#alainne

(ft. a guest appearance from @lance-of-fury‘s Alainne Witte and associated faerie)

“Okay, everyone ready?”

Nova sat hunched over the controls of her new magitek cycle, a gift from her adopted father that she only had a limited amount of time riding. Naturally, though, given her adrenaline-junkie-ness, the first thing she’d done was find a long, straight patch of road where she could open it up. What was the point of having something fitted with a giant engine if you didn’t go fast?

“’m good,” Alainne chirped. The dark-haired hyur was behind her on the bike’s seat, arms wrapped tightly around her waist and head resting on her hunched shoulders where she could get at least something of a view of what was happening in front of them. “Whenever y’are.”

The two faeries that were orbiting them settled down, one onto each of Alainne’s shoulders. Sophie, Nova’s sullen partner, was content to just watch in silence. Giselle, Alainne’s, was curious about the whole thing. “This seems incredibly unsafe. How fast does this thing go, anywa-”

As soon as everyone was settled, Nova kicked the bike into gear and opened the throttle, leaving Giselle’s question to trail off into a terrified “-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAHH!”

Alainne let out a wordless shriek of what Nova thought was more glee than terror. The biggest surprise of the three, though, was Sophie, who joined Alainne in excitement. “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

----

A couple of miles and a couple of extremely freaked-out farmers later, Nova finally slowed the bike down and pulled off at a clearing at the side of the road, leaving its ceruleum engine to idle itself down with a rumble. She let Alainne dismount and then hopped off herself, and was immediately met by the dark-haired hyur hurtling into her arms, laughing. “That was awesome, holy shite!”

Sophie soared around them in ever-widening circles, cackling her tiny head off. “I’ve never gone so fast! I love it, can we do it again?”

Finally came Giselle, wobbling her way away from the bike and alighting on the ground, where she let out a noise like a cat ejecting a hairball and vomited sparkles everywhere.

“Didn’t know faeries could get nauseous,” Nova mused as she lowered Alainne to the ground and glanced up at the excited Sophie, who had just done a barrel roll. 

No matter where you set up, what you grew, or how long you have been at the trade, there is one thing that a farmer never wishes to see, no matter the circumstances. That something is wilted plants.

Unfortunately for Alainne and her family, it seemed that this was the case, if only for one section of their crops.

A strong hand gingerly cups a wilted sprout in her palm. Alainne’s lightly tanned skin contrasted sharply to the green-black of the dead stalk; usually, the colours were far more vibrant and lovely. These plants in particular were supposed to be beanstalks (beans were but one of the many fruits and vegetables Alainne’s family’s farm grew, but she found herself drawn to them around these times, if only for the nostalgia of bean-filled stews as the colder months soon approached). But they had not grown into the towering stalks they were supposed to. They withered and fell before their time.

There was a form of poetry in that, contemplating the life and death of plants. But she was no poet, and never would be. She had to take a tactical approach to this, and figure out the cause. Setting aside her thoughts, she settles down onto hand and knee, pushing about within the dirt. Was it moles? No sign of molehills. Bugs? There were no bugs flitting around the area, save the ones attracted to dead and decaying material. Perhaps the soil was not as fertile as they thought? So many measurements were taken.

Battle was common to the scholars and marauders of Nym, but when fighting against voidsent, no one truly won.

Never had the Black Mages launched such a full-scale assault. Mhach, the city of darkness, one of the major empires of magic, had sent forth a host of their summoned hells-spawns yet again. Why they were so intent on destroying this island city-state, none could quite know; perhaps it was a natural tendency towards conquest, perhaps they saw some merit in enslaving Nym's people. Whatever the reason, the High Mages sent forth a veritable battalion against them this day...

And the outlook was not good.

CRASH! Wood splinters as an immense blade sunders a wooden gate. A gargoyle, a devilish, bipedal creature, brought its blade down without reservation. It led the charge against the Nymian outpost, relentless in its drive.

Green light swirls into being, wrapping around a hyuran form. It was a shield, borne of aether, a simple but incredibly effective spell. “GO!” a voice calls from the back lines- and forward the marauder charged, meeting the host head-on.

Roars tear through the air. Steel clashes against steel. The din of battle, a cacophonous roar that no other situation could possibly match.

It was in these times that Giselle was at her best.

A cry of pain echoes out from a distant source. A man had been struck by a devil's scythe, tearing through the thick leathers that shrouded his form. Twenty yalms off, a sparkle rises in the air; aether swirls into being around the man, sealing the laceration before blood even began to drip. The source? Giselle herself, one of the summoned Faeries of the Scholars. Her healing magic was without parallel; her bright orange, purple, and yellow form, evoking the rising sun, cut a unique figure in the grim dark of a battlefield.

She would notlet her countrymen suffer a moment longer than they had to. No, she had far too much pride, far too much sense of duty to let even a single soldier fall. Those selfsame magics are swung to the right, towards another axe-wielding fighter; restorative energies pour forth, a shudder wracking their form before a battle cry bursts out. Good. He would keep going- CRACK! His weapon sunders an imp's skull in a single blow.

Excellent.

“Giselle!” A voice from behind her. A small figure, tracing magicked geometry in a small book. A sweep of a pen sees further magics sent, a shield wrapping 'round a front-liner. “To the left flank- restorative maneuvers!”

A nod. Her summoner's word was law; swiftly does she flutter away, towards the commanded location.

And good that she did, for their forces were being forced back. Monstrous hell-hounds had pushed through this side- fighting men was one thing, for men were predictable, but animals were not. Even if they were animals of a demonic nature. Catching claws and snapping jaws bit through leather and metal alike; Nymian banners and tabards lie shredded on the ground. The gates were close to being breached.

Not on her watch. Forward does she fly, at the speed that only a mender on a mission could manage. Hands rise into the air as she does, sparkles scattering from her form. A glitterdust, so to speak- one hound whines, leaps back, for fear of the light. But the broken formation does not, No, it closes in on the faerie, bathing in that release of energy- and with a mighty shout, they are back into the fray. These gates would not-

“Faerie! We need you!”

Another voice, another soldier, this one by the gates themselves. Her movements shift in an instant, pivoting in the air to beeline for the one that called out. It was a man, holding a wounded woman close, his axe raised defensively. “Tend to her- she's hurt, bad.”

Giselle nods in response. Once more are hands brought together-

“LOOK OUT!”

That same man leaps forth, before Giselle. A dark spear had launched through the air- and were It not for the man's immediate intervention, she would have been impaled. No, it was him that was struck, horrid energies pulsating in the weapon that pierced his form. Eyes widen. Giselle had seen this before- but blood splattering on her small form, someone being run through...these never got easier. Down he falls, to knees- then his front.

“F-faerie, please...” It was the downed woman, this time, reaching forth with a bloodied hand. The life was leaving her eyes. Giselle had seen this before.

“Giselle!”

Her summoner, from far off.

“Giselle...”

The wounded soldier, but an ilm from the precipice.

“GISELLE!”

A bolt of energy burns towards her.

Her eyes snap shut-

–

“--iselle?”

A sharp gasp. One diminutive hand comes to the faerie's chest, breaths drawn in through hyperventilation. Bright eyes flick hither and thither. Where was she?

“Giselle? Oi!”

Books to the left. Papers to the right. A desk beneath her- when did she sit down on this desk? She did not remember; the last thing she remembered, she was fluttering through the air.

“Giselle! C'mon, girl, what's goin' on?”

Blink-blink. A deep breath is drawn in, slowly released. Before her was a familiar sight: that tanned, short-brown-haired, freckled Lominsan woman. Alainne, her summoner.

“I- ahem.” The faerie clears her throat, hand leaving her chest to sweep up through orange hair. “Pardon me.”

Only a few words, but it was enough to bring the midlander to frown. Concern quickly writ itself upon her features- an expression ill-suiting the upbeat farmgirl. “Y'sure? I ain't never seen y'space out like that b'fore...”

A quiet smile rises upon Giselle's lips. Wings flicking, she flutters into the air, drawing closer; a hand comes to rest on the significantly larger woman's shoulder. “Apologies. I was just...thinking of times long gone.”

To this, Alainne cants her head. “What, 'bout Nym? Y'know, y'really should tell me 'bout th'place one'a these days.” The easy smile, which took to her lips without a second thought, rises, warm and bright. “M'sure it'd help us both, yeah?”

Alainne could hardly remember the last meal she had with her family.

It had certainly been far too long. Mealvaan’s Gate was a demanding place; arcanists and assessors were often busy, and even with all the work that Alainne did, there was always something stacking up. She blamed all the shipments that came in...and all the so-called ‘privateers’ that brought so many items of ill repute. And tried to smuggle things between their legiitmate shipments.

An audible scoff erupts from her throat, lost in the wide-open air of La Noscea. This was not the time to think about that- right now, it was the time to think about the trek and what awaited her. She strode confidently down the roads, a beaten path struck by the trailblazers of eld and stamped down by Alainne many a time. Lower La Noscea was her stamping ground, after all- Cedarwood the place she was born and raised, and she was an outdoorsy girl. There was no better place to get fresh food than this area.

Tropical lands made for delicious, flavourful food; La Noscean soil was highly praised for its nutrient quality. Living on a farm as she did, she had firsthand experience with this fact. Her family never lacked for food, even with the size it was (none could say that Alainne’s parents were slackers, for they had five children including her). These meals were what she most looked forward to upon going home.

Hearty vegetables, crisp fruit, tall fields of grain, milk and eggs, dodo and beef and even buffalo on the good times. All of these fresh- and all whipped up into filling, practical delights by her mother.

GRRRMBL. On cue, her stomach begins to rumble. A hand slaps over it as if that would silence the sounds, then her eyes turn up. The farmstead was in sight, after a long, brisk walk. Muscled legs snap into a sharp sprint, Alainne carrying herself across the way in short order. At an arm’s length, she reaches to knock on the door-

And is knocked down by the one that opens it. “LAINNEY~!” the tackling body calls. Chiara, her younger sister, slamming bodily into her, sends the both of them tumbling to the ground.

“Chiara…!” a more meek voice calls. Even as Alainne laughs, she sweeps her younger sister’s head out of the way to see just who said that. In the doorway now stood five people: Kenward, the source of the meek voice, and her youngest brother. Oeric, her older brother, the Yellowjacket. Aedwynn, the eldest sister and Maelstrom sargeant. Bertred, her gruff and tough father...