Moondark, Part II
Posted: Tue Nov 08, 2022 8:56 am
80th Day of Ash, 122nd Year of the Age of Steel
Masagh awoke surrounded by earth. His first, dull thought was that in some dark turn of irony he had been discovered and put in a grave. From dust to dust. As he lifted his head, though, he remembered he was the cobra. Pain shot through his body. He remembered the shadows, the fight, Calliope. Twisting in the tunnel Masagh’s forked tongue flickered out as he made his way up.
He could feel in the soft scales of his belly the warmth in the soil as he approached the tunnel mouth. A searing illumination cut across a turn in the tunnel near the exit onto the rounded wall of the gopher hole. Daylight.
He had collapsed in the tunnel and slept the rest of the night away. Now he was trapped here for some amount of time he did not know. Was it morning? He tried in vain to calculate the angle of the light without approaching more, then realized he didn’t remember the orientation of the gopher hole in the first place and gave up. He would have to just sit and watch it.
As he settling into his task and rested his wedge-shaped head on the soft earth below his mind went to the arm he lost, the Moonstone with it. It was surely gone, back to dust in the sunlight. Or else the Imperium had collected it for one reason or another. It was lost to him, and any use of his blade with it. The claymore was a large weapon, and could not be wielded one-handed.
A dark feeling of solitude and helplessness settled over him like a sickness at that. Not only had at least one of his companions died, he was stuck across the city without even the comfort of his blade. He was next to useless without it. He settled into those thoughts and felt himself drifting off to a fitful rest.
When next he awoke, it was dark again at the tunnel entrance. He blinked and slithered forward to poke his head out from the hole. The sky was black with night and shadow and the moon shone silver and bright above the city. Fear gripped him, paralyzing his movements.
What if he left the safety of the hole and a shadow came to finish the job. Or else a patrol was nearby and he could not defend himself. Or what if Calliope was still laying there in pieces? No, of course she wasn’t. The sun would have returned her to dust if the Imperium hadn’t. She was gone, more gone that he felt even.
Somehow that comforted him. Not being gone.
Masagh twisted his body out into the night. It was a long transformation back into himself. Exhaustion and injury prolonged an already excruciating experience. When he pushed himself carefully off the grassy floor with the one good arm and sat up, he felt queasy from it. But already the slow breathing and fresh air were doing much to ease it.
He got to his feet after a long moment with his eyes pressed closed. Looking up, he spotted the claymore in the tree, still held there in the foliage. The familiar swirl of aether seemed weaker when he invoked the Dancing. But it was enough to pull the sword free and drop it before him. Masagh relinquished the spell immediately after the sword was free from the tree. He returned it to his scabbard with a sense of relief.
The Rosenholz park seemed blessedly empty. No shadow beasts this night, and no patrol within sight. The ghoul stumbled his way out of the open and into the streets and alleys of Gel’Grandal. He hid when he needed to and kept to the shadows despite his fear of the beasts that lurked there. There was simply nothing he could do about them without even the small Moonstone. Why worry about something that he could not avoid.
The journey through the city was a test of resolve. Patrols marched in increasing number since last night. Perhaps it had been a particularly tough night for more than the Knights. He was forced to collapse into gutters or behind stoops many times. It was difficult to stay agile and stealthy with the loss of an arm and the tender gut wound slowing him down.
Eventually Masagh found himself in Triforge Square. He briefly looked about for signs of struggle or ichor but could find nothing. Now that he had made it through the city he was eager to find the safety of the well. Twisting his legs over the edge, he simply let himself drop the distance. There was no hope he could climb down with an arm missing and he didn’t have the energy besides. The water washed over him as his body began to sink down to the bottom of the well. It came with a profound sense of relief. He had made it. Battered and broken, he had made it to the safety of home.
It was a long twenty minutes later when he stumbled into the Grand Hall from the north passage. Water and ichor still dripped from him and he stood on shaky legs. Despite this, he was filled with joy, for Sabroine stood facing Emerande with her arms crossed. She looked agitated and tapped her foot aggressively. Emerande for her part looked mournful. They were in the midst of an argument. As Masagh stepped inside he could see the anguished form of Riah slumped in a chair at the nearest table, head in her hands. Cleon was nowhere to be seen.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” Masagh rasped as he stepped inside the hall. He grinned as Sabrione yelped and rushed to him. Emerande turned and then stumbled to sit on the step next to her. Her hand went to her face as Sabrione pulled him into a tight hug. Pain blossomed from his gut wound.
“You’re okay!” Sabrione yelled into his ear. “I thought they got you too!”
He groaned and pushed her away. “Not completely okay… Ah, got a pair of nasty wounds.” He indicated his arm and gut. Emerande was standing and moving over and Riah had done the same.
“I’ve never been more relieved, Masagh.” Emerande said, pushing past Sabrione and kissing him on the cheek as she grabbed his good shoulder and guided him to a nearby chair after a brief embrace. “Now sit, sit here. Oh, your arm!”
“It’s okay.” Masagh gasped. As he sat, the young Riah came over and gave him a brief one armed hug.
“I’ll go get him some food.” She said, jogging off quickly.
“What happened?” Sabrione asked, crouching down in front of him. “I thought it had gored you out and eaten you.”
Masagh shook his head tiredly. “It gored me, sent me flying. I tried to merge the moonstone with my blade…but lost the moonlight.” Masagh recounted, leaning back gratefully. “It took my arm and the moonstone with it. I lost consciousness. When I came to… I-“ He coughed and bent over slightly, grimacing. They both took made tentative motions to reach out to him, but he went on. “Imperium patrol was coming. I had to change. I became the cobra and crawled into an animal den to hide. I waited for nightfall and then fled home.”
Sabrione stood back up and glanced towards the door. “Perhaps Calliope was able to escape similarly. We were separated in the fight-“ Her voice trailed off as she caught his eye, her face becoming a mask of neutrality. “Gone?”
He nodded once.
“How do you know?” Emerande asked, her cold hand on his one remaining one.
“When I came back to consciousness, before I changed, I saw her.” Masagh began and paused, not knowing how to say it. “They had torn her apart. I knew it was her because when the patrol came they picked her head up to examine it.”
Sabrione cursed and twisted around to face the wall. She paced away a few feet.
“At least you are safe.” Emerande said, her eyes on his own. He smiled faintly at her. “We will get you another arm, it is hardly the first time I’ve had to replace one, and certainly won’t be the last.”
“I’m just glad everyone else got home safely.” Masagh said, his thoughts still on Calliope.
Sabrione twisted around with a dark expression. Emerande’s broke into a slight frown.
“Cleon is dead.” Emerande said, looking now at Sabrione.
“We are getting harried pretty bad without any moonstone.” Sabrione began. “You had been thrown and Calliope charged after you, I think to find it. But the tentacled ones were trying to surround us. Cleon distracted them to give Riah time to… Well he did a damn good job of it. They carried him away into the Park.”
Cleon, the right hand of Sabrione. Cleon who had been appointed a Knight by Cynfael. Masagh was not about to give up on the old ghoul. “If I made it back there’s a chance he did too.”
Sabrione’s face darkened more and she shook her head slowly. “His pact blade was near me, Masagh. It corroded to dust, I saw it myself.”
There was no surer sign a Reaver was dead than their weapon’s destruction. He had seen it happen before. He stared across the room, his gaze unseeing. First Cynfael, then Vasile, now Calliope and Cleon. Sabrione had two Knights left, one inexperienced and one crippled with a single arm.
“Shit.” Masagh said. “I’m sorry, I was trying to bring the stone close enough so we could bring that thing down. It-“
“It isn’t anything you need be sorry about.” Emerande cut him off, squeezing his hand.
“We all swore the oath, brother.” Sabrione said. “Not much you could have done. Not much any of us could have done.”
“Now we’re down the one tool we had, as well as three good warriors.” Masagh said, indicating his arm.
“You aren’t down. You’re just hurt.” Sabrione said with that old anger in her voice. “We’ve survived deaths before, we will survive this.”
“Yes, we have.” Emerande said. “You will be healed and we will find another way to endure this plague.”
Cleon Isendor
Knight of House Creth
33rd Glade, 275 Age of Sundering - 79th Ash, 122 Age of Steel