Searing, 38 122
"And what exactly did you say its name was?" Imogen asked, looking up from her notebook.
“The Silent Fisher. Kegumu Rakaka.”
Imogen frowned at the other ork–or perhaps she was a dragon? It didn’t really matter–and looked back down at the reference material she’d brought with her. There were several artistic depictions of what could only be described as a humanoid figure, like a cross between a man and a bird.
"It doesn’t look much like a primal." the witch mused, sounding doubtful. "They’re typically…"
“Larger, yes.” the other woman agreed, repositioning herself to get a good look at the pictures, “That isn’t a requirement. Size is a common indicator of overflowing elemental aether, but not strictly necessary. Perhaps it should not be surprising that metal would concentrate most densely of all?”
"Mmm." responded Imogen, unconvinced.
It had only taken Imogen about a day to track down a falconer in Drathera. It took two more to climb the Stair up.
It was a shame, really, that she’d completed her first trip up the Stair before Carina had drawn the rune of Traversion upon her back. If she’d had the opportunity to map the space then, she could have whisked herself up in a heartbeat. Still, it seemed the city was intent on wringing just a little more blood from her poor, abused legs.
When she finally reached the landing, she turned around and gave the structure a cold glare. She mouthed a curse at it, though not aloud. One never knew who might be lurking and taking note of slights like that.
Finally, Imogen made her way into the aerie, which was a surprisingly light and spacious little cavern built directly into the mountainside. All manner of birds were homed within; she noted at once that while some were hooded, none were tethered. Doubtless honoring the Tenants required some means by which the birds were voluntarily stabled.
She approached the counter. "How much for a feather?"
(It turned out to be the same cost as an entire bird. Apparently none of the Tenants nor gods of the Triumvirate forbade ripping off customers.)
"I don’t suppose the small size means it isn’t very dangerous…?"
“Oh no!” the Librarian chuckled, “Quite the reverse. Kegumu Rakaka is one of the most dangerous primals.”
The witch had somehow expected as much. "Why is that, though? Voniad Koid is dangerous because of the fires it spreads, I understand the Queen’s danger lies mostly in her offshoots. What does a metal primal do?"
The other woman shrugged, tapping a finger on one of the reference scrolls. “Says here that it kills very brutally.”
"Imagine it’s strong and fast, then." Imogen grumbled. Her mood was souring quickly, and her thoughts had finally caught up to her mind enough to figure out why. She’d had a very real hope that getting a bit of metal from a metal Primal might not even be all that dangerous. Something as big as Koid, she could get right up to unnoticed, maybe in lemur-form, and saw an extraneous bit right off. This thing, though?
The witch looked at the drawing again and shivered slightly. Even the image radiated menace. It was the same feeling any prey got when they spotted the predator.
“You aren’t thinking of hunting it, are you?” asked the Librarian, a bit reproachful. “The Mawoiden never do, it’s thought to be sacred.”
"Not exactly, no."
The witch stood amidst the fens of northern Ecith and opened bright, golden eyes.
She had thought that the eyes of an eagle might be a bit like binoculars; zooming in and out of a field of view. They weren’t. Instead, the world was a riot of color, a rich depth which seemed far beyond the spectrum of anything she’d ever seen before. Depth of field seemed different; although she could still focus on a single thing, everything in the near periphery remained distinct, detailed.
And that detail was vast in scope. Trees which had seemed like a green and brown blur a moment ago were suddenly distinct enough for her to note skittering bugs on their bark. General movement, like the sway of branches in the breeze, was suddenly comprehensible.
Unfortunately, eyes are part of the brain, and along with this fantastic sight came a powerful urge to fixate on a new movement every moment. The ork had to force herself to stop twitching, as each distant movement tried to capture her attention completely. The world, it seemed was rather more hypnotic and overwhelming than she’d ever realized.
And this was going to be a problem.
Imogen had paid top aven for eagle eyes for one reason and one reason alone; to find the Kegumu Rakaka and observe it from far enough away that it wouldn’t see her.
Wawari Bobul was a strange village.
Maybe all villages were strange in their own way. She’d felt quite relaxed in Gihah K'uvfoi'uv Fi'uv, but it was, more or less, a collection of homes hung over a waterfall serving as a bunker against the lava demons. Weird to think of it that way, but not inaccurate.
This place was more given to solid ground, and mostly populated by huts, so the general landscape seemed fairly ordinary. Less ordinary were the veritable armies of fleshy servitors, or the ethereal legion of reanimated fae moults. Imogen wondered, idly, what Destynel would make of such a sight.
She’d stopped in the artisans’ shops, genuinely attracted to the surprisingly high-quality wares on display throughout, but inquired in each about the Silent Fisher. Each time, she was told to stay for the performance that night, so she did.
By the time Imogen arrived in Greyuld’s theatre, night was falling and the storytelling had begun. There was, it seemed, a rota of sorts; villagers rose and took the humble wooden dias when it was their turn to speak, exchanging various stories which had–to Imogen’s ear–the obvious cant of myth.
She had to admit that they were rather good at it. Doubtless this was the pastime of choice for many of the villagers, and they had probably had a lifetime of practice. First came a story about a traveler in the woods, who stole the dress from a tree spirit and was cursed to never leave until he once again found the tree and returned her garment. Next was the tale of a witch who bartered with evil spirits in the hopes of becoming more beautiful than Syren, and ended up changed into a beast which sounded a lot like a platypus. Several stories purported to be “tales from my mawoid”, which was a word Imogen knew but didn’t quite understand the use in this context.
Finally, an older woman stood and said:
"It won’t do." Imogen told the Librarian.
She’d recounted the old mawoiden tale, which the Librarian had been happy to transcribe, though she admitted that there was probably something similar already in the great archives. She’d also talked about the time she’d spent in the jungle, watching for the Silent Fisher with the eyes of the eagle, peering down stream and lake.
She’d spotted it, too, for all the good it had done her. It would have been a challenge to track for most people, but the spirits who kept giving her these assignments had helpfully provided her once again with some kind of innate connection to her target. Without that, she wasn’t sure she could have found the primal at all; it liked to spend long stretches of time around shadowed waters, totally motionless.
"It’s too still, too quiet. The stories the people tell are… ominous, but not enlightening. I don’t know how strong it is, how fast it is, what sort of things it can do."
“Mmm.” mused the Librarian. “The literature is light on direct testimony. I venture to guess that those who have seen the primal in action simply haven’t survived to talk about it.”
"True enough, but the Mawoiden are necromancers. Dead men tell their tales, if you ask them the right way."
“They haven’t said much here.”
"Right. It really feels like I’ve hit a wall, and there’s nothing I can do to learn more about this creature."
“You could always let it kill you.” the Librarian joked.
Imogen blinked.
"And what exactly did you say its name was?" Imogen asked, looking up from her notebook.
“The Silent Fisher. Kegumu Rakaka.”
Imogen frowned at the other ork–or perhaps she was a dragon? It didn’t really matter–and looked back down at the reference material she’d brought with her. There were several artistic depictions of what could only be described as a humanoid figure, like a cross between a man and a bird.
"It doesn’t look much like a primal." the witch mused, sounding doubtful. "They’re typically…"
“Larger, yes.” the other woman agreed, repositioning herself to get a good look at the pictures, “That isn’t a requirement. Size is a common indicator of overflowing elemental aether, but not strictly necessary. Perhaps it should not be surprising that metal would concentrate most densely of all?”
"Mmm." responded Imogen, unconvinced.
~~~
It had only taken Imogen about a day to track down a falconer in Drathera. It took two more to climb the Stair up.
It was a shame, really, that she’d completed her first trip up the Stair before Carina had drawn the rune of Traversion upon her back. If she’d had the opportunity to map the space then, she could have whisked herself up in a heartbeat. Still, it seemed the city was intent on wringing just a little more blood from her poor, abused legs.
When she finally reached the landing, she turned around and gave the structure a cold glare. She mouthed a curse at it, though not aloud. One never knew who might be lurking and taking note of slights like that.
Finally, Imogen made her way into the aerie, which was a surprisingly light and spacious little cavern built directly into the mountainside. All manner of birds were homed within; she noted at once that while some were hooded, none were tethered. Doubtless honoring the Tenants required some means by which the birds were voluntarily stabled.
She approached the counter. "How much for a feather?"
~~~
(It turned out to be the same cost as an entire bird. Apparently none of the Tenants nor gods of the Triumvirate forbade ripping off customers.)
~~~
"I don’t suppose the small size means it isn’t very dangerous…?"
“Oh no!” the Librarian chuckled, “Quite the reverse. Kegumu Rakaka is one of the most dangerous primals.”
The witch had somehow expected as much. "Why is that, though? Voniad Koid is dangerous because of the fires it spreads, I understand the Queen’s danger lies mostly in her offshoots. What does a metal primal do?"
The other woman shrugged, tapping a finger on one of the reference scrolls. “Says here that it kills very brutally.”
"Imagine it’s strong and fast, then." Imogen grumbled. Her mood was souring quickly, and her thoughts had finally caught up to her mind enough to figure out why. She’d had a very real hope that getting a bit of metal from a metal Primal might not even be all that dangerous. Something as big as Koid, she could get right up to unnoticed, maybe in lemur-form, and saw an extraneous bit right off. This thing, though?
The witch looked at the drawing again and shivered slightly. Even the image radiated menace. It was the same feeling any prey got when they spotted the predator.
“You aren’t thinking of hunting it, are you?” asked the Librarian, a bit reproachful. “The Mawoiden never do, it’s thought to be sacred.”
"Not exactly, no."
~~~
The witch stood amidst the fens of northern Ecith and opened bright, golden eyes.
She had thought that the eyes of an eagle might be a bit like binoculars; zooming in and out of a field of view. They weren’t. Instead, the world was a riot of color, a rich depth which seemed far beyond the spectrum of anything she’d ever seen before. Depth of field seemed different; although she could still focus on a single thing, everything in the near periphery remained distinct, detailed.
And that detail was vast in scope. Trees which had seemed like a green and brown blur a moment ago were suddenly distinct enough for her to note skittering bugs on their bark. General movement, like the sway of branches in the breeze, was suddenly comprehensible.
Unfortunately, eyes are part of the brain, and along with this fantastic sight came a powerful urge to fixate on a new movement every moment. The ork had to force herself to stop twitching, as each distant movement tried to capture her attention completely. The world, it seemed was rather more hypnotic and overwhelming than she’d ever realized.
And this was going to be a problem.
Imogen had paid top aven for eagle eyes for one reason and one reason alone; to find the Kegumu Rakaka and observe it from far enough away that it wouldn’t see her.
~~~
Wawari Bobul was a strange village.
Maybe all villages were strange in their own way. She’d felt quite relaxed in Gihah K'uvfoi'uv Fi'uv, but it was, more or less, a collection of homes hung over a waterfall serving as a bunker against the lava demons. Weird to think of it that way, but not inaccurate.
This place was more given to solid ground, and mostly populated by huts, so the general landscape seemed fairly ordinary. Less ordinary were the veritable armies of fleshy servitors, or the ethereal legion of reanimated fae moults. Imogen wondered, idly, what Destynel would make of such a sight.
She’d stopped in the artisans’ shops, genuinely attracted to the surprisingly high-quality wares on display throughout, but inquired in each about the Silent Fisher. Each time, she was told to stay for the performance that night, so she did.
By the time Imogen arrived in Greyuld’s theatre, night was falling and the storytelling had begun. There was, it seemed, a rota of sorts; villagers rose and took the humble wooden dias when it was their turn to speak, exchanging various stories which had–to Imogen’s ear–the obvious cant of myth.
She had to admit that they were rather good at it. Doubtless this was the pastime of choice for many of the villagers, and they had probably had a lifetime of practice. First came a story about a traveler in the woods, who stole the dress from a tree spirit and was cursed to never leave until he once again found the tree and returned her garment. Next was the tale of a witch who bartered with evil spirits in the hopes of becoming more beautiful than Syren, and ended up changed into a beast which sounded a lot like a platypus. Several stories purported to be “tales from my mawoid”, which was a word Imogen knew but didn’t quite understand the use in this context.
Finally, an older woman stood and said:
In the beginning, long before the Mawoiden were lost, before the elves opened the wrong doors, before the three came to the great marble city, His Highness walked these lands.
The great spirits who forged the land were not as we are now, unclear of purpose. Each one was made with one thing in mind, and there were great spirits who carved the mountains, and who raised up the animals from the loam, and even spirits who dug up the gemstones of the earth and carved the dragons.
But when His Highness looked out upon the plain and the mountain, he saw that though there were spirits to bring joy and strength to the people, there were none to keep them from growing proud. So it was that he carved one great spirit for each of the peoples of Ecith, each which rivaled the heavens and would remind them that they are not as gods. Though they were received with cries and wailing, these were gifts to the people.
To the cunning, he gave shadows like a serpent, to mock their ploys. To the prosperous he gave devastation like a fire-mountain, to remind them that ruin was ever at their heels. To the fisherman he gave great beasts to rend boats and tear nets, to remind them that the gifts of the sea must be taken. Even unto the dragons he gave spirits which dwarfed them as they do fae and ork, so that they would never feel that they alone rule the world.
Our people, too, he honored with a humbling gift. And the gift given to the Mawoiden was Kegumu Rakaka.
When first we were lost in these lands, amidst motionless fire and light-that-froze and shadow-that-burned, there was only and always death. We clung to the ways of the world that was, clawing ourselves to shreds to preserve a life which could no longer be. We sought to claim the land, to live forever upon it as masters.
And so it was, the first night, that the Silent Fisher came among us.
The people of that age were strong; for all that they were not yet wise, they were cunning in the ways of war and runes. They thought to conquer this forest and twist it to their desires. First, a great chief among the people ordered that the land be cleared, so that farming could begin. He sent a dozen men with stout arms and axes into the woods. And the Silent Fisher came upon them, and they did not return.
The next day, the people found the remains of the foresters. Bones, as white as if sun-bleached for a week, clothing gone, muscle and skin and sinew all disappeared. They wept then, for they did not understand the gift. Perhaps they would have wept if they did.
So the chief set out with his warriors, to find the monster within the woods. It is said that they did, and set upon it; but soon found that no spear could pierce its feathers. The men sought to wrestle it, but they were flesh and blood, and it moved through them as a man walks through a cobweb. For three nights, the battle raged; first they fought to kill it, then they fought to stop it, and at last they fought only in the hope of slowing it. They did not return.
The new chief decreed that this was a monster beyond hope of arms, and tasked his witches with it. They went into a cave and prepared a great cauldron of spells, hexes and enchantments to befuddle its senses and strike down its vital organs. But when they poured the cauldron on it, the brew simply slid away, and none of their magic could find any purchase. They did not return.
For long years the people sought to fight Kegumu Rakaka, for they could never hope to tame this land while it hunted. Time and again, they failed, and the people grew hungrier and more desperate as they went.
They fought first because they thought they could triumph, could rule over the land like gods. Then they fought because they thought there was no other option; if they did not, surely they would starve and perish. It was only when they finally learned humility and stopped fighting that they realized that the death they so feared was really the strength they needed all along to live.
And so it was that the people first learned greaya mawoid.
~~~
"It won’t do." Imogen told the Librarian.
She’d recounted the old mawoiden tale, which the Librarian had been happy to transcribe, though she admitted that there was probably something similar already in the great archives. She’d also talked about the time she’d spent in the jungle, watching for the Silent Fisher with the eyes of the eagle, peering down stream and lake.
She’d spotted it, too, for all the good it had done her. It would have been a challenge to track for most people, but the spirits who kept giving her these assignments had helpfully provided her once again with some kind of innate connection to her target. Without that, she wasn’t sure she could have found the primal at all; it liked to spend long stretches of time around shadowed waters, totally motionless.
"It’s too still, too quiet. The stories the people tell are… ominous, but not enlightening. I don’t know how strong it is, how fast it is, what sort of things it can do."
“Mmm.” mused the Librarian. “The literature is light on direct testimony. I venture to guess that those who have seen the primal in action simply haven’t survived to talk about it.”
"True enough, but the Mawoiden are necromancers. Dead men tell their tales, if you ask them the right way."
“They haven’t said much here.”
"Right. It really feels like I’ve hit a wall, and there’s nothing I can do to learn more about this creature."
“You could always let it kill you.” the Librarian joked.
Imogen blinked.
