Searing 4, 122
Bees.
The word calls to mind, in the modern day, two kinds of bee; honeybees and bumblebees. Honeybees, of course, are colony organisms, intensely focused on social existence. Bumblebee colonies are a lot smaller, but they nonetheless maintain a hive.
Other bees, like carpenter or mason bees, are solitary creatures, and craft nests only for the purpose of laying eggs and guarding their larvae. Some bees burrow into wood. Some burrow underground. Others seek pre-existing holes and build their nests of wax inside.
What principle, then, unites all of these many different types of bees? What is it which gives them the mythic proportions they have in the imagination of mankind?
The answer is simple. Bees are perfect, beautiful angels.
Dear Carina,
It is possible, perhaps probable, that this letter will never reach you. I have never been closer to the graven halls of courteous Death than I am at this very moment. If this is the manner by which you learn of my tragic demise, I will now include a blank area so that you may mourn me, and your tears may fall dramatically upon this parchment without blotting the ink.
I hope that your sorrow was worthy and edifying. If I am alive, I intend to eat this particular missive rather than send it, so hopefully you will not have a chance to mock my dramatics.
However, if I am dead, then I will give you the solace of knowing that I perished in the most exalted state of joy possible. I have traded my life for something of supreme value, and the feeling of absolute vindication which I now experience has tempered the poisons in my blood and made the wounds of the flesh seem immaterial.
If I die now, I can only imagine that this supreme joy will never fade, and that my next incarnation shall be a blissful one.
(If I don’t die, as noted, I’m eating the letter.)
Love,
Imogen Ward
The fifth day of Imogen Ward’s ill-conceived jungle adventure started, if possible, worse than the previous two. As the would-be jungle adventurer awoke, she was immediately confronted with the one danger she feared most. One she had considered from the start- even before she got and skimmed through her damned lost guidebook.
”Ugh, my head…”
The ache in Imogen’s side and arm remained, of course, and her legs still hurt somewhat from the sustained travel. More pressing than any of these injuries, however, was the feeling which seemed to center on her forehead. Her skin felt rubbery, and there was a chill in the morning heat which seemed to cut through her travel bedding and net both.
Fever.
Imogen was not a doctor, but she had some exposure to medical practices. For example, she had learned in Kalzasi that the use of breakfast foods could treat skin conditions! More relevantly, however, she had often shadowed her relatives in the Sanctuaries, which maintained a–basic, but reasonably comprehensive–infirmary. Injuries taken in clandestine operations in Zaichaer could hardly be treated by public facilities, nor could rescued clients be counted upon to stay alive (and profitable) without medical assistance.
Fevers, of course, were a common occurrence. If a deep wound was taken, even if it was treated properly, infection was likely. Disease was always dangerous, on some level, but the lethality and immediacy of the condition varied a lot depending on the cause.
The problem, which is why this had been at the back of Imogen’s mind for the whole of her trip, was that she had no way of identifying the cause or severity of an ailment. Was the fever the result of her injuries, none of which seemed at risk for infection? Or was it the vengeance of the bugs which she had only ever vanquished with fleeting success? Was this an ailment through which she could travel, or would the extra exertion kill her? Acting quickly when a fever was detected was paramount, except Imogen couldn’t think of any useful way to address it at all.
Thankfully, the fever seemed fairly low. Imogen’s movement was sluggish and generally uncomfortable, but the onset of the mystery illness wasn’t enough to cripple her.
In an ideal world, she would make camp and rest for a few days, in order to give herself the best chance of a recovery- but was that even the right move? If this were not merely an infected cut, but some exotic malarial curse, she might well be better served by pushing to find a village, and right quick.
It didn’t matter. Imogen packed up her camp and slung her burden over her shoulders like always. Staying here wasn’t an option, not with the thing from last night still about. Given how regularly she had encountered deadly predators, the odds of being able to rest for a few days without molestation were not in her favor.
Plus, there had been no rain. She wasn’t going to be able to endure a fever without more water, and that meant reaching the river.
Even aching and ill, Imogen Ward was not one to surrender so easily. She continued down the path for hours, stopping to rest and rehydrate from time to time. Orkhan had no exceptional resistance to illness, but her family was hearty by nature, and Ecith was the land on which her race had been forged. She would not indulge in the decadent human pastime of contracting one illness and keeling over.
Following a break for a meal around noon, Imogen’s condition seemed to improve somewhat. No longer feeling chills or the distant, rubbery sensation of weakness in her limbs, the Sunsinger dared to hope that perhaps it had been nothing but a passing malady- a day-bug, as her mother had called them.
Even more heartening, however, was when a bend around a tall ridge suddenly opened to reveal a great river gully, a winding opening through the jungle only a few more hours’ trek away.
”There you are, you beautiful wet serpent. I’m almost there. Nothing is stopping me now.” Imogen had been taught by her mother that it was unwise to make such statements, which, she claimed, ‘tested the gods’. Uncle Lewis, on the other hand, called it an ‘affirmation’, a private statement which enlivened the spirit and kept hope flowing. She chose to strike a happy balance between the two: ”Although of course you could if you wanted to, ah, o Triumverate.”
It didn’t seem likely to her that Raxen or Sylen or such were so bored that they would waste time tormenting her, but it didn’t hurt to be polite. Politeness was her father’s watchword; professionalism to clients, courtesy to all others, and you never borrowed any trouble if you weren’t prepared to pay interest on it. That was exactly the kind of lesson she expected to be helpful when it came to importuning Orkhan deities while stumbling through a jungle thousands of miles from home.
”Oh yeah,” Imogen muttered (a bit feverishly) to herself, ”I’m clearly nailing this one..”
Imogen could not say whether the gods of Ecith heard her prayer. An hour later, however, it became apparent that she had been blessed.
As Imogen began her downward trudge along the path towards the river below, a dull drone reached her ears. It was a distant noise, and it took her a minute to register that something new was occurring in her environment, a stark departure for her incredible powers of perception. In fact, she spotted the cause before she realized that an unusual noise was being made at all.
Off near the riverbank, black dots were rising into the air, buzzing towards the tropical forests behind her at alarming speeds. They were hard to make out at first, and Imogen feared that perhaps some new and horrific flying monster had spotted her from miles out and was making a beeline for her tender, delicious flesh.
Then realization struck- it was a beeline. A bee line.
They rose from the river, sailing majestically through the air like hundreds of miniature blimps. Though they were instantly recognizable as bees, the Ecithian species was subtly distinct from familiar hives in several key ways; for example they were about a hundred and fifty thousand times larger.
Imogen stood and stared skyward, gawping at the incredible procession of gigantic insects as they buzzed over her head. She could scarcely begin to fathom their method of propulsion- she doubted any of the scientists of the Greater Institute of Aeronautics in Zaichaer could have explained how so large and plump a creature could fly so smoothly. And yet, fly they did.
There is no telling how long Imogen Ward stood there, starstruck, gazing at the incredible swarm distributed across the sky. The blessed sun shone from their proud yellow coats, illuminating their huge, wise eyes and hand-sized stingers. She cried, of course. She cried a few times, which is a poor plan while feverish, but if the gods were watching, none of them could possibly blame her.
The swarm dwindled somewhat with time, and Imogen suddenly realized that if she wanted to get a good look at the huge bees up-close, she was going to have to get to the river before they all left. Weakened and tired, she nevertheless sped up her pace. There are risks which are worth taking.
By the time Imogen reached the river’s edge many of the bees had already finished their drinks and departed, but there were still perhaps a dozen of the creatures bumbling around. She deposited her pack and folding boat on the ground to create a less threatening profile and sidled up to one of the bees cautiously.
Up close, she could see the critter’s individual segments, lined with gloriously fluffy fur, which ran from fluffy to smooth and matted depending on the body part. This close, she could also tell that these bees were quite young, with underdeveloped antennae and stingers.
And they were large stingers, to be sure.
Nevertheless, Imogen chose to chance a closer contact. The bee turned to face her as she got near, but it did not draw away, or buzz menacingly, or give any sign that it felt threatened. Imogen moved slowly closer, watching her own reflection in the bee’s eyes, then slowly lowered herself into a crouch and reached for the bee.
It did not object in any way. Imogen Ward pet the gigantic bee.
The Ork girl had pet many creatures in her time. Dogs, cats, horses, goats, the… lizard thing which the proprietor of the waystation on the second Landing kept… but nothing compared to the enormous bee.
It was… fuzzy. It was soft, and round, and when her fingers touched its exoskeleton, it was strangely glossy, like wax. She rubbed the creature slowly, seeing no warning signs- although, of course, who was to say that giant Ecithian bees did the same warning dance as the tiny bees of Karnor?
Then it began to vibrate.
It was not quite like a cat’s purr, a susurration from the small vocal chords and thus a mere ripple through the body. Bees vibrate by use of their powerful flight muscles, shaking the entire animal as though it were a massage chair. If Imogen had been just a hair more exhausted, she might have fainted dead away on the spot.
Imogen Ward stood there for several minutes, petting the bee. It is impossible to say precisely what thoughts and emotions ran through her mind in that moment, but it was clear that this was the moment where she attained a higher state of blissful existence. Standing on the shore of that river, it was revealed to her that the world was a more beautiful place than she had ever thought to realize; the bright colors of the world were just a canvas upon which even greater heights of beauty could be reached by the assiduous artist.
In a perfect world, the story might end there. But this is not a perfect world.
Lost in the joy of touching an enormous bumblebee, Imogen did not notice the attack until it had already begun in earnest.
In truth, there was little forewarning. Some bushes rustled, and suddenly a veritable horde of knee-high bird-like lizards poured into the open, hissing and spitting as they made mad dashes for the bees still on the ground.
A few of the bumbles rose into the air before the velociraptors could reach them, drifting upwards just in time to avoid the tiny dinosaurs’ powerful leaps. Others were not so lucky, and the velociraptors quickly swarmed them, crashing into them as they took off, knocking them down, and moving quickly to disembowl or tear the bees’ wings off.
”No!” the Ork screamed, panic in her voice, ”Get away! Get away from them!”
A group of three raptors ran straight for her and the bee she’d been petting, and Imogen’s sword materialized before she even thought about tactics or strategy. She flung herself forward, rushing headlong and bringing her blade down in an attack which would have seperated the lead raptor’s head from its neck- had he not dodged the blow, turning aside and screaming angrily.
By the time the miss had registered, the other two raptors were on her. They were plainly wary of the fire on her sword, but they flanked her in the space of an instant. One tried to jump, but glanced fruitlessly off her side; the other, a keener intellect, bit into her calf, needle-like teeth giving her a half-dozen puncture wounds before she even realized the creature was there. Imogen released her grip on her massive sword and summoned her spear, bringing the haft down on the bugger biting her.
THWACK!
The force of the blow wasn’t enough to stun the dogged creature, but the approaching flame made it release its vise-grip and back off, hissing. Imogen ignored the searing pain from her leg and channeled the anger into her limbs.
Each of the Orkhan girl’s arms and legs seemed to grow as her skin roughened and swelled, turning out thousands of little opal scales. Her grip on her sword and spear grew awkward as her hands lengthened into claws- an unavoidable side effect when scaling over so much of her body. Were it not for her razor focus, she would have grimaced as she heard tears in her boots, a result of sprouting claws.
It took her a moment to finish the small transformation, but it was well-timed. No sooner had Imogen manifested her scales than another velociraptor went for her left shin, teeth scraping against opaline ork-scale. Imogen kicked the creature, driving toe-claws into its face (though, alas, missing the eyes), and a third raptor jumped up to grab her arm in its mouth, jaw muscles straining to drive its needle-teeth through her gleaming armor.
Imogen released her spear and grabbed the velociraptor with a clawed hand, tearing it off her arm and hurling it into the river. As it struggled to overcome the current drawing it away from the shore, the Sunsinger poured her will into the spear smoldering on the ground, causing it to leap forward into a fourth raptor. The surprise strike took the creature directly in its side, impaling it and dragging its body for ten feet across the muddy ground.
The buzzing was very loud now, as six of the huge bees had made it into the air and were circling the battlefield, looking for an opportunity to sting the lizards without being leapt on. Another four of the bees were plainly dead, and a full dozen velociraptors were dragging two of them back towards the treeline, obviously with the idea that once the bees could not strike them by air they would be home free.
Closer to the river, however, Imogen spotted another bee, still angrily buzzing, which had not lifted off. The creature was surrounded by six of the velociraptors, having stung another two to death already. It had suffered damage- one of its wings had been torn in half, grounding it.
Perhaps if it were another animal, or another Ork, the matter would have occasioned a moment of consideration- velociraptors, though manageable one at a time, could take down a creature five times their size in a group that big. But Imogen did not bother thinking; she was going to save that bee.
Imogen rushed to close the distance, but the bee was some distance away and the raptors were faster than she was. If she wanted to make a difference, she would need to intervene at range. Her spear, weighted down with the still-thrashing corpse of a raptor, was not an option, so she withdrew a portion of her spirit from it and funneled it into the enormous two-handed sword.
And then she threw the damn thing.
A zweihander is a specialist’s weapon, designed to chop the heads off pikes and break a defensive formation. It was an attractive option for an Ork beyond that because the great size and strength of the Orkhan allowed it to be swung with superior force and dexterity- a human couldn’t parry such blows for long without losing their own swords and, subsequently, their lives.
But a greatsword finds additional value in a melee as a tool for area denial. The wielder, properly gripping the hilt, can swing the zweihander in a continuous looping pattern, defending against blows in front and from behind.
Imogen’s sword sailed through the air, turning end-to-end as it went. It was a remarkably accurate throw, but her uncle had often drilled her on throwing her sword. He seemed to think it was going to come up a lot, and… well, he had actually been right for the past few days. Not that she planned to admit it to him.
Instead of spiraling down onto the valiant bee, however, the blazing weapon stopped in midair, suddenly spinning. This caught the first of the leaping velociraptors, who had not noticed the descending weapon, by surprise, and the motion of the turning sword flung the little dinosaur into the river.
Another two dinosaurs changed course at the last moment, side-stepping the swinging blade and trying to dart around the side, only to find that it was swinging there, too. Another one of the raptors stopped in its tracks, staring at the floating weapon, while a companion behind it decided that there was probably enough meat back in the forest and turned tail.
The two raptors trying to flank the bee quickly found space to duck beneath the flaming sword, and both went for the creature. The bee reared up beneath the canopy of fire and stung the first raptor, plunging its stinger cleanly into the lizard’s eye and brain, killing it instantly. The one behind it got a bite in on the bee’s fuzzy exoskeleton, but failed to find a soft place before Imogen Ward finally arrived and tackled it, tearing at the dinosaur with her clawed hands alone.
With Imogen thus weaponless and distracted, the raptor which had stayed back saw an opportunity and leaped at her face. It sought desperately to tear off her nose or gouge out an eye, both organs unprotected by any shimmering dragon-armor. Its teeth tore small gashes across Imogen’s cheek as she grabbed at it with one arm, trying to catch it while keeping the thrashing lizard pinned down beneath her. The velociraptor got a grip on the shoulder of her injured arm–which, alas, she had been using freely–and bit down with incredible force. Imogen screamed as she felt skin and muscle tear.
Then, there was a sudden ”WHOOMF" beside her as one of the flying bees dropped from the sky, running its stinger directly into the raptor biting her. A moment later, she managed to get her claws into the raptor below her, tearing its neck open and pressing down until it stopped thrashing.
And then there was silence.
Except for the loud buzzing.
Imogen’s aether, heavily exercised over the past few days, gave out as the battle came to an abrupt end, and she felt her agony redouble as her pact weapons dematerialized suddenly; she’d nearly forgotten how painful that was.
When she opened her eyes again, Imogen realized that she was on the ground. She craned her neck, casting about for any sign of velociraptors- but there was none. Instead, she was surrounded by the huge fuzzy bees, which were lightly running their antennae over her skin (the scales and claws had faded with the adrenaline rush). She felt a sense of profound peace as she realized that she had saved two of the bees, maybe even more.
Imogen tried to clamber to her elbows, but the searing agony from her right arm dissuaded her. She knew that she ought to get to her feet, to stumble back to her pack and secure everything before she slept, but the task seemed impossibly steep at that moment. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, to close her eyes with the giant bees by her side and fall into a dark slumber.
First, however, she moved her left arm, and reached for her journal. Just in case.
Bees.
The word calls to mind, in the modern day, two kinds of bee; honeybees and bumblebees. Honeybees, of course, are colony organisms, intensely focused on social existence. Bumblebee colonies are a lot smaller, but they nonetheless maintain a hive.
Other bees, like carpenter or mason bees, are solitary creatures, and craft nests only for the purpose of laying eggs and guarding their larvae. Some bees burrow into wood. Some burrow underground. Others seek pre-existing holes and build their nests of wax inside.
What principle, then, unites all of these many different types of bees? What is it which gives them the mythic proportions they have in the imagination of mankind?
The answer is simple. Bees are perfect, beautiful angels.
Searing 4, 122
Dear Carina,
It is possible, perhaps probable, that this letter will never reach you. I have never been closer to the graven halls of courteous Death than I am at this very moment. If this is the manner by which you learn of my tragic demise, I will now include a blank area so that you may mourn me, and your tears may fall dramatically upon this parchment without blotting the ink.
I hope that your sorrow was worthy and edifying. If I am alive, I intend to eat this particular missive rather than send it, so hopefully you will not have a chance to mock my dramatics.
However, if I am dead, then I will give you the solace of knowing that I perished in the most exalted state of joy possible. I have traded my life for something of supreme value, and the feeling of absolute vindication which I now experience has tempered the poisons in my blood and made the wounds of the flesh seem immaterial.
If I die now, I can only imagine that this supreme joy will never fade, and that my next incarnation shall be a blissful one.
(If I don’t die, as noted, I’m eating the letter.)
Love,
Imogen Ward
The fifth day of Imogen Ward’s ill-conceived jungle adventure started, if possible, worse than the previous two. As the would-be jungle adventurer awoke, she was immediately confronted with the one danger she feared most. One she had considered from the start- even before she got and skimmed through her damned lost guidebook.
”Ugh, my head…”
The ache in Imogen’s side and arm remained, of course, and her legs still hurt somewhat from the sustained travel. More pressing than any of these injuries, however, was the feeling which seemed to center on her forehead. Her skin felt rubbery, and there was a chill in the morning heat which seemed to cut through her travel bedding and net both.
Fever.
~~~
Imogen was not a doctor, but she had some exposure to medical practices. For example, she had learned in Kalzasi that the use of breakfast foods could treat skin conditions! More relevantly, however, she had often shadowed her relatives in the Sanctuaries, which maintained a–basic, but reasonably comprehensive–infirmary. Injuries taken in clandestine operations in Zaichaer could hardly be treated by public facilities, nor could rescued clients be counted upon to stay alive (and profitable) without medical assistance.
Fevers, of course, were a common occurrence. If a deep wound was taken, even if it was treated properly, infection was likely. Disease was always dangerous, on some level, but the lethality and immediacy of the condition varied a lot depending on the cause.
The problem, which is why this had been at the back of Imogen’s mind for the whole of her trip, was that she had no way of identifying the cause or severity of an ailment. Was the fever the result of her injuries, none of which seemed at risk for infection? Or was it the vengeance of the bugs which she had only ever vanquished with fleeting success? Was this an ailment through which she could travel, or would the extra exertion kill her? Acting quickly when a fever was detected was paramount, except Imogen couldn’t think of any useful way to address it at all.
~~~
Thankfully, the fever seemed fairly low. Imogen’s movement was sluggish and generally uncomfortable, but the onset of the mystery illness wasn’t enough to cripple her.
In an ideal world, she would make camp and rest for a few days, in order to give herself the best chance of a recovery- but was that even the right move? If this were not merely an infected cut, but some exotic malarial curse, she might well be better served by pushing to find a village, and right quick.
It didn’t matter. Imogen packed up her camp and slung her burden over her shoulders like always. Staying here wasn’t an option, not with the thing from last night still about. Given how regularly she had encountered deadly predators, the odds of being able to rest for a few days without molestation were not in her favor.
Plus, there had been no rain. She wasn’t going to be able to endure a fever without more water, and that meant reaching the river.
Even aching and ill, Imogen Ward was not one to surrender so easily. She continued down the path for hours, stopping to rest and rehydrate from time to time. Orkhan had no exceptional resistance to illness, but her family was hearty by nature, and Ecith was the land on which her race had been forged. She would not indulge in the decadent human pastime of contracting one illness and keeling over.
~~~
Following a break for a meal around noon, Imogen’s condition seemed to improve somewhat. No longer feeling chills or the distant, rubbery sensation of weakness in her limbs, the Sunsinger dared to hope that perhaps it had been nothing but a passing malady- a day-bug, as her mother had called them.
Even more heartening, however, was when a bend around a tall ridge suddenly opened to reveal a great river gully, a winding opening through the jungle only a few more hours’ trek away.
”There you are, you beautiful wet serpent. I’m almost there. Nothing is stopping me now.” Imogen had been taught by her mother that it was unwise to make such statements, which, she claimed, ‘tested the gods’. Uncle Lewis, on the other hand, called it an ‘affirmation’, a private statement which enlivened the spirit and kept hope flowing. She chose to strike a happy balance between the two: ”Although of course you could if you wanted to, ah, o Triumverate.”
It didn’t seem likely to her that Raxen or Sylen or such were so bored that they would waste time tormenting her, but it didn’t hurt to be polite. Politeness was her father’s watchword; professionalism to clients, courtesy to all others, and you never borrowed any trouble if you weren’t prepared to pay interest on it. That was exactly the kind of lesson she expected to be helpful when it came to importuning Orkhan deities while stumbling through a jungle thousands of miles from home.
”Oh yeah,” Imogen muttered (a bit feverishly) to herself, ”I’m clearly nailing this one..”
~~~
Imogen could not say whether the gods of Ecith heard her prayer. An hour later, however, it became apparent that she had been blessed.
As Imogen began her downward trudge along the path towards the river below, a dull drone reached her ears. It was a distant noise, and it took her a minute to register that something new was occurring in her environment, a stark departure for her incredible powers of perception. In fact, she spotted the cause before she realized that an unusual noise was being made at all.
Off near the riverbank, black dots were rising into the air, buzzing towards the tropical forests behind her at alarming speeds. They were hard to make out at first, and Imogen feared that perhaps some new and horrific flying monster had spotted her from miles out and was making a beeline for her tender, delicious flesh.
Then realization struck- it was a beeline. A bee line.
They rose from the river, sailing majestically through the air like hundreds of miniature blimps. Though they were instantly recognizable as bees, the Ecithian species was subtly distinct from familiar hives in several key ways; for example they were about a hundred and fifty thousand times larger.
Imogen stood and stared skyward, gawping at the incredible procession of gigantic insects as they buzzed over her head. She could scarcely begin to fathom their method of propulsion- she doubted any of the scientists of the Greater Institute of Aeronautics in Zaichaer could have explained how so large and plump a creature could fly so smoothly. And yet, fly they did.
There is no telling how long Imogen Ward stood there, starstruck, gazing at the incredible swarm distributed across the sky. The blessed sun shone from their proud yellow coats, illuminating their huge, wise eyes and hand-sized stingers. She cried, of course. She cried a few times, which is a poor plan while feverish, but if the gods were watching, none of them could possibly blame her.
The swarm dwindled somewhat with time, and Imogen suddenly realized that if she wanted to get a good look at the huge bees up-close, she was going to have to get to the river before they all left. Weakened and tired, she nevertheless sped up her pace. There are risks which are worth taking.
~~~
By the time Imogen reached the river’s edge many of the bees had already finished their drinks and departed, but there were still perhaps a dozen of the creatures bumbling around. She deposited her pack and folding boat on the ground to create a less threatening profile and sidled up to one of the bees cautiously.
Up close, she could see the critter’s individual segments, lined with gloriously fluffy fur, which ran from fluffy to smooth and matted depending on the body part. This close, she could also tell that these bees were quite young, with underdeveloped antennae and stingers.
And they were large stingers, to be sure.
Nevertheless, Imogen chose to chance a closer contact. The bee turned to face her as she got near, but it did not draw away, or buzz menacingly, or give any sign that it felt threatened. Imogen moved slowly closer, watching her own reflection in the bee’s eyes, then slowly lowered herself into a crouch and reached for the bee.
It did not object in any way. Imogen Ward pet the gigantic bee.
The Ork girl had pet many creatures in her time. Dogs, cats, horses, goats, the… lizard thing which the proprietor of the waystation on the second Landing kept… but nothing compared to the enormous bee.
It was… fuzzy. It was soft, and round, and when her fingers touched its exoskeleton, it was strangely glossy, like wax. She rubbed the creature slowly, seeing no warning signs- although, of course, who was to say that giant Ecithian bees did the same warning dance as the tiny bees of Karnor?
Then it began to vibrate.
It was not quite like a cat’s purr, a susurration from the small vocal chords and thus a mere ripple through the body. Bees vibrate by use of their powerful flight muscles, shaking the entire animal as though it were a massage chair. If Imogen had been just a hair more exhausted, she might have fainted dead away on the spot.
Imogen Ward stood there for several minutes, petting the bee. It is impossible to say precisely what thoughts and emotions ran through her mind in that moment, but it was clear that this was the moment where she attained a higher state of blissful existence. Standing on the shore of that river, it was revealed to her that the world was a more beautiful place than she had ever thought to realize; the bright colors of the world were just a canvas upon which even greater heights of beauty could be reached by the assiduous artist.
In a perfect world, the story might end there. But this is not a perfect world.
~~~
Lost in the joy of touching an enormous bumblebee, Imogen did not notice the attack until it had already begun in earnest.
In truth, there was little forewarning. Some bushes rustled, and suddenly a veritable horde of knee-high bird-like lizards poured into the open, hissing and spitting as they made mad dashes for the bees still on the ground.
A few of the bumbles rose into the air before the velociraptors could reach them, drifting upwards just in time to avoid the tiny dinosaurs’ powerful leaps. Others were not so lucky, and the velociraptors quickly swarmed them, crashing into them as they took off, knocking them down, and moving quickly to disembowl or tear the bees’ wings off.
”No!” the Ork screamed, panic in her voice, ”Get away! Get away from them!”
A group of three raptors ran straight for her and the bee she’d been petting, and Imogen’s sword materialized before she even thought about tactics or strategy. She flung herself forward, rushing headlong and bringing her blade down in an attack which would have seperated the lead raptor’s head from its neck- had he not dodged the blow, turning aside and screaming angrily.
By the time the miss had registered, the other two raptors were on her. They were plainly wary of the fire on her sword, but they flanked her in the space of an instant. One tried to jump, but glanced fruitlessly off her side; the other, a keener intellect, bit into her calf, needle-like teeth giving her a half-dozen puncture wounds before she even realized the creature was there. Imogen released her grip on her massive sword and summoned her spear, bringing the haft down on the bugger biting her.
THWACK!
The force of the blow wasn’t enough to stun the dogged creature, but the approaching flame made it release its vise-grip and back off, hissing. Imogen ignored the searing pain from her leg and channeled the anger into her limbs.
Each of the Orkhan girl’s arms and legs seemed to grow as her skin roughened and swelled, turning out thousands of little opal scales. Her grip on her sword and spear grew awkward as her hands lengthened into claws- an unavoidable side effect when scaling over so much of her body. Were it not for her razor focus, she would have grimaced as she heard tears in her boots, a result of sprouting claws.
It took her a moment to finish the small transformation, but it was well-timed. No sooner had Imogen manifested her scales than another velociraptor went for her left shin, teeth scraping against opaline ork-scale. Imogen kicked the creature, driving toe-claws into its face (though, alas, missing the eyes), and a third raptor jumped up to grab her arm in its mouth, jaw muscles straining to drive its needle-teeth through her gleaming armor.
Imogen released her spear and grabbed the velociraptor with a clawed hand, tearing it off her arm and hurling it into the river. As it struggled to overcome the current drawing it away from the shore, the Sunsinger poured her will into the spear smoldering on the ground, causing it to leap forward into a fourth raptor. The surprise strike took the creature directly in its side, impaling it and dragging its body for ten feet across the muddy ground.
The buzzing was very loud now, as six of the huge bees had made it into the air and were circling the battlefield, looking for an opportunity to sting the lizards without being leapt on. Another four of the bees were plainly dead, and a full dozen velociraptors were dragging two of them back towards the treeline, obviously with the idea that once the bees could not strike them by air they would be home free.
Closer to the river, however, Imogen spotted another bee, still angrily buzzing, which had not lifted off. The creature was surrounded by six of the velociraptors, having stung another two to death already. It had suffered damage- one of its wings had been torn in half, grounding it.
Perhaps if it were another animal, or another Ork, the matter would have occasioned a moment of consideration- velociraptors, though manageable one at a time, could take down a creature five times their size in a group that big. But Imogen did not bother thinking; she was going to save that bee.
Imogen rushed to close the distance, but the bee was some distance away and the raptors were faster than she was. If she wanted to make a difference, she would need to intervene at range. Her spear, weighted down with the still-thrashing corpse of a raptor, was not an option, so she withdrew a portion of her spirit from it and funneled it into the enormous two-handed sword.
And then she threw the damn thing.
~~~
A zweihander is a specialist’s weapon, designed to chop the heads off pikes and break a defensive formation. It was an attractive option for an Ork beyond that because the great size and strength of the Orkhan allowed it to be swung with superior force and dexterity- a human couldn’t parry such blows for long without losing their own swords and, subsequently, their lives.
But a greatsword finds additional value in a melee as a tool for area denial. The wielder, properly gripping the hilt, can swing the zweihander in a continuous looping pattern, defending against blows in front and from behind.
Imogen’s sword sailed through the air, turning end-to-end as it went. It was a remarkably accurate throw, but her uncle had often drilled her on throwing her sword. He seemed to think it was going to come up a lot, and… well, he had actually been right for the past few days. Not that she planned to admit it to him.
Instead of spiraling down onto the valiant bee, however, the blazing weapon stopped in midair, suddenly spinning. This caught the first of the leaping velociraptors, who had not noticed the descending weapon, by surprise, and the motion of the turning sword flung the little dinosaur into the river.
Another two dinosaurs changed course at the last moment, side-stepping the swinging blade and trying to dart around the side, only to find that it was swinging there, too. Another one of the raptors stopped in its tracks, staring at the floating weapon, while a companion behind it decided that there was probably enough meat back in the forest and turned tail.
The two raptors trying to flank the bee quickly found space to duck beneath the flaming sword, and both went for the creature. The bee reared up beneath the canopy of fire and stung the first raptor, plunging its stinger cleanly into the lizard’s eye and brain, killing it instantly. The one behind it got a bite in on the bee’s fuzzy exoskeleton, but failed to find a soft place before Imogen Ward finally arrived and tackled it, tearing at the dinosaur with her clawed hands alone.
With Imogen thus weaponless and distracted, the raptor which had stayed back saw an opportunity and leaped at her face. It sought desperately to tear off her nose or gouge out an eye, both organs unprotected by any shimmering dragon-armor. Its teeth tore small gashes across Imogen’s cheek as she grabbed at it with one arm, trying to catch it while keeping the thrashing lizard pinned down beneath her. The velociraptor got a grip on the shoulder of her injured arm–which, alas, she had been using freely–and bit down with incredible force. Imogen screamed as she felt skin and muscle tear.
Then, there was a sudden ”WHOOMF" beside her as one of the flying bees dropped from the sky, running its stinger directly into the raptor biting her. A moment later, she managed to get her claws into the raptor below her, tearing its neck open and pressing down until it stopped thrashing.
And then there was silence.
Except for the loud buzzing.
Imogen’s aether, heavily exercised over the past few days, gave out as the battle came to an abrupt end, and she felt her agony redouble as her pact weapons dematerialized suddenly; she’d nearly forgotten how painful that was.
~~~
When she opened her eyes again, Imogen realized that she was on the ground. She craned her neck, casting about for any sign of velociraptors- but there was none. Instead, she was surrounded by the huge fuzzy bees, which were lightly running their antennae over her skin (the scales and claws had faded with the adrenaline rush). She felt a sense of profound peace as she realized that she had saved two of the bees, maybe even more.
Imogen tried to clamber to her elbows, but the searing agony from her right arm dissuaded her. She knew that she ought to get to her feet, to stumble back to her pack and secure everything before she slept, but the task seemed impossibly steep at that moment. She wanted nothing more than to sleep, to close her eyes with the giant bees by her side and fall into a dark slumber.
First, however, she moved her left arm, and reached for her journal. Just in case.