Vulnerable, raw, broken, shattered. If I try to focus on anything other than these feelings, my thoughts simply drift to my beloved Teuila, and poor Tiktik, and poor Hellga. I thought—. I thought Teuila was invincible. I thought there was no threat that could beat her in her Valkyrie form, with how often she trains, and grows, and seeks out the power to protect others, with all that she has faced. She’s been through so much, so many hurts, and now she’s just taken from me? Before I can ever help her mend? It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.
I hear the rumble of stoneshaping magic, as Miza apparently recovers just enough to dismiss her temporary shelter. I also hear her panting with the exertion of doing so. She must be using so much of her magic lately. I simply stand at the entrance to our carriage, my head sunk forward to my chest. I’m unable to lift it, unable to move other than the random jerks and spasms from my electrokinetic nerve pathway damage. Someone calmly lays a hand upon my shoulder, and I want to jerk away, but I don’t even have the strength.
I failed her. We always saved each other, every time when the chips were really down, we saved each other. This time though, I truly, truly failed her. I slump to my side, falling into the mud when the hand on my shoulder attempts to gently lead me away from the door of the carriage. There’s a reptilian sigh, but several figures move through my sensory range, carrying Tiktik, and setting her within the carriage. They’re asking me to just move on. To suck it up, and continue. Without Teuila.
In my anguish, I struggle to stand, and notice that there’s a group effort to haul the Teuila-cicle to the top of the carriage, and to lash her thereupon. My Te, once a radiant vision of passion, excitement, vivacious fire, now lies encased in ice. Her gorgeous locks of hair in her undercut are now crystallized in frozen tendrils that glint with a frosty gleam beneath the lightning of Rayileklia’s skies. Her hair looks more like melted rubies, or red diamonds now, through the ice. Her beauteous emerald eyes that were once full of mischief and mystery are now frozen in a haunting gaze, locked in a perpetual state of vigilance. Her slender features are now preserved in frozen perfection. The lips that I yearn to kiss, once full and inviting, are now frozen, parted open in shock.
In some small favor, the kobolds drape furs over Teuila, attempting to protect her icy prison from the acid rain that seems to only reinforce and strengthen it. Their action hides her from my view, and in some way, frees me to act. Though I’m a tangled mess of emotions, and my chest is so tight with a grief as palpable as a thousand blades to my soul, I struggle to stand. My hand trembles, as I reach vaguely in Teuila’s direction after standing. I huff, heaving a sigh as I let my shoulders slump, sagging in defeat. I drop my forehead to the side of the carriage in a mixture of desperation and sorrow. I just want them back. I want them all back.
With Teuila, I’ve got memories of her vibrant spirit and fiery passion, her inspiring presence, and her laughter that lit up my world. That single elongated squee of glee when she would sound her delight. The Shellcracker family squee. Now it feels like a distant dream, lost in a frozen wasteland of heartache. My own heart now feels like little more than a massive, weighty burden, weighed down by the icy grip of despair. I’d give anything to hear her calming whispers, her supportive voice, her delight, all of which that are now silenced by the icy tomb that holds her captive.
The depth and intensity of my heartache is raw, vulnerable, primal. The weight of my heart is the fire of a sun, and that sun burned for Teuila above all others. It refuses to be extinguished though. I love her in an all-encompassing, undying manner. My devotion, and fervor won’t let me just give up. She hasn’t derezzed. She’s wearing Shellcracker’s Iceflame Spark. There has to be a chance, there just has to be. Somehow, some way, some day, I’ll figure out a way to safely free her from her icy prison. Someone nearby hands me a weapon that sings despair into my mind. It’s Essie. Requiem, the Silent Song. I know Essie, I know. No, you didn’t fail her.
Two kobolds thankfully hoist Tiktik into, and tuck Tiktik into the carriage. Miza enters with her, looking after Kitten for me, as I come to terms with my grief. I shudder, sobbing once more, before breathing deeply, and sighing. Every bit of me aches, and I’m missing layers of flesh, from when the acid melted my steely body, now that I’m in my normal organic form. It has left me raw, more susceptible to the rains of pain as the Aasimovians call the never-ending acid rainfall of Rayileklia’s darkened skies. All the more ironic that I now know that they’re somehow related to black dragon’s breath.
Astridus, Olashax, one day, one day Teuila will be recovered. She will hunt you down and destroy you for how you’ve torn me down and left me vulnerable, raw, bare against the elements and my emotions without her. I might not live to see it, but your enchanted breath can’t last forever, even if you could live that long. I try to set my expression to the grim determination that I’ll need to carry on. I mostly fail, but I push forward anyway, summoning and hitching the ghostly steeds that poofed away instantly from the merest contact with stray frost breath.
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I’m overwhelmed by physical and emotional pain, and I’m so deeply drained, on every level, even spiritually. I just want peace, happiness, comfort, safety for my loved ones, and I want to join them in that setting. Why must it always be violence, death, chaos? I bite my lip raw accidentally, since its moisture was drawn out by Teuila’s icy prison, leaving my lips stinging from every droplet of drizzle. Yet further pains. I can’t take it any more. My brain just—. My brain just can’t handle it. One last tiny straw, and the camel’s back has broken. I’m shutting down, going into auto pilot.
Hours pass, days maybe. We camp in short breaks at times, I think. We’ve veered off from The Gap, after where the Celestial Imperium’s blockade would normally be. We’re headed towards the west, towards the stomping ground of the Cult of the Bright Lord, where we destroyed the entryway and many buildings that led to the Cathedral of Blood. Tiktik, like Hellga, no longer rouses, save for a few moments on occasion to eat. I can’t say anything to her during these times. My mind is blank. Empty of all but despair. I’m shut down. There’s nothing I can offer her in this state. I simply empower ghostly steeds and drive a carriage, and nothing else.
I’m likely beginning to lose weight. I’m not eating, or drinking. I simply empower ghostly steeds, and drive a carriage, and nothing else. Days pass, and we near a marshland. There are screams, but I don’t react. I simply empower ghostly steeds, and drive a carriage, and nothing else. Whatever the disturbance was, Dippy apparently handled it. That’s fine, he’s The Bravest Amongst Us, whereas I simply empower ghostly steeds, and drive a carriage, and nothing else.
As I topple over from exhaustion, lack of energy and calories, the horses pause as I fall from the carriage, and am nearly trampled beneath it when I’ve plopped facedown in the acidic mud. I can’t summon the energy to care enough to fight for my own survival. I can’t drown, because of the neckchain of the everbreathing, but I shall simply lay here, and waste away. I’m being hauled out from where I lay, and perhaps berated. I think perhaps I’ve been slapped, but I care little. Nothing matters. Wait, whose arms are these? Who is so angry that they’re yelling, “You liddle shid!” directly into my face?
Blinking, I slowly rouse from my stupor, and realize I’m staring a screaming Keeley Johnston straight in the face. But, but I thought she was going to die. But how? Am I dead?
I croak, “Wha, koff, what’s going on?”
Marshal comes to my rescue, exclaiming, “Shid braddah! I thought we lost you too!”
What, how, where—. Marshal didn’t die, I’m sure of it. He’s hardy, and he got away with the evacuees. I slowly come to my senses as I cast them about, feeling outward with my silent sonar. I’m at the head of a procession that’s aimed vaguely west by southwest, after seemingly having traveled south by southwest along the mountainside for some time. The ground is beginning to get marshy, swampier than the usual Rayileklian turf. I blink dumbfounded. Did we somehow meet up with the Aasimovian refugees? Did Keeley somehow survive?
Marshal nudges Keeley aside, and guides her away from me momentarily, as he states, “She’s just worried about you. Says you’d better come to the campfire for dinner. Get your head on straight. Really braddah, she couldn’t take losing you too. Not after Jonesy. That’s all. That’s why she’s so hard, angry. I know you’re not exactly a kid, but Kay, she thinks of you as one. Can’t stand a kid what puts themselves in danger, or what can’t take care of themselves.”
I stare at Marshal’s mouth stupidly as he talks, barely comprehending what he’s saying. I lick my dry, cracked lips with a sticky, nearly shriveled tongue, “But—. Alive?”
Marshal nods emphatically, responding as he walks away, “Of course, my Kay is a hard gal to kill! But, well. It took some sacrifice, to um, keep her with us. Shid she was pissed when she found out. Maybe ask Santiago about it.”
Tiago. A friend. A living friend. One that could respond to me. I glance about frantically, coming more and more to my senses. Despite my emaciation, and hysteria, all I want to do is see one friendly face, one that can comfort me, tell me something about this journey having been worth it. My eyes wet with what scant few precious tears they can muster. I’m dehydrated despite the constant drizzle, due to its acidic nature. There’s effectively a tent-town ahead of me, sprawling for miles and miles. The Aasimovians had to wait for us, they have to mudcamp, and can only make a few miles a day, and it’s going to be worse as they try to cross the Jaggedfen Bog. We have to track down and slay the—. I have to track down and slay the hydra first. I have duties, a responsibility to people that I care about. Snap the hell out of it Reggie, get your head together!
The weight of responsibility seems to drop heavily into my chest, crushing the already unbearable burden of guilt and despair. The prior two weights fall to the side before settling in the pit of my stomach, with a new priority emotion overriding them. Whatever it takes to move forward Reggie. Whatever it takes.
I erratically, weakly dash around to the best of my ability. I don’t know how many days it was, I don’t know if I practiced any runes. I’m so lost. I just want to see Tiago’s face before I head off to hunt a hydra. I just want some words of encouragement from a friend. I bump facefirst into Mairess Du Pon De Brook’s hip, and nearly topple over.
Harriet gasps upon seeing my state, asking, “Hero Shellcracker, what on Rayileklia happened to you? Where’s the rest of the band of heroes? Wh— Your expression. Loss, despair. Oh no. You poor soul.”
With that, my emotions are laid bare, vulnerable, raw, for anyone to see. I weep openly, on my knees in the mud, in front of her honorable Mairess. The gathered are thankfully kind enough to mostly mind their own business, save for a few familiar faces.