6th of Searing, Year 120
"The sun is setting, guys," said Destian.
"Could an observation be more astute?" Iridith sarcastically replied.
"It's cold," Taelian responded. "Don't you love it when people inform you of the weather that you're both mutually experiencing? Opens my eyes every time."
"Taelian," Iridith began to respond, though she paused for a moment and looked back at him. "You've commented on the temperature around six times since we met this morning. It's like you've never experienced a summer before."
"Not an Atinorin one," he replied. "It's pleasant. Not overbearing; fairly moderate. Particularly in Grimholdt, I've noted, though Grimholdt had a pleasant Frost and Glade as well. Atinaw is a pleasant country. Almost as pleasant as Daravin was."
"And in many ways," she began to respond, "...more pleasant than Daravin is. And more pleasant than Daravin will ever be. That land has been stooped in blood for two thousand years; sunshine and a summer breeze won't cover for that. Atinaw and the Imperium are both societies of reason and order. They are nothing like the realms of Turoth. Far better to live here."
He sighed. Unfortunately, she was right. Turoth only had three realms -- all of them were steeped in turmoil. The few outsider realms, populated by local governments not consolidated into nations or even cities, were equally rife with turmoil. War was Turoth's state of being, and it had always been that way. It was a place of tension, ideology, and the flux and flow of power. And it had always been the source of great change.
"Look," the woman said. "A trail of blood leading off the path. It's black. Is it--"
"It's the creature's," Taelian answered preemptively. In terms of color and texture, it resembled the Dranoch the being had been modeled after. There was no doubt.
"I doubt it's very far away," said the Thespian. "I'll send my Irothar to track it. Taelian: do you have Semblance?"
"No."
"Then we'll just have to wait until they're engaged," she replied. "Prepare your Pyromancies. If it's here, it should only be a few moments before we find it."
The Siltori raised a brow, and nodded his head. They weren't really anything he needed to prepare, but he found no use in correcting her. It wasn't like she would learn them herself.
"This is all mad," Destian added. He appeared fairly giddy, interested in seeing what was to occur. What followed in the next few moments, though, was more than disheartening. It brought Iridith no small level of anxiety. She felt the aethereal link to her Archetypes sever, the contracts disbanding. One, and then quickly the other. Within seconds of one another, and seconds after they began their fight. They were only Vrannik... but, at least a step above the norm, and there were two of them. And, they were Irothar; sturdy and defensive Archetypes. Not so easily vulnerable to destruction.
It became clear to her that the beast was fast -- and highly lethal. Though Taelian imagined as much from the beginning.
