#viska lore

        “It’s common,” Ryu had told him. Iarere had tried to convince himself that the annoyance in her tone was imagined. “You’ll get over it once you’re powerful enough.”

        “You got them too?” Iarere had asked.

        “A long time ago,” Ryu had replied. And that had been the end of that conversation.

        Now, like then, Iarere shook the pain away. Now, like then, he had more important things to focus on. Especially since he could now hear Pythios moving around just outside.

        He gathered himself quickly enough, strapping his staff to his back as he made his way out of the small corner room Pythios and Chalah had been kind enough to let he and Ryu use. He knew if he turned his head to the left, he would see Chalah’s slumbering form, either gigantic or truly tiny, depending on whether he’d chosen his original or shifted form to sleep in that night. On the other hand, he could see Pythios’ slim shoulders directly in front of him.

        Pythios, unlike Chalah and Ryu, could easily look him in the eye when they were in their shifted forms. Iarere was unsure if he would consider either of Pythios or himself wildly tall in their shifted forms, but a slightly sour Chalah and Ryu had informed them that they definitely would.

        Now Pythios was leaning over the cache of herbs he kept, while Calandra slept on in one of his clinic's cots.

        Through his time as a healer, Iarere had been through many disappointing experiences. Patients who never fully recovered. Patients who died. And yet, Calandra had topped all of them in terms of sheer frustration. It had, Iarere was sure, something to do with the fact of her power. Her mind, her dreamscapes, and the spirits that hovered around and in it were like a third sun beaming down on him whenever he sunk into the dream world. It was impossible to ignore and so was she.

        “Eldan will be here soon,” Pythios said, without taking his eyes off his work. It was what he said everyday, as if Iarere wasn’t familiar with Eldan’s daily ritual by now. In fact, he was as aware of it as he was of Pythios’ next question. “Is Ryu here?”

        Iarere didn’t bother to hide his sigh. Eldan had taken an immense disliking to Ryu quite quickly. It was not undeservedly, though. Ryu had long seemed to harbor a distaste for Calandra. She refused to even get close to her and frequently eyed her as if she were a hydra. It took only moments of Eldan watching her do so to decide he disliked her and only a few moments after that for Ryu to decide that Eldan’s dislike of her amused her to no end. So, occasionally, when Ryu did feel like social situations were worth stomaching, she would loom in the corner of the room to quietly antagonize Eldan as much as possible.

        “She’s not,” Iarere said. “I don’t know where she went.”

        “You’re not worried, are you?” Pythios asked, his large earrings jingling as he turned around.

        “No,” Iarere said, and from the look on Pythios’ face, he could hear Iarere’s lie as easily as Iarere could taste in on his tongue.

        Eldan’s footsteps echoed outside the clinic and Iarere slid his staff from his shoulders and worried the worn wood under his hands as he moved quickly over to Calandra’s side. Eldan glanced suspiciously around the room before he entered slowly and hurried to Calandra’s side.

        “She’s the same,” Pythios said

Eldan’s face twisted into an ugly expression of pain, anger, and desperation and Iarere looked away. “She hasn’t done anything?”

“No,” Pythios said gently. “Iarere believes her mind was overloaded with Spirit power while she was performing the necessary ritual.” Iarere tried to ignore the glare Eldan shot him. “She’s physically healthy and seemingly stable. This coma is likely something her brain cooked up to allow her to rest while it deals with all the extra energy.”

“You think,” Eldan added on, under his breath. Pythios ignored him. Eldan’s lip curled at Pythios’ silence and he kicked the chair out so it made a piercing scrapping sound against the floor. He sat in it with a loud thump and Iarere couldn’t help but marvel at how childish Eldan looked as he then crossed his arms high up on his chest.

Pythios had started to wander off about half way through Eldan’s display. Iarere had never seen Pythios roll his eyes before, but he was entirely sure this was his way of doing so. Iarere pulled his gaze off the sulking Eldan and hurried after Pythios.

“He’s worried about her,” Pythios said softly when Iarere came to his side.

Iarere blinked. “I know.”

There was a beat of silence, and though Pythios didn’t look at him, he did cock his head ever so slightly as he asked, “how would you feel if it were Ryu?”

Iarere stared at him. He knew Pythios would never be intentially cruel. It simply wasn’t in his heart. He wouldn’t have asked that if he thought thinking about it would truly pain him. And, so, he must think it might not.

Did it? It shouldn’t. Ryu was the anthesis to what Iarere stood for. He was a healer. She was a murderer and a monster and worse. And she had never been particularly nice to him besides.

And yet his chest ached at the very thought.

Iarere could feel Pythios’ gaze on the side of his face now. The other did not speak again, but he made a humming noise, low and in the back of his throat. Iarere couldn’t tell what it meant, but it still made tears burn in the corners of his eyes.

And it hurt enough that Iarere failed to realize his headache had only become worse.

He continues along his path, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees a spirt flit past. It’s gone before he could make much out of it, but, still, he smiles. Spirits never travel alone, not for long. They’re drawn to each other, drawn to the spirit world, and drawn, most importantly, to the those who connected with them.

How long had it been since he had Devoured the mind of a Spirit Necromancer, he wondered as he followed the trails the spirit had left behind.

The slight scent of pure spirit magic filled his nostrils as he inhaled, and he immediately decided it had been too long.

He reached for the necromancers mind, ready for his hunger to be sated but…

His grasp slipped away from her mind, like claws slipping on wet stone. He turned his head and reached out once more. Again, he could not reach far, but the barrier flexed under his grasp.

Almos snorted in surprise and amusement both. It had been a long time since he had come across a Dream Caster, but even longer since he had found one this new. He could feel the freshness of the shield the Caster had erected, the hesitance which they had put into their magic.

Amusing, Almos thought. This Caster was so new, they… he, Almos noted as he brushed against the shield again, he likely could not even repel the weakest of Devourers. But, Almos mused, here he was, standing a successful guard over the only Spirit Necromancer Almos had come across in more years than he cared to count. So how…

And then he felt it.

“Of course,” Almos said, as he turned. “He is not the protector.”

“No,” the other Devourer said. The blackness that signified what she was did not move, but the certain shade of red that indicated who she was wavered ever so slightly. Almos idly remembered he had been a dark green, before. He doubted there would be anything left but blackness now.

“I recommend you leave, now,” the other Devourer said. Ryu, Almos realized. She curled her lip. “Now, Almos.”

Ah. She was impressive. New, just like that Caster, but much more powerful. “Interesting,” Almos said. “I would ask why a Devourer would protect one of those with the Spirits, but I do believe I already know.”

“Enough games,” Ryu said. “You are to leave, and never return. I will not ask again.”

“You are strong for you age,” Almos said and he let what he was unfurl across the ground underneath their feet. “But you know you cannot match me in power.”

“Perhaps,” Ryu said, and Almos abruptly realized there would be no displays of power on her side. “But I am willing to Seal this place. And I doubt you will go that far. Now. Leave.”

Almos’ tail struck real ground and cold, sharp air pressed against his physical lungs. He sat up and snarled his fury into the night’s sky.

Eventually, calm set in again, and a smile crept on his face. Interesting indeed. Almos wasn’t looking to get caught up in a Seal, no. He had escaped far too many of those already. But there were ways to get around a Seal, no matter how often his younger Dream Walkers continued to insist on using it as the last resort.

Almos’ legs shook as he stood, and his unused muscles cried out in distress. Irritation welled inside him, but he pushed it away, along with the pain. There would be plenty of time to remedy that one his journey.

After all, it was a long way to the Wrymwound.

Her clan had been small, some of those very few willing to brave the Hewn City’s horrors as part of their daily lives. But, they had been powerful. They had built a castle that stood in the City as a shining beacon of safety and light, there to offer protection to any who would seek it.

One of Arista’s very first memories was of the bright light that shone from her own hands and the beautiful flowers that bloomed around her feet. She had stared at it all in wonder and asked her mother what it was.

“The powers of creation,” her mother had told her, “second only to the Lightweaver, my love.”

The first time Arista had reached out and touched the Shade, it was like fire had danced up her arm and through her heart. She had cried out in pain and the light died and fell away, turning into a monstrous black. The Shade laughed at her, its voice broken and twisted.

Her mother pulled her back and hugged her close as Arista cried. “I’m so sorry,” her mother had said. “I will tell you everything now, if you want to hear it.”

Arista hadn’t asked. She hadn’t had to.

Ever since then, she had clenched her hands or dug her claws into the ground before she had let her powers slip through again. Hesitation, one that both her parents assured her was completely normal, made her faulter in her actions.

It was something she would live to regret.

They chained her in front of the body of her parents. They crushed her mother’s crown into dust, but let the one on her head stay as a sign of their strength. And then, they took her.

One of the dragons who had fled into the castle’s protection had been whispering the secrets of Arista’s clans into the ears of those that had taken her. They had told them of what she could do, of the beauty she could create, and her captors, who loved being surrounded by beauty like nothing else, began to demand it of her.

But she couldn’t. She would try, and everything around her would wilt and die. Eventually, they locked her away in disgust, only bringing her out and parade her around in front of those who did not believe their victory over her clan.

She despised the chains around her wrists, but she despised the never ending darkness and loneliness of her cell far more. She practiced instead of wallowing by herself until she was finally able to bring her powers under control. The next time she was brought out as a prized Boran, she showed off her newfound control in a stunning display of beauty that forced even their king into an awestruck silence.

After that, they never imprisoned her again. They let her out, mooning over her beauty, and keeping her under their claws. They demanded only the most gorgeous displays of her power, and every time, she obliged. She let them all demand whatever they wished, until one of them finally demanded she talk a walk with them in the moonlight. When he tried to demand she make the most beautiful flowers bloom by moonlight, she turned her magic dark and ugly and silenced his demands forever.

She was wrenched from the nightmare by quiet breaths and near silent footsteps. A hand reached for her mouth in an attempt to silence her before the assassin bled her from her neck, but she grabbed their wrist first.

There would be no beauty here tonight.

Kioske’s vision went a blinding white, and memories, now mocking, whispered past his ears. His confession, one night, and the way Arista’s warm hands had gripped his shoulders.

“I promise you,” she had whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

And she had taught him, showed him ways to bring the Shade to heel. Crafted arrowheads out of a power that would force the Shade back and even kill it, and showed him how to make more of his own.

In the prison of his mind, his father’s voice laughed at him as he swore Kioske could never escape, but it was his uncle’s weak, tired voice that whispered his disappointment that caused tears to spring to Kioske’s eyes.

He had an arrow notched before he even realized. His hands shook as the Shade that leapt from Arista’s control tore the intruder in half.

Arista’s blonde braid was messier than he had ever seen it. Parts of it were still the mane of her dragon’s form, and it hit the side of her neck with a loud smack as she spun to face him.

“Kioske,” she breathed, and gone was the darkness that had sprung from her claws. Kioske felt his stomach churn. How easy it was for monsters to hide in plain sight.

“When I put this through your head,” Kioske said. “Will it actually kill you, or were you lying about that too?”

Tears formed at the corner of Arista’s eyes. “I’m not a Shade-beast, Kioske,” she said. “And even if I was, that would still kill me.”

He should really take the shot. “You lied to me,” he said instead.

Arista hesitated for no longer than a heartbeat before she spoke. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want to, but you don’t know… I haven’t told you…”

Her fists clenched and Kioske’s grip on his bow tightened until he could feel his bones grind together. She, slowly, unclenched her fists and stared at him.

“Kioske,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I lied, and I’m sorry you found out like this, but I am not going to die here. I won’t let you kill me.”

“And you think, knowing what you know about where I come from, I’m just going to let a thing like you live?”

Arista leaned forward, her golden eyes bright. “You don’t know what I am, Kioske,” she said. “Please, I promise you I’m nothing like any Shade-creature you’ve seen before. Put down the bow, and I can explain--”

Kioske took the shot.

He stared as Arista’s mouth fell open, as the arrow cut through the air on a straight path to the center of her chest. Blinding light exploded and that was the last thing he saw.

Kioske woke with a weight on his chest. He blinked unconsciousness out of his eyes as quickly as he could, and looked down. A red-tinged rock sat firmly on his torso. Something sharp dug into his skin, and he winced and closed his eyes.

His concentration did its best to scorn him, and stay out of his grasp. But eventually, he brought it under control, and before his blood could stain the Wasteland’s soil redder than it already was, he was in his dragon’s form.

The rock slid easily off his chest then, and he pushed himself to his feet, muttering a quick spell to close the shallow gash in his side.

Gone was the cave he and Arista had spent the last few nights in. He squinted against the sun’s harsh rays and sent quick thanks to the Plaguebringer for his safety; looking around, it was hard to believe the entire cave had been decimated and he had still survived.

Finally, his gaze fell on Arista’s body. Whether she had managed the shift before her death, or if her body had naturally returned to the same form she was hatched in upon her death, Kioske did not know, but Arista’s corpse was that of a Pearlcatcher’s.

She had fallen backwards with the force of the arrow and the explosion and her wings were splayed completely out. The arrow had buried itself in her chest. Where she had fallen was ringed in a bright, yellow light imprinted into the earth that still gleamed ever so slightly in the sun. Regret might have stirred in Kioske’s numbed body then, if he had not looked closer. As it was, his eyes caught on the very edges of the ring, were the light abruptly gave way to black.

As it was, Kioske did not stop to mourn what he told himself was a falsity of a friend. As it was, Kioske spread his wings and took to the sky.

If he stayed just seconds longer, he would have seen her chest rise.

Chains did not live. Her power did not work on them, and so they were much more difficult to slip.

When she crossed to the land of Shadow, it became easier. Those used to living in the Light would not be able to so easily tell the difference from Shadows naturally dark wildlife and the dead ones she left in her wake. She could tell, of course, for the ones that were on her conscious were always a little duller than the rest.

Once she made it through the Shadows and to the Plague, her heart beat easier. Dening to go through the land of darkness was bad enough in the minds of those who would chase her, but the land of filth? None of them would dare step foot there.

Finally, a reprieve of the fear that had dogged her steps. She knew it was not wise, but she could not help the increasing lightness she felt in her heart. And she smiled, too, for now the wildlife would not die beneath her touch. No, even the tough, harsh life of the Wasteland began to flower.

One day, she knelt, amongst the weeds of the Contagion. She brushed her fingers, gently, across one, and closed her eyes, content, when it began to sprout small, sickly green buds.

“You are no Nature dragon.”

She stood, her hand flying to the scrap of cloth that covered her eyes. A quick, whispered spell was all she needed to see through it.

He was small, much smaller than she, but she was still weak and his muscle definition was plain to see. A hard fight, certainly, but not yet one she would deem impossible. She tensed as his hands came up, but he simply raised them to be level with his head, uncurled his fingers, and smiled.

“I’ve never seen anyone do that who's born element wasn’t Nature in the Plaguelands,” he said.

His eyes were the glowing red of the Wasteland, but her eyes found the bird that calmly rustled its feathers on its perch on the brim of his hat.

“You know many Nature dragons?” she asked. Her voice cracked from disuse.

He tilted his head and a flash of sorrow crossed his face. “I did,” he said. The bird let out a sad squawk.

He took his first two steps forward slowly, his hands still raised. She backed a half step away, but did not try to stop him when he knelt beside her. He cupped his hand over the weed she had touched, and closed his eyes tightly.

When he pulled his hand away, the buds had sprouted into full bloom, though they hadn’t lost their sickly coloring. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Where do you learn this?” she asked.

“A friend taught me, as a child,” he said. Like the buds, disappointment bloomed inside her chest. “I think she just wanted me to have a little life in my childhood.”

He stilled, then, and she quickly made the choice to not ask him about that strange statement. He brushed his hands on his robe, and stood.

“I never took to it all that well. I’m glad I still remember how to do it at all.” Before she could say another word, he stretched out a hand. “I’m Kioske,” he said.

She curled her fingers behind her back and didn’t take his hand. But she smiled.

“I am Arista,” she said.

And while both in life and death, they had been nothing but stains on the Plaguebringer’s legacy, it was clear to Andra there was one in this little story that had been anything but.

Her name was Valdis. Andra had seen her but a few times before she had unleashed her attack. She didn’t know how she had missed Valdis’ obvious power when she had walked among them, but Andra was now sure she had never seen one with such power before.

But of course, sheer power did not mean what some thought it did. Strength and power were not always the same, though they did hold hands more often than not. There were always ways to gain more power, but true strength, that was something else entirely.

In the end, Valdis had been driven off, her work taken, and she was weaker for it. Yes, she had wrought destruction in her wake, but that was common place. None of her plans had come to fruition because for all the power she had wielded, Valdis had lacked true strength.

Laughter. “Is that all you truly think of me?” Her voice echoed throughout the room, as a heavy mist filled the space.

Andra did not turn. “You failed,” Andra said. “You were barely able to keep your life.”

Valdis sounded nothing but amused. “Actually, I wasn’t able to keep my life,” Andra snorted in disgust, “but as all knowing as you pretend to be, you don’t seem to even have an inkling of what my plans truly were.”

“Disgracing the Plaguebringer’s name with your death was your plan then?” Andra asked.

“No plan works out exactly the way you want,” Valdis said mildly. “You know, I always did think you had the potential for necromancy.”

Despite herself, Andra glanced towards the dead body. “I am merely channelling the Plaguebringer’s power.”

“I think I know more about that than you,” Valdis said and Andra curled her lip.

“What do you want?”

“You should leave,” Valdis said. “You’ll be discovered soon enough. It was… foreseen.”

Andra sniffed. “I am not you, Valdis. I do not see any reason to reveal myself.”

“And yet you will,” Valdis said. “You have not been as subtle as you believe. You do not command the loyalty you think. And unlike myself, when your plan fails, you will have nothing to show for it.”

Andra flared her borrowed power and the mist cleared in an instant. She approached the bodies lying on the ground. The amount of magic she was using to keep their minds under her thumb was simply pathetic. “No one will miss these weaklings.”

She took her blade in hand and pressed it to her child’s throat. She whispered promises about how she would preserve their souls. She did not notice the mist that had begun filtering into the room again. Andra moved the blade, ready to draw blood.

“You’re awake, aren’t you?” the kicker asked. “I can tell.”

Desire took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She ignored the loud, excited gasp from her captor and looked around her prison.

It was a cave; fairly typical for a jail, but the decor was… not. The room was well lit and decorated with books, swords and staffs of all. Some of them radiated magic so strongly that Desire had the distinct itch to pull even further away from it.

Fingers curled their way under Desire’s chin and forced her eyes up to the face of her captor. Her red eyes danced hungrily across Desire’s face.

“Look at you,” she muttered.

“Get your hands off me,” Desire said. To her disgust, she could hear the exhaustion in her voice as easily as the sound of the wind whipping through the Reedcleft Ascent.

“I’ve met some like you before,” the other dragon said, utterly ignoring Desire’s demand as she turned her head. “Well, not like you like you, I’ve never seen anything like what you did. But I do know some of the Shade-touched.” 

Desire jerked her head out of the other dragon’s hands. She bared her teeth so fast one of her sharpened canines caught on her lip and broke the skin. “Shut up,” she snarled. 

Red eyes blinked once, twice, three times and the other dragon frowned. “Me?” she asked. “What did I do? I was just asking -- ”

“Asking about the Shade,” Desire cut her off. 

“Yes of course,” the other dragon said. “The Shade is such an interesting entity. To have such a thing inside you, even if it’s a small part of it, well that’s something I’ve always been interested in.”

The laughter bubbled up in Desire’s chest and burst out of her before she could stop it. “I would gladly give it to you, if I could,” she spit out through giggles.

The other dragon leaned close again. “You can’t give it to me, but you can let me study it,” she said.

Desire sighed and leaned her shoulders back against the cave wall. “And why would I do that?” she asked. 

A lot of Valdis’ subjects don’t make it very long. She tires of them quickly, particularly if they don’t manifest any other gifts or if the gifts they do take on aren’t to her liking. Her longest surviving one is still by her side now; a Pearlcatcher by the name of Libitina. Libitina’s gift is the touch of death; anyone she touches will turn to dust and die. Another of her undead is Amrit, a Skydancer. He can shapeshift into all manner of other creatures. Valdis finds this particular gift rather dull and plans to dispose of Amrit soon, as she no longer requires him and his gift to spy on Clan Viska.

The last of her undead is Serkan. She found him, dead, killed by Harpies, while travelling in the Southern Icefields. She reanimated him on a whim, but thought that her magic had failed her with him when he didn’t wake quickly. Bored, she moved on. But Serkan awoke again later, and was thrilled to discover his blood magic. Ever since then, his ambitions have had him moving quickly and Valdis struggled to find him again. When she finally did, she was more than pleased.

Serkan was in the company of a dying breed, a Blood Whisperer. Valdis very much wants one by her side, and that Akane is the Queen of the Blood Whisperers makes it all the sweeter.

Valdis conspires to put herself close, and in Akane’s inner circle, which is all the easier with a spot open (left by Desire). She wishes to kill Akane and take her spot, with very few being any the wiser. However, Rehbein, who greatly mistrusts her, attempts to block her path in every way.

He finds a partner in Calandra, who has another necromancer, can tell Valdis is one too, and the spirits Calandra surrounds herself with warn her that Valdis is up to no good. When they discover how Amrit, Libitina, and Serkan are bound to Valdis, Rehbein and Calandra attempt to break her control over them, but Calandra is not experienced enough to do so.

It’s then that Iarere, a Dream Caster, makes his way into Viska territory, bringing with him his reluctant (and grumpy) partner Ryu. Iarere comes to meet Calandra, curious about her abilities as a necromancer and her connection with spirits, with interacts with the dreamrealm he walks in. 

Calandra quickly enlists his help in defeating Valdis. While she sleeps, Iarere attempts to rip the secret of freeing her undead from her grip. Iarere succeeds in getting the spell from Valdis, but Calandra is only able to free Amrit before Valdis turns Serkan and Libitina loose on Clan Viska.

Calandra is able to free Libitina, but not before Libitina is able to touch her. Calandra is able to gather enough power from the spirits to keep herself alive, but she falls into a coma immediately after breaking the hold on Libitina.

And through a hard won battle, Valdis falls under the combined strength of Akane and Mahli. Serkan flees the battlefield and doesn’t return. When the deaths are tallied, it’s discovered that Humarya, having been kept as a prisoner, was killed as well.