Legend of Ransera

Although Arvælyn ultimately declined the advances of his Avialæ semi-sibling, there was something about the overture that stirred him a bit. Not that it took a lot to rouse the virile elven youth, but once they were alone in the tent, Finn would reap the boons he’d denied Raithen.

Another day, a foreboding discovery, a scouring of ruins and several carefully curated meals later, they were in their tent again when the purpose of their expedition seemed to assert itself. An earthquake on sandy ground was an odd sensation to wake to, but the voices of more knowledgeable desert-goers indicated it was something else altogether.

Emerging from the tent after the others, his golden eyes widened at what loomed afield making its lumbering approach. Raithen barked a few instructions before taking flight, and Hilana appended his orders with a bit of useful intel before quitting the apparent impending battlefield.

“You don’t die either!” Arry felt obliged to repeat the sentiment every other member of the party had imparted, but added, “And don’t let anything happen to that pretty face!” With a wry wink. Arming himself with a pair of khopesh blades, Arry jogged behind Finn toward the monocular monstrosity.

He activated his most practised Rune and dipped into the strange symphony of the creature and quickly noticed that it was not alone. There were other souls following behind it at a distance. Other, presumably normal-sized Cyclopes and…

“Humans!” A far more familiar form of Symphony. There was fear afoot, but it was not directed at the colossal cyclops… he felt their fear was for the beast.

“Raithen!” He cried, “It isn’t hosti-…” The eye exploded, sending a gush of scarlet into the sky overhead. Wincing at the sudden shift in the creature’s Symphony he sighed to Finn,

“Well, now it is…” Even if Raithen had heard him at that distance, the observation had come too late. The beast roared and raged as a storm of sand whirled about its head. Until a greater gust of gale force winds dispersed Raithen’s efforts.

“What the fuck?!” A new and stranger Symphony joined the jumble in Arry’s awareness… or was it Symphonies plural? Diving from the firmament soared another colossal creature— this one far more violent. He could sense predatory hunger and a territorial bent that verged on malice. Massive talons dug into the chest of the blinded, hamstrung giant and the force of massive bat-like wings dragged the beast by tearing muscle and sinew into the air for a quarter of a mile, before the combined weight of the colossal cyclops and the three-headed megawyvern brought both down. The cyclops collapsed onto its back, crushing two smaller Cyclopes and about a dozen Vastians. As the humanoid giant tried to struggle against the attack, the two heads on either side tore their razor sharp fangs into its wrists and grappled its arms to the ground as the central head bellowed as it emitted a gushing geyser of black, corrosive acid onto its face and into the gaping eye socket. Within moments, the toxin had burned through to its brain and the body went limp. Surviving Cyclopes and Vastian villagers screamed in horror as their might champion lay slain as two Draconic heads tore into his meat, and the third, set its attention upon the survivors. Suddenly the central head let out a rattling war cry that drew its flanking counterparts up from their feast, their black fangs dripping red as the Wyvern reared up and spread its giant wings. It seemed the real battle was upon them.

Arry reached into the æther of the survivors and shouted a command the gravity of which was reinforced by his Craft.

“Scatter!”

Even if they were too far to hear him, they would sense the compulsion and set about to fleeing in all directions.

As Arvælyn's mesmeric energy shot forth toward its intended targets, he felt an odd shift in Raithen's Symphony- as if his half-brother was responding to a fainter tug from the same compulsion he cast toward the survivors. Furrowing his brow in confusion, he wondered whether it had something to do with their sanguine kinship. Had Raithen somehow drawn the invisible tethers toward himself? He knew that Raithen didn't practise the Craft himself, having devoted himself wholly toward the study of Kinetics, thus far in his young life. In any event, the Avialæ seemed to shake off the milder version of his urging, and there were more pressing matters in the foreground than exploring an ultimately inconsequential ætheric fluke.

Quickly realising that he was wholly unequipped to vie against a colossal beast, Arvælyn halted his advance and skidded to a halt in the sand. His mind dashed apace with the alacrity and clarity of panic. He considered his recent training, but none of it had prepared him for a conflict on this scale. His first impulse was typically to resolve matters with his oldest, strongest Rune, but a cursory scan of the massive creature's Symphony sent his mind reeling backward. It was a jumble of chaos. This was no natural born mammoth mutant, but a product of the Dread Mists. The only aspect of the creature that seemed cohesive was the collusion between the minds housed in those three heads. The only aspect that seemed consistent was its aggression.

As Finn blipped into existence at his side, he turned sharply poised to defend himself, before softening at the sight of his amatus, who was soon followed by Raithen. They were all of them as perplexed as the next.

"This creature's Symphony is pure discord... I only skimmed it, and felt madness brimming that threatened to take hold of my own. I think..." He shook his head, sadly, to Finn. "I think this creature will find peace only in death. Oh, fuck..." One of the heads turned its attention on the only three who weren't running in different directions.

"Uhh..." He glanced at their surroundings and, noting the approach of a fleeing Cyclops, a notion occurred to him. The creature was armed and armoured. All of them were. Whether they'd been domesticated cyclopes or a wild tribe that somehow colluded with the absconded villagers to prepare for this, they were battle ready. It was just that cyclopes were not known for their tactical acumen and, lacking instruction, they would surely be felled apace.

"I'll distract it." He began to draw æther toward his Rune of Masquerade, as he withdrew the compulsion he'd been sending into the Symphonies of the Cylopes and villagers.

"Finn, if you can coordinate the Cyclopes with Mesmer, maybe Raithen can strategise us toward a concerted effort to fell the beast with their aid." With those words swiftly uttered, Arvælyn turned his attention toward conjuring a Reflection of the Cyclops running toward them, creating a duplicate running away from them and toward the Megawyvern. The beast roared angrily and turned its attentions toward the illusory would-be assailant.

Lore:
Raithen - 11
Arvælyn - 11
Hilana - 11
Finn - 11

Points: 15 per player, may be used for magic for all but Hilana

Pharaoh: 1 mod xp

Injuries/Ailments: Various but now old

Loot: None

Notes: