedestals atop which they each stood brought them to eye-level, but the detail in them, even showing after years of rot and weathering, made them seem alive. Several more which the light did not catch sat it in the silence of millenia, then he came to one in the back of the room.
This one was larger than real life; She was perhaps only a half taller than the tallest person in the room, but its imposing majesty made her seem even more grand, standing on the dais she was nearly the height of the temple, what’s more, her immense three-fold pair of wings stretched nearly the entire corridor, trailing off beyond the edge of the feeble light of Seer’s lantern...Sapphire, emerald and ruby were her three eyes. Her long hair of shimmering silver sprawled out from her head in all directions, stretched upon some great golden radiant-spoked wheel. In one hand she held what seemed to be a silver rope and in the other her hand touched a large needle, bright red paint denoting blooded still untouched by the elements made a single dot on her outstretched finger. It was a large spinning wheel, even the boy knew that.
Above her head was a triquetra, a symbol of three arcs interlaced, forming three points where they touched like a triangle; even concealed from him, Adimus had seen the symbol of the three crescents many times, if only in the knotwork patterns he liked to emulate when he drew.
Argent’s torchlight flickered across the busy walls. An ornate relief stretched the full span of it depicting a single event from beginning to end. “What is all this?” Adimus, squeaked in nearly inaudible whisper.
“These gods seem quite different to the ones up on the hill.” Torrin commented, daring to peek in when he heard the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’. “Or anything I’ve ever encountered back home.”
Argent motioned to the first of them. "What do you think,, Adimus, the sculptor himself
They were beautiful, covered in knotwork illumination and filigree that, even crumbling and covered in mold and lichen, evoked the devotion its creator held. It took the lot of them a few moments to discern that the bard actually seemed to know what he was saying and not just making it up for show, showing each for the merchant lord with his torch and narrating what it showed, starting with a horned god sitting upon a great flower ascending from the water: “Many Shapes awakens from his cosmic sleep amid The Ocean Cosmic. The first of Hyu’man Kind, the Cessair, are in anguish, for their land has had its heart stolen. It has descended and diminished into a torrid wasteland where all its creations have perished, and the Goddess lie frozen in its depths, encased in the stone prison, Am Cairraig. This dead world is ruled by the Formerians, inheritors, and, they say, usurpers of the wasteland. They live atop Migdal Bivel, a great tower at the center of the world; their king, Balros, observes all.”
Adimus stared at the stone depiction of the tower. Suddenly his heart began to race. He didn’t know why, but in his mind he could see it. Perhap it was a flight of fancy, or the Bard’s ability to whisk away the mind, or something more, but he saw it; an unnatural streak of gold ascending high, high into the dizzying sky; this was in his dreams, he knew it.
He ignored the boy’s look of concern, he moved on to the next one: “With his warm breath and the beat of his heart the world melted, and the Goddess awoke, and a great flood washed away the lion’s share of the armies of the king of Devils. Parthos takes the form of a great fish to bear all the still dead creatures aloft, taking them to the four corners of the world. He then called upon his two brothers for help.”
“What’s with the flowers?” Asked Alfred.
“The Arid Lotus, Vimana. Its meaning is mostly lost to time since Kessellon’s arrival here,” he explained, Adimus sensed that the word ‘arrival’ was a euphemism. “But the Bowen sages believe it represents the god’s mastery over both worlds: this world and the Otherworld.”
"These are not the gods of Ormond." Laina reasoned. "Not the same I've seen. These are beautiful."
"You are correct." Said Argent. "The natives were close to the Tuatha. The Lathnim, or Lathnians, last of the Cessair people who are indiginous to this land. Closer than any other of the Hyu'manii, they were. In the days before the Epochellipse they walked with the Partholonians. This temple was made by the Daldistans, the people of the Great Kingdom who came across the mountains from their home in Kessellon to dwell here. So charmed were they by these people and their ways that they defended them when the time came."
“And their forebears were gifted with immortality because of it.” added Alara. “The court of the Gentry always rewards loyalty.”
"There is a whole story upon the walls here." Torrin marvelled.
“Now,” he said, knowing he'd been beckoned to continue, “The two brothers came to his aid: Many Names,” he pointed to one of the brothers, an old bearded man holding a scroll and quill, “lifted the four corners of the world into the sky. His other brother, Many Faces, blessed with a Cauldron which can give life,” he pointed to the younger one holding said cauldron, its contents roiling “revive the Cessair and all the creatures that move and crawl.” The vessel is shown pouring forth a great bounty of beings: fish, birds, beasts, and stock animals, cascading down like a waterfall.
"They are the Triumvirate." Tirlag's wonder extolled.
Adimus looks up at the three figures in a new light. “Correct. The Ollatharii, chief gods of the Tuatha.” The bard finished. “The three gods who are one.”
“Many Shapes and the Goddess, do they not have names?” Laina asked.
“They do, but one should not invoke them in vain, out of respect.” replied Argent.
“What are they?” she then asked.
Tirlag, of all people, chimed in. "The one with the cauldron they call Lyr, I think. Keeper of the Crossroads where beyond the dead rest. There were an old salt, superstitious type what muttered prayers midships whenever we were in a bad storm, or on a happening he saw as an ill portent.”
The bard looked somewhat taken aback. Then Alara followed up. “Parthos.” she pointed to Many Shapes. “His children were the first of our kind.”
“The Partholonians, yes. The gods of culture and virtue.” the bard finally relented.
“He has one eye...why?” Laina was obviously curious for the same reasons Adimus was (though he’d never admit it.
“His other he sacrificed, casting it into the Sea of Milk. Many believe that Balros bears it now.”
Tirlag added what she’d heard to the story. “In Thane I’ve heard a similar story, where his name is Oathen, and his one eye is the sun.”
“Interesting.” Argent nodded, obviously agitated. He continued to the next statue. “Mathien of Many Names.” He defeatedly pointed out the third. “Who invented names themselves, which, they say, brought Magic into the world.” he explained. “Names that we are not supposed to utter in simple small talk.” he himself now sounded prudishly superstitious.
"Surely we are paying them tribute, speaking of their great deeds." Laina insisted.
"The Tuatha would not see it that way. And it shouldn't be an article of faith what's in a name, you saw it yourself day before last."
“The Goddess is A’aran isn’t she? I heard about her when I first came here, and see a lot of similarities between her and Innana.”
“They aren’t gods.” Asserted Alfred, addressing the bard. “We are no lesser to the Fae, and their ideas of faith no less inspired. Right, Adimus?”
“Bold of you to state, Sum Seer.” blinked the bard. “And you profess greater knowledge?”
Alfred simply shrugged.
“What about this...Balros? That one has a name that you speak easily.” She walked up to the creature embedded in the wall, a great cloven-hooved being wearing a crown seated atop a throne. He had the wings of a bat, and his tail was two snakes, and a single eye from which red paint still clung.
“Ol’ Crom. The judgement and wrath of the All Fathers. Now if there ever was a god that wasn’t...he was made by Many Shapes. He was the king of the Formerians.”
"Mind your scholarly tongue." Tirlag gestured toward Pembrooke. "Not all in present company would agree with you."
“What do you mean, made?” asked Laina.
“Made. With hammer and chisel.” He mimed out the act, replete with tongue noises. “Given life by the god when he sacrificed his own.”
It took a few moments--Laina expected him to address her next question without having to ask it. “How is that possible? You said the Formerians were here before these gods…" she said. “How could he make this god? If he was not there to make it?”
Tirlag shrugged. “He could’ve been made the king afterward. Maybe he switched sides in the conflict.”
“Maybe this part of the story is fabricated to credit the Tuathan gods as superior.” Said Adimus.
“You are wrong, Grigor.” was all the bard said. “Nonetheless. What I’ve presented to you is what I was taught--an extrapolation, as it were. My expertise ends there.” He shrugged. “Fae have lots of strange stories like that, that seem to start in the middle. There are many different versions as well, and the ones we Hyu’manii were privy to in the days when they spoke to us are seem through the lens of those who heard it. Obviously so, as some worship the figure," he looked at Adimus, "while others revile him." he ended with that. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Alfred I want you to examine something for me.”
Adimus strode up beside the priestess. “If a story changes, its because it was never true to begin with. The Fae dictated the narrative as they saw fit.” he jeered, staring at the wall. "Those who fear judgement always think the judge evil."
Adimus, Regil, and Ambrose unloaded dry firewood now, kept in the wagon, just for such scenarios.
“This is marvelous.” The Seer exclaimed. He gasped as he touched the rope. “This is real silver! Spun into twine!” He stood for a few moment more, bedazzled. “These people were masters of All’khemy!”
“That wheel… it looks like...” He said to himself, stroking his chin and pacing around it, then taking his glove off he reached out and touched it. Curiosity, then shock, then amazement flashed across his face choreographed by his eyebrows which went one up then both. “There’s something beneath the floor. Here!” He said stomping his foot, he felt it with his hand, then setting the lantern down to mark his place with a brisk pace (taking care not to slip) he hurried for the door, majestic eyebrows full of endeavor and purpose.
"Not the most elegant of solutions…" Argent came, heaving in his arms a large rock from outside. 'Slam!'
The small crack in the tile shown, then he shoved his quarter staff in and levered the tile free.
Metal coins, silver and gold jewelry encrusted with gems, and a large silver chalice. Tirlag had made giddy noises as she nabbed it from its resting place. They all revelled and congratulated as Adimus watched on. In the flicker of the lamplight and the glinting silver, the echoes and the cheering, the boy had thought his mind had been playing tricks on him at first, when he saw the nearby shadow shift. He glanced back for but a moment, looking for verification that he was not insane.
Everyone was busy, even Laina, who was meticulously arranging the wood for the fire.
Then he looked back. A pair of red piercing eyes fell upon him. A loud rumbling growl emanated from within, as if the building itself growled.
The beast stepped forward. On all fours stood nearly as tall as a man at the shoulder. If the goddess’s eyes were ruby, sapphire and emerald, he was perhaps made of jet, for no light touched or betrayed a shape save for its silhouette, that of a large hound, which Adimus saw only moments before it came at them.
Adimus wasn’t sure if everyone scrambled or stood, but he took a few steps back and drew his sword just the same.
“Barghest!” Pembroke’s voice called from outside.
The creature let out a blood freezing howl, the whole foundations trembled before it, bits of dust fell from the ceiling as if the structure itself protested in defiance of their presence.
Then it charged. Someone grabbed him by the sleeve. “Outside!” they yelled, pulling at him. Argent had come back with the lantern. There was something strange about the way it undulated in the lamplight, leaping from the intervening shadows as it lurched forward, Adimus put his shield out to stave off the creature but it made no difference.
Adimus was frozen in shock. He knew that the creature had not come close enough to sink his teeth into him, but still he had him. Through his shield and even incomprehensibly through his very clothes the creature sank its teeth into his arm and pulled. Adimus pulled back as the creature tried to pull him off into the darkness, his feet slipping in the muck. Argent dropped the lantern to use both hands and when he did Adimus saw it, as the creature moved unnaturally. He watched as the dark creature latched onto his shadow.
“No!” Adimus let out a cry and dropped his targe. There were no bite marks. There was no blood, but still the pain came, like ice cold water was being pumped into his veins. The numbing pain crawled up his arm. Finally, when nearly enough pressure had built that it nearly lifted him off the ground suddenly there was a jerk. He was free, but only because the beast had taken something from him. They scurried for the door, the creature nipping at them. Argent clutched the boy in a tumble roll, crashed down the stairs. They looked up as the creature stopped in the doorway, just beyond the light of the door.
“A Barghest!" Argent confirmed, panting. “That’s a Barghest.”
“A what?” asked Tirlag, in between catching her breath.
“A Church Grimm.”
He jumped up. “Come men.” he began ordering, as if he said any authority to do so. He ran over to the horses and started untying them.
Adimus sat there the rain pouring down his face. He looked down at his right arm, lying limp at his side. He dropped his sword with an audible clang, which he’d grasped with white knuckles (thankfully it hadn’t hurt anyone). He couldn’t feel it. He couldn’t move it. In a panic with his other hand he scooped it up.
“Adimus!” Laina ran to him. She looked at his arm, that he couldn’t help but cradle.
She pulled up the sleeve. Adimus gasped. It was stark pale, like moonlight upon snow. Lord Pembroke drew near, and Laina obstructed his view. “Hide it for now.” she whispered, flashing a serious look and pulling his sleeve back down.
“Are you alright, boy?” Pembroke asked.
“I-I’m fine.” He struggled to get up, floundering again when he thoughtlessly tried to use it.
It was like it wasn’t even his arm anymore, that whatever warm quality had animated it, given it life, was gone now. In fact, he was certain of it. He’d stood and lingered several minutes on as everyone gathered their supplies again, listening to the thing gnawing, lapping and grinding its teeth on bones of his real arm.
Argent popped in the carriage. “Alright?” he said. Adimus nodded quickly as he’d learned one should when lying. “Fool boy.” he tisked loudly. “That foolhardiness will be the death of you yet." He drew nearer, that no one could hear. "I'm sorry, Adimus." It was a graven, serious look that he had yet to see, even when the goblyns appeared, and that alone set the boy on edge.
Am I?
The rain had stopped, much to Argent’s chagrin. Now there was no reason to go in. Adimus never went back out, but sat on the chest of Maev’s goods and mostly concealing his face with the wagon shroud watched them work. Laina had not come back to check on him, but looked back nervously at him frequently, as if called to some task she couldn’t get away from.
He saw Argent whispering to Alfred and pointing in his direction, and the concern on their faces.
Alfred had hatched an idea in the meantime. He watched as he felt around the edges of the structure, brushing at old creepers and lichen, and feeling around on each block of stone until. “I’ve found it.” He said.
Tirlag stood nearby with a shovel, and below the block where he’d pointed started digging. Sweat beaded upon her already drenched head. The hole got bigger and bigger until they stood knee deep in the muddy clay, Tirlag’s temper seeming shorter and shorter as they went. The red eyes pierced the shade once again. Everyone gasped. “He cannot harm us out here, keep digging!” Argent ordered. The bard’s words carried no weight now, nonetheless they hurried on, albeit with skeptic glances over the shoulder.
Finally there was a surprised stop, Adimus watched the silent charade of giddy dances as she plucked out what appeared to be a bone. A few minutes passed, and they assembled the crumbling skeleton of some huge dog one by one on a splayed spare linen from the wagon, then gently they bundled it up and placed out in an esoteric circle Alfred had drawn in a spot in the mud with a simple stick. “Well. Speak a prayer, someone, because I don’t know any.” Rigel admitted. Pembrooke slunk up to peek at it.
They all looked at one another as if they’d forgotten their own names. The bard stepped forward and stammered a few bars of something in another language. Nothing happened. Pembroke said something, Rigel figured he’d give it a shot and even Tirlag, clenching her hat to her chest muttered what could’ve well been a sentiment of goodwill.
The Barghest watched them from the threshold of its lair, looking on threateningly, yet it never passed into the light. If a hound could laugh it did, and Adimus grasped at his sword the entire time, his hair on end.
The Sum Seer held up the silver chalice, spoke a few words and sat the chalice down. Blue flames engulfed it, and he filled it with water from his waterskin, and the flames licked up to wick onto its surface to settled there. Then with a few more words he poured the water into the bones and they ignited like spilled grease.
Hellish blue sparks and a black smoke bellowed from its maw which roiled and spun to smother what little other light their was left to be seen. Haunting shapes moved in the tenebrous fume, spears and swords and shields; the tiny motes fell upon them, eyes of warriors roused in silent tumult.
Laina lent down and picked up the shovel and walked off. Adimus peaked his head out to watch her search the treeline. Finally she’d found what she was looking for. She started digging in the small clearing nearby before an old hawthorn tree. Others started to come. “Bring me the bones.” she demanded. She sweated and panted and when her exhaustion slowed her Alara took the shovel and dug deep into the ground. They placed the bones in it and filled it in. Laina produced several items from her personal effects. She placed a chain of iron upon it and leaning down spoke a prayer in her language, and anointed the remnants with ashes, and sprinkled upon it dried jasmine.
They looked from afar what Adimus saw up close. The creature was dismayed. The smoke and hoary flame continued to billow from it, though this time it had eyes of worry, as if it just couldn’t stop. Its eyes shut one last time as its insides poured out, churning in the winds above until subsumed in the vastness of the pure air until it dissolved into nothing.