Lord Thamaust d’Lyrandar’s ship was making good time on its return trip to Stormhome, considering he had ordered a course that circled Aerenal on the eastern side. The rumors of raiding pirates off the shore of Valenar and the fear of his wife’s and their unborn child’s safety if the pirates were encountered had driven him to this course. Even without charts on the waters, Thamaust pushed the ship at almost full speed. While reckless, he thought it prudent with their proximity of Argonnessen, and the deep water put him at ease with his decision. It was therefore surprising when his ship struck something, and struck it hard. He could hear the wood of the hull splinter standing on the bridge deck, and feel the ship come to a lurching stop. Crew members were yelling all over the ship, some reporting, while others were screaming out in fear. Thamaust tried to regain control of his crew, but a blast of flesh melting steam across the bridge left little of him standing, and the screaming renewed with pure fear.
Moments later, Tharliss staggered into the captain’s cabin, his left leg and arm partially melted. On the floor the first mate found the body of the captain’s pregnant wife, Vadilee, a bleeding wound on the side of her head. The ship shuddered under another impact; Tharliss could hear shattering wood and rushing water just below the cabin. He rushed to the side of Vadilee, quickly checking for life, and was relieved to find the faintest thread of life. Half carrying, half dragging Vadilee, Tharliss took her from the cabin to find the main deck in chaos; some of the crew was trying save the ship, from sinking and from the beast that was attacking them, while others were making for the water in hopes that it would be safer there. Tharliss knew there was no hope of saving the ship, the spears of the defenders were using merely bounced off the creatures hide, and what he could only assume was a shell. Not that there was many defenders left; every time it breathed steam, a handful of them was left squirming in agony on the deck. That left escape as their only course of action, and escape they did, even as hobbled as they were, they managed to slip into the sea.
It was Sauriv-Isk’s turn at patrolling the coast. To him it was a waste of a day, because nothing happened on the patrols, but the war-chief said it was necessary, so here he was. For the fourth time that morning, Sauriv contemplated a swim, but as usual he shook away the idea; getting caught would mean a lashing. Onward he walked; rounding a corner to see a bit of fresh wreckage had washed ashore. He approached it with both caution and interest; maybe today wouldn’t be a total loss. Within he found not treasure, but bodies and they looked dead, one was even bloated; but is there anything of value on them? With high hopes, he went to search the bodies over. To his surprise the bloated body wasn’t bloated, it was pregnant and alive! Sauriv hurried to the other poor soul, but he had already expired. With haste born of excitement, he carried his sodden bundle back to the village.
Today marked Kosj-Gix’s twentieth year of life. Twenty years since she had been pulled from her dying mother’s womb, twenty years being raised by a tribe that was not her own, twenty years proving her name to any who thought it needed proving, twenty years leading to this day, the day she became a true member of the tribe, the day she joined her first raid.
The raid was going well; we had slipped past the Bringers’ patrols unnoticed and we were nearing the village’s perimeter, when the world exploded in fire. Howls of pain rise from all around, including me. The fire had pierced even the speakers’ blessings, causing small burns and scalding lungs with the hot air. I tried to clear the spots from my eyes and find our ambushers, while some of the other adepts loosed swath of lightning into the trees, for which they received cries of surprise in return. From the trees burst a wave of bodies with skin painted red and weapons in hand. Our raiding group was outnumbered nearly four to one, but not a one of us made to flee; instead we formed up into a ring, backs to the center, and waited for the charge with empty hands. We had trained for fights like these, small as our tribe is; we are used to being outnumbered. As the Bringers charged us, I and the few adepts among us who had yet to loose their lightning, did so, dispatching a handful of the warriors midstride; the fight was then upon us in earnest. Instruments of death sought our blood, but more often than not it was denied to them by a quick dodge or a swift block; a few even drank of their owner’s blood, having been snatched out of their grasp and used against them. With each dodged attack ground is given though, and the circle grows tighter and tighter until we are touching shoulder to shoulder. It was then I felt the heat of several smaller fiery explosions behind me. I turned to find a full third of the remaining Walkers rolling on the ground with flames clinging to them, Dragon’s Breath is what they had used, the bastards. Our leader shouted orders; we would be holding the line, though it was near collapse and we would in all likelihood die in doing so. As I turned to take my place at the gap, I was struck down; it felt as if my whole back had been flayed open. Laying there on the ground, my lifeblood leaving my body, drifting between the dark and light, my vision started to blur with a whiteness, the combatants slowly fading from view and then I knew no more.
I woke in a building, it smells of herbs and a haze of smoke is in the air. I am lying face down on a hide bed, my back is stiff and I am covered with something. I try to rise but a voice stops me, it is one of our village healers, I had made it back, but how? Seeing the healer’s face, I recognize her as one of the lower speakers. The healer helps me up into a sitting position and starts to explain what happened. She spoke of a fog that had come out of nowhere providing cover for a successful retreat, wounded and all. I wanted to know more, but she said there was a more important matter to attend to. She explained that while tending my wounds she had found my tattoo. Knowing of no tattoo, I accused her of lying. Taking a mirror from the table, she showed me the scrawled lines on my back. It was impossible, it had to be; I tried to explain that nothing had ever marked my skin. The healer looked skeptical, but still explained the markings are forbidden by the dragons; I would be surely slain when they came to light. I tried to get up, to leave, to escape this nightmare, but the healer’s hand on my shoulder kept me seated. She said there was a way I could avoid such a fate, but I had to leave behind all I had worked for. My choices being what they were, I was all but forced to flee; and so I did.
As Kosj left the healer’s hut, the face of the healer broke into a smile; things had gone as planned, now to seal her fate. With a wave of her hand, a body identical to that of the healer was revealed, lying in a pool of blood on the floor, with a bone knife in its chest; a knife that few would fail to notice belonged to a certain now missing tribe member.
