Legend of Ransera

Searing 5, 122

The sun had not yet risen over Wawari Bobul, but the contingent of Dragoons and guests were already departing. It had been a short lived time in the small village, but for Norani, it was a time she would never forget. She intended to return on her own and visit more regularly. Now that she had the ability to travel about on the wings of Ruvaf, had the freedom of adulthood, she planned to experience as much of this world as she could. She was enjoying making new friends, Eya of this village, the heir apparent to the chieftain and Yeva, her closest friend.

Norani was excited, in a couple of days or so, they'd be back in Ounokt Nora and Norani would introduce her to her family, show her the beautiful lake and tree in which she grew up. Last night she had offered a place for Eya to stay should she decide to ever come visit as well. With a silent signal, as it was still dangerous until the sun rose, the contingent took off. None of the Ci'uvan let loose their shrill cries, disappearing into the slowly ebbing darkness, saying farewell to the village that had hosted them for the night.

The direction they flew this day allowed for the unobstructed viewing of the sky as it shifted from inky black to an impossible swirl of innumerable purples. Then the sun crested, splashing reds and oranges to split the darkness. This was big sky country, not a cloud in the sky, able to see for hundreds of miles in every direction over the grasslands. For several hours, the flying was easy, soaring on the hot air currents as the sun quickly heated the land.

Then one of the senior scouts, flanking the primary formation, let out a sharp whistle. All of the riders were looking down to the ground to see just what the scout had seen, but their eyes were not as trained as hers. Chieftain Boraba started a low descent, and the contingent followed suit. As they grew closer, Norani could now see the very faint lines of motion between the twenty foot tall grasses. Her body stiffened against Yeva's, her arms holding in closer around the woman as she leaned them forward in the soft dive.

The Laughers were racing toward something. Normally the Dragoons wouldn't interfere in such a natural thing as predators hunting, but the Laughers were a constant threat and danger on the grasslands, so they often took the time to cull their numbers when able. And the only time they were more easily trackable was when they were already on the hunt for something else.

The Dragoons swooped in low, their bellies, and the feet of the riders, whipping across the soft tips of the sea of grass. Up ahead, there was a break in the grass, where the river took over and other plants competed, and the Laughers were on a beeline for it. Norani did not hear the warning cries of a vulnerable herd of animals like she expected, but rather, the same vibrations as she had yesterday.

The bees.

The Laughers broke through the grass line first, and with their cover of stealth gone now, they began letting loose their loud, shrill laughs and twills that earned them the name. The females of the pack stood just as tall as the horses of the north, covered in mossy, algae like substance that helped them disappear from sight in the grasses. Packs of Laughers were known for their ability to hunt and take down any terrestrial creatures in the grasslands. And they had an intensely complex system of communication, and it was known among the villages that the packs learned and shared tactics with one another.

A constant and growing threat, one that was hurtling its way toward a crowded stretch of land that was filled with the giant bees. Norani and the other dragoons began reaching for their weapons, but Borabi raised a hand, stopping them as they raced forward. She would handle this herself. Norani knew that this must be due to them carrying the guests and passengers, not wishing to expose them to excess danger. That would take precedent over a singular opportunity to train the new recruits. Borabi gave another signal and the recruits began to head for the strange pile of bees.

Boraba leapt down from her Matriarch, and on the twenty foot drop, she sent Wind Singer slicing toward the pack of Laughers. Their was a soft, crystalline ringing around the land as it flew, a pleasant and beautiful sound. Norani swooped in down around the bees, speaking quickly to Yeva, "Stay with Ruvaf." Then Norani slid off the back of the Ci'uvan, landing in a shlurp in the mud of the riverbank.

Ruvaf had warmed up to Yeva over the last few days together and he knew his role in this moment. Keep Yeva safe, be the eyes in the sky. He would respond to any of the motions or commands that Yeva gave, if they were the same as he'd learned from Norani.

Norani trudged through the mud, drawing a melee chakram in her left hand, a throwing in her right, making her way to protect the bees. It was strange to see them all clustered around something. She couldn't see through the bodies to know what was beneath there, but she, and the other dragoons would be the rock the Laughers would crash against running from...

BOOOM!

Wind Singer's melody crashed as it speed up, breaking the sound barrier, and sliced cleanly through many of the pack, right down the middle. Boraba was chasing after them as the great wind relic whistled its way back toward her. The pack was now in chaos and disarray, some splitting up to flee, others continuing forward toward Norani and the bees. Norani took the foremost position in the semi circle they'd formed to guard it, tensing and readying. At the front of the formation, she barked, "Be the stone in the river!"

They all knew what that. Drive the Laughers around them and away while causing as much damage as possible. The water guarded their backs, the two scouts were overhead, coordinating the flying Ci'uvan and keeping eyes on the ground. The first of the Laughers approached Norani at full sprint, a small male, the size of a northern wolf, laughing maniacally. The Orkhan planted her feet, lowering her center of gravity finding purchase deep in the mud, watching as the Laugher slowed due to the same. Others were behind it and Norani twisted at her hips, waiting, coiling, as her draconic scales began to flare out, deep emerald with black tinting color, over her arms, torso, legs, and face. From above, her and the others, would look more like dragons than Ork, unleashing their true forms now.

The closer it got, the slower it moved, and Norani uncoiled her spring of a body and sent her chakram flying. It soared over the mud, and found purchase between the maws of the creature that laughed no more as it flopped into the mud. The others hesitated but pushed onward, for Chieftain Boraba was gaining on them and Wind Singer just boomed its way through another half dozen of the creatures. Norani drew her second melee chakram as the others pushed forward in a panic, and the scattered and scared pack crashed against the dragoons. Another approached Norani, and she twisted her chakram so that the blade was not pointing outward, but upward from her wrist and she punched forward. This gave her a bit of a shield as she found her striking hitting the creature in the shoulder, absorbing some of its forward momentum. There was a shock in her wrist from the blow, she hadn't expected the creature to be so muscularly dense. She pushed against it, driving it to her right. As she did, she chopped downward with her second chakram, a deep score just behind the creature's shoulder.

This drove it down the line to the other dragoons, the formation working as intended. There were many more, but Boraba was cleaning them up quickly and she was about a hundred yards out from the group, sending more and more Laughers to the grave or scattered back to the grasses. They just had to hold on for a little bit longer.

As it turned out, she wasn't dead.

The soft buzzing of the bees, more like the rumbling purr of a huge cat than the high-pitched sound a beekeeper might be used to, had lulled her to sleep. The sound of their agitation, likewise, brought her back from the slumber-like-death. Her body ached throughout, and her aether felt less like a blazing fire than a sad ember, but the song of threat the bees sung cut through everything anyway.

"...are they back?" She rasped. Even though her throat was dry and her vision was bleary, there was venom in her voice as the thought of the little raptors attacking her bees came back. "Fuck these little shits."

Imogen felt too stiff to chance a kip-up, so she pushed herself to her side and used her good arm to bring herself to a seated position. From there, it was just a little leverage and an act of will to take herself to a kneel. Several of the huge bees which had landed to keep watch on their injured fellow had already taken off again, but Imogen felt a bump as the injured bee got closer to her.

It filled her with a sense of determination. She couldn't let these bees down! Her injuries, her exhaustion; these were matters to contend with after the immediate threat was over. Yes, she was the only shield this huge bee could rely upon, and she would not falter until broken.

"Do your worst!" Imogen shouted her defiance to the forest ahead, "I'll never-"

What Imogen would never is known to none now, save perhaps the gods. Her words were literally lost to the sudden rush of wind as some sort of explosion tore through the air and deleted the vibrations of her voice as though nothing had been uttered. Her mouth worked silently, and then the rush of air knocked her back down again- an impact which might have been enough to knock her out again, except that her head was sheltered by the fluffy carapace of the injured bee.

She squinted through the whistling wind, ears ringing. When the wind let up, she could see a green figure standing a short distance away; a roughly humanoid entity, glittering with dark green hues, facing away from her. Another ork? It certainly seemed so.

As her ears cleared, Imogen could make out the sounds of snarling, and shouting. From her vantage point (closer to the ground than she'd like) she could see what appeared to be pterosaurs of some description in the sky above. Clearly some manner of Orkhan aerial detachment, though she had no earthly way of knowing whether these were villagers or from the central military corps.

Imogen wanted desperately to lend her assistance, to jump up and charge... whatever those huge dog-things the Ork ahead of her was fighting, but she didn't see that going well. She could probably stand, if she had to, but if she pushed herself too much further... well, the consequences of overstepping in Reaving could be extreme, to say the least. The thought of one of her pact weapons breaking was almost as awful as the thought of one of those monsters tearing into the beautiful bumbles behind her.

Still, mere materialization was a negligible expense, and she wasn't going to lie there unarmed. The Sunsinger reached forward into the air, making sure her hand was nowhere near the surrounding bees, and exchanged the weapon in her soul for a sword in her hand. The usual vortex of argent nova-fire spun into being in her palm, sputtering just a bit, then elongated rapidly, settling into reality in the form of a greatsword which... weighed pretty heavily in her grasp. She was well-conditioned to hold the enormous blade even in one hand, but this was the wrong hand and she had far less aether than usual to lend to the support of the thing. The tip dipped until it hit the ground, and Imogen was mostly holding a listless weapon in hand.

"Come on, you damn dogs!"

That's what Imogen would have shouted, except that her throat was still raspy, so what actually came out was closer to "Com on, cew am ogs!"