lost to fate

more than anything else the human child is doing to get his attention, it’s the underhanded insult that gives naesala pause, and as the rest of his flock continues on, feathers melding with the permeating darkness of the late night sky, he turns to face the other, the distance between them now great enough that he’s confident in his ability to evade any other tricks the mage might throw at him. he speaks well enough? so he’s been assumed on par with a simple beast, then, is it? unsurprising, but not what he had anticipated hearing here, given that he is not even in tellius.

glancing down at the amulet encased beneath his arm, naesala raises an eyebrow. ❝ what, this? ❞ taking the chance now to look over the mage more closely, he assumes that perhaps he is in charge of guarding the object in question. they had been told that their theft might meet with some small resistance, but neither he nor their contractor could have foreseen the fire breaking out, he supposes.

under normal circumstances, he would be willing to be looser with the cargo; whoever offers the better deal for it gets the prize. this time, however, the foreboding feeling from before returns to him; his intuition is enough to warn him that the grima’s tear he holds is no toy. what’s to say letting this boy have it wouldn’t be akin to handing lehran’s medallion over to the mad king? ( then again, what’s to say that returning this to his client as promised wouldn’t be, either? )

❝ sir? ❞ one of the men calls from behind, realizing he’s not following.

❝ stay where you are for now, ❞ he replies, and the flock halts mid-flight, hovering some stretch of meters behind him. he turns his attention back to the boy. ❝ and tell me, why should i give this to you? you didn’t even ask nicely. ❞

The tactician can’t help but puff his cheeks up a bit at that response. Ask nicely? Him? The absolute gall this creature had. If only he had something on hand to deal with someone airborne. A bow, a wyvern... ugh, he’d have to hope he could strike with magic.

“Why would I ask?” He huffs. Perhaps it’s because he looks tiny standing amid the flames or maybe it’s the fact that he still looks like a child, but it’s clear he’s not being taken seriously enough for his liking. Something is uttered under his breath about how ridiculously cocky the dumb beast is being and it doesn’t help his image that he’s almost pouting about it.

Instead, he’s stumped on how to handle this situation. Talking man-birds are outside his realm of experience and the usually quick-on-his-feet tactician is left scraping for answers. Clearly it won’t simply be handed over and if the man, creature, whatever learns of the power imbued in the trinket he won’t be likely to let it go.

Especially if he has any inkling of Morgan’s identity.

having obtained what they came here for and having an inkling of ill things to come should he hold onto this jewel for longer than necessary, naesala is eager to take wing and head back to the rendezvous point; the sudden outbreak of fire had been convenient, but they’d better not try their luck and risk their own lives. what treasure they had already stolen is plenty, and the payout for this small trinket is more than enough to satisfy him. just as he’s about to give the order to sortie, however, a soft whoosh sound – nearly inaudible over the roaring flames – to his side and the glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye has him reacting on instinct —

and just quickly enough to avoid the brunt of a flux spell that clips the tips of his wing, shredding a couple of feathers and scraping with the hint of dark magic’s burn against his side, a graze that would have been more painful had he not moved as he had. the spell passes between him and the ravens in front of him harmlessly, and he turns in the stirring alarm of the flock, dark eyes narrowing to scan the debris for any sign of the attacker.

❝ oho, a fierce little mage, ❞ he says with a faint smile at the sight of the boy tucked behind a yet-untouched shack, the illumination of flickering flame betraying his shadow. curious; dark magic is not particularly common in tellius, but the boy’s origins are of little concern to him. he assumes that he is trying to defend the village, perhaps, but whatever the case, they don’t have much time to spare. ❝ apologies, but i can’t stay around. fly, darkwings! the sooner this is out of my hands, the better. ❞

                   in a flurry of wings, the ravens take to the air again,                    though naesala keeps one eye on the boy in case he                    decides to try his luck again.

      The first spell is so readily avoided and the tactician moves from his hiding spot to get a better look at the thief. Magic rises around him once more as he focuses on their supposed leader, lips pursed to a frown as he utters the second spell, this time adjusting for the beast’s apparent reflexes.

      Multiple dodges would hopefully only improve his calculations on where to fire but at as the creatures were airborne and growing further by the moment that was a luxury the boy did not have.

       Perhaps then he should cease the attack. He moves his sleeve from his mouth, risking to inhale the smoke as he shouts after the laguz.

so long as none try to stop them, no lives are taken. the ravens are not murderers ( contrary to popular belief ) nor heralds of death, though naesala has often taken amusement in the folk tales his kind have bred among the humans; he can’t be blamed that his people have always been opportunists. most of the screaming humans avoid them, more concerned with preserving their lives than fending off the scavengers, && so they are left free to pillage what they can, coming away from crumbling houses with precious jewels and other rare items and trinkets, many of them of little use to laguz, but worth a pretty penny in the human market.

he, too, is in the fray, shaking some dust && soot from his feathers before passing off a small trunk of rarities to one of his men. the shadowed faces of those passing by go unnoticed, as well as the watchful eyes of the young boy tucked away in the shadows.

                                             ❝ king naesala! we’ve found the jewel! ❞

turning, he spies the dazzling pendant perched on the luxurious cushion, protected by a thick casing, likely reinforced by magic. how such a priceless piece had come to reside in this little town is beyond him, but he doesn’t care, so long as the bauble he has been hired to pilfer is now in his grasp. grima’s tear. the midnight purple, nearly obsidian jewel gleams with a sinister feeling, not unlike lehran’s medallion. hmph. the sooner this is out of his hands and replaced by gold, the better. ❝ good. let’s withdraw, then. ❞

Wait.

Wait one Naga-damned minute!

     The token glimmers in the distance through the flames, its dark aura resonating with the young tactician that hides nearby. So they are naught but thieves looking jewels to resell, perhaps? He’s not sure -- he’s never come to understand the Taguel and these creatures here seem at least a bit similar, capable of speech as they were.

      Most interesting was the leader, addressed by ‘king’. Royalty attacking a village like a lowly soldier - Morgan would have mocked them had he not been in the same position, a prince acting as a lowly bandit. The difference in his mind was he was a man, not some beast.

      Quickly he slunk forward from cover to cover before raising his hand and beginning to utter words of the arcane under his breath.

‘Come forth that which reflects the light and clip the wings of my foe.’ A simple Flux spell made to draw the lead’s attention and perhaps hit him unawares (for he was unsure of how acute the birds’ senses for magic were), the tendrils of dark slithering up before striking forward towards the King.

well. though the smile flickers from thin lips && fades, it does not necessarily do so out of displeasure; rather, the centers of black eyes flicker with muted surprise, a discerning wit perceiving the unfolding chaos before him – sharp, like the first flint preceding embers. what is at first a singular, localized blaze quickly leaps across the thatched rooftops of the meager village and grows to a roaring conflagration, the mirror of which soon rises to dance in reflection, obscuring the inky feathers of the avians against the backdrop of swallowing darkness.

❝ sir, what are we going to do now? ❞ one of the men by his right wing asks, turning to glance at him. this is something they had not expected, and whether this is an accidental fire or one brought about by intentional arson is of little consequence. 

after a moment of thought, a subtle smile replaces the look of contemplation on corvid’s face, && the lowering of arms from their pensive position, the subtle fluff of feathers preparing for flight, indicate that he has reached his decision. ❝ we’ll proceed as planned. find the jewel, but help yourselves to what cargo you can. if these humans are going to leave their possessions behind, then it’s fair to say they’ve lost their claim to them. ❞

❝ right you are, sir! ❞ rallying, the other ravens shift forms and begin their descent upon the blazing village, a cloud of corsairs by midnight. naesala follows too, && amidst the tapestry of flame, the gleam of their talons flash like reapers’ sickles, solitary and instantaneous.

     The first of the black feathers that drifts down, iridescent among the light of the flames, is what initially alerts Morgan to the unexpected thieves. Large birds unlike any he’s seen before swoop down through the night and smoke, tearing through anything in their wake.

He makes a note of this: They are dangerous creatures.       It matters not to him at this moment; more corpses leave more for him to raise with the unholy arts, more bodies to create an inhuman shield. Although magic and swordsmanship are both skills he’s honed he is still lithely built, not one to engage in combat where he hasn’t calculated himself the victor.

      For now he keeps himself hidden from the creatures, trying to make sense of their intent. They do not seem to be striking without reason and that is when he notes it -- they are looting. Interesting.

If they are so inconsiderate of others perhaps parlay could be made.

Regularly, she would not be so foolish as to reply to a voice in the air: Robyn knew far better than to make unnecessary noise when the area was so overrun by enemies barely visible in the distance. But the voice was so unmistakably human that she couldn’t help herself - whether it was curiosity or her own stupidity that compelled her to do so though, she had yet to decide. “… Yes,” she called back decidedly, squinting through the mist. 

And then, as if to spite herself, she added a dry quip. “If you’re not hostile, that is.”

She reached for her tome, spell at the ready, hands poised. “If you’re coming over here, you should keep both hands up. And don’t… attack me,” she finished, as if the second part were an afterthought. A very dumb afterthought, but relevant nonetheless.

     Truthfully, he had expected no one to respond. Left hand trailing along the wall he sought to use the tried-and-true method to solve a labyrinth and find the exit. When the voice called back he froze in his tracks at the familiar tone.

Was that a hallucination?

     Tentatively Morgan shuffled forward in the sound’s direction. Keep both his hands up? He could hardly stand with how disoriented he was. Ah, but it was a good stipulation -- and he had no inclination to attack a person willing to help, especially if they were not a figment of his imagination.

“Hah... I think I’m a little too dizzy to attack!” He returned the quip although his  exhausted tone carried with it light tints of amusement. Slowly he worked his way forward until he slowly made sense of Robyn’s shape through the mist, a familiar figure dressed in a coat near identical to his own.

Could it really be? Certainly he was hallucinating now -- must be that bump on the head! There was no way he had become so lucky.