The deer spun around, searching for the archer, and another arrow ricocheted off its wide antlers. A mass of black cloaks and pale, gangly bodies - more and more of them fighting against each other - making it difficult to find its quarry. It flinched back as another arrow carved a half-inch deep gash into its legs, but this time it was able to follow the projectile’s trajectory. A lanky nizirtu, sporting a pair of long, nearly silver-colored horns, held a battered recurve bow. An angry grimace split his face, revealing a row of wickedly sharp teeth, as the creature reached for another arrow.
Stamping its foot on the ground, the deer charged recklessly. Its own shards cut at its hooves and feet, but it ignored them. The arrow thudded into its flank, but it ignored that too, as it leapt toward the being. It dodged to the left, raking a long dagger down the deer’s side, but the nizirtu’s speed was not enough to escape. Spinning around with an unnatural deftness, the deer’s tines dug into his rib cage and got tangled up. Shaking its head furiously, the deer beat the man against the ground until he stopped moving.
It struggled briefly to remove the corpse from its rack; then, giving up, it dashed back to where its ally had fallen. The Djinn lay sprawled across the ground, surrounded by a pool of blood. A long, black shaft stuck out of his torso, but the head of the arrow was buried too deep to be seen. Clamping its teeth around the shaft, the deer struggled to yank the arrow out. It came reluctantly, the barbed head ripping and tear at the flesh, and the deer stopped its efforts. Nudging its head against the bag lying next to him, it tried to knock a potion out; one finally fell, and it snatched up in its mouth. It had no thumbs to open the potion, so it did the only thing it could. Bashing the bottle against the ground until the glass neck snapped, it poured the sweet liquid over its face and hoped he’d swallow.
Then its limbs began to tremble and with a pained gasp, Ihra fell to her knees. Selene’s Grace. The wounds she’d received as a deer vanished along with the fur and hooves, but the pain lingered on. Her hands unconsciously clutched at her side, where the archer had torn her open, but there was no blood there. Her eyes dropped to the pool of blood she was kneeling in, and her focus snapped back. Rā’imu.
The man’s face was covered in sticky, pink fluid and bits of broken glass, but she could see how dreadfully pale his skin had become. He lost so much blood. Fishing a potion out of her bag, she poured it properly down his mouth, before gingerly lifting his chest off the ground and propping him against her long. “It’s alright. Just get this arrow out of you.”
With her mind no longer addled, she grabbed hold of the shaft and, rather than trying to pull the arrow out, pushed it deeper in. She murmured soothingly as he groaned, but her hands held steady and slowly but the barbed head emerged from his back. As soon as the metal barbs were fully freed, she broke the head off and slid the rest of the shaft out. Sensing a presence approaching behind her, her hand snapped to her bow and she whirled around.
“Easy.” Nēs̆u held his hands up. He walked with a slight limp, favoring his left leg, but otherwise seemed unharmed as he bent down beside her and Rā’imu.
“Where are the others?” She asked.
“Headed towards the rope bridge,” he grunted. “For some reason, the cultists and nizirtū suddenly turned on each other, like we weren't even here. I don't know what happened, but it gave them a chance to regroup and they decided to leave.”
She frowned. Their departure was certainly inconvenient, but she couldn't really find it in herself to condemn them. Asking them to die in a conflict they had no real stake was just too much. “Can you blame them?” she replied.
“Nah." Nēs̆u grimaced. "I would have done the same back in my days in the Guard. But that’s why I came looking for you. If you and the little lord want to leave, now’s your chance.”
Ihra started to shake her head. “Jasper won’t want to-“ She lurched her to her feet, spilling Rā’imu on the ground, as she remembered the Seraph. “Wait, where is he?”
“You don’t see it?”
“See what?”
Nēs̆u pointed behind her and she spun around. A hundred feet further down the temple, a large, circular crater now occupied the middle of the road.
“He fell, Ihra. He summoned something huge-“
“The Ophan?” she asked, immediately remembering the terrifying creature Jasper had summoned in Kār-Kuppû.
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“Maybe?” Nēs̆u shrugged. “Never seen its like before, but whatever it was, it was powerful. It seemed like they might even beat the odds and win but then…” He hesitated. “I’m not really sure what happened. I could only catch glimpses of the fight, but suddenly there was a huge explosion, and when I looked over, they had all disappeared - and a big chunk of the street with them. I can’t say for certain he died but…” the warrior trailed off. “It would’ve probably killed me,” he finished awkwardly.
A pulse of pain ripped through Ihra's chest as she stared at the gaping hole in the street. No. Not him. He can't have died. He wouldn't leave me alone. She barely even noticed dropping to her knees as she struggled to catch her breath, gasping for air that just didn’t seem to reach her lungs. She flinched as the Sicyan laid his hand on her back, but he patted her with a surprising gentleness.
“Slow and steady breaths, Ihra, slow and steady breaths.” As she fought to fight the panic, Nēs̆u continued. “You should leave, Ihra. Take the Djinn with you and follow the Moon-kissed to safety. I’m sure Jasper's uncle will make sure you’re okay.”
“No,” she rasped out. “Even if he died, I have to find his body. He came back once already. What if he comes back again, only to be eaten by one of those - by one of these things.” She couldn’t bring herself to speak of the dead gods.
Pity welled in his eyes. “Most people never resurrect, Ihra, and you know it gets less likely every time it happens.”
“But he will.” She responded fiercely. “Besides,” she tilted her head up at him. “Who are you to talk? You’re not planning on fleeing, are you?”
“No,” he admitted simply. “I vowed to protect Tsia with my life. I’ve failed in that oath once. I can't fail again.”
“Then you should understand,” she retorted. “I’m not leaving this city unless I’m certain he’s dead.”
The Sicyan didn’t try to dissuade her further. “Alright then. But what about him?” He nodded toward the Djinn who was still stretched out on the floor.
His usually pale skin was white enough to make a ghost envious and the wounds on his body were only half-healed, but the faint rise and fall of his chest indicated that life still lingered in him.
Ihra’s eyes darted to the bridge where the Moon-kissed warriors were already beating a hasty retreat. “Surely they’ll take him. Here, help me carry him.”
“I’m right here, you know.” The two started as Rā’imu spoke. His eyes fluttered half-open as he struggled to prop himself. His arm gave out beneath him the first time, but on the second attempt, he managed to half sit up. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re in no condition to continue.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed, boy.”
Nēs̆u and Ihra spoke overlapping, but the Djinn just scowled. “You’re not my father,” he snapped at the warrior, “and you,” his voice softened slightly as he turned to Ihra, “are not my nurse. Tsia is the last living family member I have any connection with at all. I can come with you, or I can trail in the shadows after you, but I am not leaving.”
“Fine.” The Sicyan snarled. “Get yourself killed. What do I care.” Offering a hand to Ihra, he helped her up and turned his back on the Djinn. “But we best get out of here before these scum stop fighting each other and finish us off.”
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Cloaked in the shadows of the cursed city, Barbartu watched as the Moon-kissed retreated across the rope bridge, back toward the safety of the upper city. For now. If Yas̆gah succeeded in her plan, she wasn’t so sure the city would survive.
Dismissing the warriors from her mind, she turned her attention back to the three members of Jasper’s party that remained - the Sicyan, the elfling, and a Djinn she didn’t recognize. The Sidhe was there too, lurking over them like a gargoyle, not that they noticed him. She watched impatiently as they made their way over to the hole and peered down. Damn it. Get a move on.
They lingered for a few minutes, clearly debating amongst themselves and then, pulling torches out of their bags, ventured into the darkness that swirled beyond the brethren’s braziers. As soon as they were out of sight, she scrambled over to the pit herself.
Hidden by her illusions, she allowed herself a small smile as she waltzed through the still-brawling cultists and nizirtū. That had been a stroke of brilliance on her part. She’d known the old Seraph would be waiting for Jasper - hell, she’d counted on it. But the ambush by the nizirtū had been unexpected, and she’d quickly realized the group was about to be completely overrun.
Fortunately, the brethren and nizirtū were begrudging allies at best, both only playing nice with each other because of Yas̆gah. A few illusions, here and there, of them attacking each other was all that was needed to turn the fake bloodshed into something real as months of stored-up aggression burst their dams. Thankfully, it had been enough to save what remained of the Moon-kissed warriors.
She should have been celebrating, except Jasper had proven to be a little too successful. The Seraph was supposed to capture him and take him to Yas̆gah, where her little plot could finally be brought into play, but against all odds, he’d actually managed to bring the old mage to his knees. Barbartu had watched in disbelief as Jasper and his strange summon had beat the crap out of the mage, right up to the point of the explosion.
Sure, her plot called for him to die, but in the right way - in a way that would both benefit him and punish Yas̆gah. If he was dead, well...so were all plans. And I’ll be stuck here for even longer. Picking up her pace, she raced toward the hole. His party was going to take the long way down, but she’d just have to take a shortcut. Please be alive.