Searing 28, 122
Staying in Drathera was easier than it used to be.
When first the witch had arrived in Glade of 122, the city had been… if not uninviting, than certainly predatory. The culture of the Commonwealth was all-in on community support bolstered by striving for individual perfection, and that lent itself surprisingly well to a very robust energy of ripping off foreigners.
It wasn’t all on the Ecithians, of course. The communal beds in the city hostels had been deeply unnerving for an ork who’d spent her days raised in the uptight Kathalan society, and the price for an individual lodging was extravagant. Likewise, though the ork had been taught Ecitherse and given lessons in the culture since youth, there had been predictable stumbling blocks when she accidentally used an improper possessive or name.
Aside from that, though, she got a real sense that she’d lost literally hundreds of avens to the lack of tattoos on her midriff. The nominally boisterous and friendly folk were like sharks under their veneer of good-natured cheer, and the lack of citizenship markings were the blood which chummed the water, drawing them from near and far and driving them to a feeding frenzy.
Now, though…
It was much easier for her to take a spot in the large beds after her experience in Gihah last year, though she didn’t always bother- the rune of Animus had really made it a lot easier to live and sleep outside. With the markings she’d acquired, too, the prices of goods seemed somewhat reduced, though she harbored suspicions that some of the traders she’d dealt with had noticed her (admittedly somewhat obvious) foreign roots and kept their prices fair to middling.
Yet there was one thing which had grown no easier with time’s passing.
"Why the fuck" she hissed as she jogged up the Great Stair, "did I ever make this wretched climb before learning Traversion?"
Kitty, for once, had decided not to hide within her shadow and was perched atop her shoulder, casting his curious gaze about. This was nominally a bit heavier, of course, but she didn’t really mind so much. For an orkhan, even one as short as she, the weight of a cat was negligible.
What wasn’t negligible was her own weight, while trying to jog these damned stairs.
“Mew?” commented Kitty, wisely.
He was right, of course. Even if she couldn’t just teleport up the mountain, she could easily have taken a bird’s shape and soared up to the top in under an hour. From her last visit, she knew that the journey from Landing to Landing to the temples at the height of the mountain could take literal, actual days.
"It’s not about the time it takes," she told her familiar, still miffed, "I am trying to have a spiritual experience, all right?"
To soar up the mountain was… not illegal, or anything, especially if it wasn’t your first time, but it was something of a social faux pas. She wasn’t entirely sure she understood it, but the people of Drathera seemed to take as self-explanatory that it was sometimes acceptable to shortcut the Great Stairs but never if you had both the time and ability to walk them.
From what Imogen could gather, it was some combination of things. Firstly, the Orkhan saw the mountain and the city as gifts, maybe from the gods or the Dragonflights, or perhaps they didn’t distinguish the two so particularly. It was, perhaps, a sign that you were taking things for granted if you simply skipped to the top, didn’t take in the architecture and the ancient frescos on the mountain walls. If a child only ever took trains and never spent the days walking the forest roads of northern Karnor, who’s to say they wouldn’t lose their appreciation for the vastness and beauty of it?
But also involved was the Ecitherse obsession with physical fitness. She didn’t begrudge them that! She’d spent countless hours doing trainings and exercises under the Sunsingers, until her arms and legs were corded ropes of hard muscle, her reflexes sharp and her body in tune with itself. Her travels through the southern continent, in a whole bevy of different forms, had taught her a new appreciation for endurance, too.
“Haaaw!” a voice behind her cried, “Outta the way, little slow-steps!”
Imogen almost had time to turn before the speaker barrelled past her, giggling. Four burly youths tore around her on both sides, none touching her but all getting close enough to jostle, nearly causing her to stumble.
The rude teenagers of Ecith, her mortal enemies, had found her once more.
The brute creatures–for she would not dignify them by saying they were people, no, what people would act in such a way–were the terrors of Drathera, Imogen had convinced herself. Hooligans who raced about the steps, chasing dreams of glory in adulthood which they had no discipline to achieve and meanwhile pummeling unsuspecting passers-by such as herself with hurtful words and unkind gestures.
They reveled in their brute strength, having nothing else to show yet for their lives. They would continue as they were now indefinitely unless some hero rose up and took a stand.
And that hero was Imogen Ward.
Mere moments after the group of laughing youths had passed, they were momentarily stymied by a strange roaring sound behind them. Turning, they saw a shape out of nightmare in hot pursuit.
It’s possible that one or more of the teenagers wet themselves then and there; such sordid detail will not appear in this account. Without a moment of hesitation, however, the shocked kids burst into a hurried sprint. While Orkhan were not known as cowards, and each of these kids had surely boasted of the beasts they’d someday contend with in the deep jungle, one should not expect children, unarmed, to try to slay a monstrous cat the size of a horse.
The kids ran fast, Imogen had to give them that. They were trained and toned by their daily romps about the Great Stair, and in her own form she’d have no prayer of catching them. Hell, even as a panther, she didn’t know if she had the endurance to really chase them long.
But she wasn’t there to catch them, she just wanted to scare them straight. So it was she used another magic to ensure that they would live out a nightmare, right here and now on the mountain’s side.
As the teens rounded the stairway in a blind panic, they found the great black cat waiting for them above and ahead, surrounded by the glow of the flames and already growling. They tripped over themselves to come to a stop, eyes wide with horror. The great cat lowered her head to the face of the lead youth, eyes practically alight with malice, and said, in accented Ecitherse:
"Stop being such stupid shits all the time!”
There was a moment of shocked silence as the kids stared at Imogen, trying to process her words. A sense of smug self-satisfaction filled the witch. This here was going to be an important life lesson. Knocked down a peg, these children would certainly come to understand tha-
“AAAUGUGHHH!”
One of the boys in the back screamed and stumbled backwards, falling off the side of the Great Stair.
"Wh- NO!”
Visions of the future flashed through Imogen’s mind, crazed and unconsidered. They were going to arrest her, for sure. She’d be tried in the Senate for the murder of a child; the mother, distraught, would weep openly on the stand while the father pounded the podium, demanding blood.
How would they do it? Would she simply be beheaded in the Temple of Raxen, or perhaps chained to a post in the jungle, left in the middle of a Primal’s path? “So long and farewell to Imogen Ward- she’ll be remembered as the woman who murdered a child because she couldn’t keep her cool at being teased on the stairs.”
(Actually they’d probably say ‘Innongen Ward’ because nobody could pronounce her godsdamned name here.)
Of course she couldn’t let any of that happen. Before the kid had even fallen out of view, she had leapt over the terrified gaggle of his chastined friends.
The Great Stairs are not necessarily a fatal drop, but that depends a great deal on exactly where you choose to fall from. This part of the path was a bad one; steep enough that you could plummet for hundreds of feet before you hit the slopes below, though you would, in fact, hit the slope long before you fell to a lower Landing. Given the angle at which the kid was dropping, that impact was pretty much certain to be fatal.
Saving a falling person was… not exactly easy. None of her avian forms would dive faster than he was tumbling downwards, and she didn’t have time to shapeshift anyway. Without Kinetics, she couldn’t hope to push herself fast enough to reach him, nor did she have the Elementalism to call a breeze to slow his descent. Reaving was characteristically useless unless she could devise a plan which saved him by tearing his limbs off.
Luckily, she had one other idea. It was just- it was going to look a bit goofy.
Focusing on the trajectory of the falling child, Imogen quickly plotted the course his flailing body was taking towards the slope below and located an intermediate point. She only had one shot at this, so she gave herself a bit of wiggle room, choosing a spot close to the rocks and making it as wide as she could.
The teen arced towards certain death… and then, without fanfare, disappeared into a yawning crack in the air below him. A similar portal tore itself open below the falling panther and yawned wide, spitting the dazed kid upwards to meet her.
She grabbed him by the shirt–well, no, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, but some manner of ridiculous leather strap getup–and spread enormous wings, banking against the air until she’d slowed her descent enough to land on the side of the mountain below. Once she was sure of her footing, she jerked her head upwards, tossing the kid unceremoniously onto her back and diving into Slipspace herself, reappearing back on the steps a hundred feet above.
Imogen and the boy reappeared behind the group of teenagers, who were standing on the steps, gaping down in disbelief. As she dropped the stunned child onto the step next to her, they turned around, clearly torn between shock, fear, and relief.
The witch shifted rapidly out of cat-form, pulling up the teen she’d just saved (from almost being killed by her) and turning him over, searching carefully for any signs of concussion or other injury. None were evident; it seemed she’d managed to catch him before he’d suffered any bodily injury.
Kitty struggled up the far stair, holding the clothing and bag she’d discarded in his mouth, then trotted over to her, dropping them next to the dazed kid.
"And- and- and let that be, uh, a lesson, to, to you all.”
Her voice sounded sheepish, not at all commanding, the admonishment flat and lame, but the bewildered children quickly nodded anyway, creeping closer to inspect their compatriot as Imogen struggled to put her clothes back on.
Once she’d finished that task, she found the teens staring at her, and decided to try to salvage some of that.
"I hope you’ve, er, learned… not to be rude...”
“Or you’ll turn into a monster and throw us off the mountain?” asked one of the girls, eyes huge.
"Ye- well, no- uh.”
The kids were staring at her.
"Goodbye.”
Imogen took off running, her cat barely keeping pace. The teenagers watched her go, absolutely baffled, but all still alive.
When first the witch had arrived in Glade of 122, the city had been… if not uninviting, than certainly predatory. The culture of the Commonwealth was all-in on community support bolstered by striving for individual perfection, and that lent itself surprisingly well to a very robust energy of ripping off foreigners.
It wasn’t all on the Ecithians, of course. The communal beds in the city hostels had been deeply unnerving for an ork who’d spent her days raised in the uptight Kathalan society, and the price for an individual lodging was extravagant. Likewise, though the ork had been taught Ecitherse and given lessons in the culture since youth, there had been predictable stumbling blocks when she accidentally used an improper possessive or name.
Aside from that, though, she got a real sense that she’d lost literally hundreds of avens to the lack of tattoos on her midriff. The nominally boisterous and friendly folk were like sharks under their veneer of good-natured cheer, and the lack of citizenship markings were the blood which chummed the water, drawing them from near and far and driving them to a feeding frenzy.
Now, though…
It was much easier for her to take a spot in the large beds after her experience in Gihah last year, though she didn’t always bother- the rune of Animus had really made it a lot easier to live and sleep outside. With the markings she’d acquired, too, the prices of goods seemed somewhat reduced, though she harbored suspicions that some of the traders she’d dealt with had noticed her (admittedly somewhat obvious) foreign roots and kept their prices fair to middling.
Yet there was one thing which had grown no easier with time’s passing.
"Why the fuck" she hissed as she jogged up the Great Stair, "did I ever make this wretched climb before learning Traversion?"
Kitty, for once, had decided not to hide within her shadow and was perched atop her shoulder, casting his curious gaze about. This was nominally a bit heavier, of course, but she didn’t really mind so much. For an orkhan, even one as short as she, the weight of a cat was negligible.
What wasn’t negligible was her own weight, while trying to jog these damned stairs.
“Mew?” commented Kitty, wisely.
He was right, of course. Even if she couldn’t just teleport up the mountain, she could easily have taken a bird’s shape and soared up to the top in under an hour. From her last visit, she knew that the journey from Landing to Landing to the temples at the height of the mountain could take literal, actual days.
"It’s not about the time it takes," she told her familiar, still miffed, "I am trying to have a spiritual experience, all right?"
To soar up the mountain was… not illegal, or anything, especially if it wasn’t your first time, but it was something of a social faux pas. She wasn’t entirely sure she understood it, but the people of Drathera seemed to take as self-explanatory that it was sometimes acceptable to shortcut the Great Stairs but never if you had both the time and ability to walk them.
From what Imogen could gather, it was some combination of things. Firstly, the Orkhan saw the mountain and the city as gifts, maybe from the gods or the Dragonflights, or perhaps they didn’t distinguish the two so particularly. It was, perhaps, a sign that you were taking things for granted if you simply skipped to the top, didn’t take in the architecture and the ancient frescos on the mountain walls. If a child only ever took trains and never spent the days walking the forest roads of northern Karnor, who’s to say they wouldn’t lose their appreciation for the vastness and beauty of it?
But also involved was the Ecitherse obsession with physical fitness. She didn’t begrudge them that! She’d spent countless hours doing trainings and exercises under the Sunsingers, until her arms and legs were corded ropes of hard muscle, her reflexes sharp and her body in tune with itself. Her travels through the southern continent, in a whole bevy of different forms, had taught her a new appreciation for endurance, too.
“Haaaw!” a voice behind her cried, “Outta the way, little slow-steps!”
Imogen almost had time to turn before the speaker barrelled past her, giggling. Four burly youths tore around her on both sides, none touching her but all getting close enough to jostle, nearly causing her to stumble.
The rude teenagers of Ecith, her mortal enemies, had found her once more.
~~~
The brute creatures–for she would not dignify them by saying they were people, no, what people would act in such a way–were the terrors of Drathera, Imogen had convinced herself. Hooligans who raced about the steps, chasing dreams of glory in adulthood which they had no discipline to achieve and meanwhile pummeling unsuspecting passers-by such as herself with hurtful words and unkind gestures.
They reveled in their brute strength, having nothing else to show yet for their lives. They would continue as they were now indefinitely unless some hero rose up and took a stand.
And that hero was Imogen Ward.
Mere moments after the group of laughing youths had passed, they were momentarily stymied by a strange roaring sound behind them. Turning, they saw a shape out of nightmare in hot pursuit.
It’s possible that one or more of the teenagers wet themselves then and there; such sordid detail will not appear in this account. Without a moment of hesitation, however, the shocked kids burst into a hurried sprint. While Orkhan were not known as cowards, and each of these kids had surely boasted of the beasts they’d someday contend with in the deep jungle, one should not expect children, unarmed, to try to slay a monstrous cat the size of a horse.
The kids ran fast, Imogen had to give them that. They were trained and toned by their daily romps about the Great Stair, and in her own form she’d have no prayer of catching them. Hell, even as a panther, she didn’t know if she had the endurance to really chase them long.
But she wasn’t there to catch them, she just wanted to scare them straight. So it was she used another magic to ensure that they would live out a nightmare, right here and now on the mountain’s side.
As the teens rounded the stairway in a blind panic, they found the great black cat waiting for them above and ahead, surrounded by the glow of the flames and already growling. They tripped over themselves to come to a stop, eyes wide with horror. The great cat lowered her head to the face of the lead youth, eyes practically alight with malice, and said, in accented Ecitherse:
"Stop being such stupid shits all the time!”
There was a moment of shocked silence as the kids stared at Imogen, trying to process her words. A sense of smug self-satisfaction filled the witch. This here was going to be an important life lesson. Knocked down a peg, these children would certainly come to understand tha-
“AAAUGUGHHH!”
One of the boys in the back screamed and stumbled backwards, falling off the side of the Great Stair.
"Wh- NO!”
~~~
Visions of the future flashed through Imogen’s mind, crazed and unconsidered. They were going to arrest her, for sure. She’d be tried in the Senate for the murder of a child; the mother, distraught, would weep openly on the stand while the father pounded the podium, demanding blood.
How would they do it? Would she simply be beheaded in the Temple of Raxen, or perhaps chained to a post in the jungle, left in the middle of a Primal’s path? “So long and farewell to Imogen Ward- she’ll be remembered as the woman who murdered a child because she couldn’t keep her cool at being teased on the stairs.”
(Actually they’d probably say ‘Innongen Ward’ because nobody could pronounce her godsdamned name here.)
Of course she couldn’t let any of that happen. Before the kid had even fallen out of view, she had leapt over the terrified gaggle of his chastined friends.
The Great Stairs are not necessarily a fatal drop, but that depends a great deal on exactly where you choose to fall from. This part of the path was a bad one; steep enough that you could plummet for hundreds of feet before you hit the slopes below, though you would, in fact, hit the slope long before you fell to a lower Landing. Given the angle at which the kid was dropping, that impact was pretty much certain to be fatal.
Saving a falling person was… not exactly easy. None of her avian forms would dive faster than he was tumbling downwards, and she didn’t have time to shapeshift anyway. Without Kinetics, she couldn’t hope to push herself fast enough to reach him, nor did she have the Elementalism to call a breeze to slow his descent. Reaving was characteristically useless unless she could devise a plan which saved him by tearing his limbs off.
Luckily, she had one other idea. It was just- it was going to look a bit goofy.
Focusing on the trajectory of the falling child, Imogen quickly plotted the course his flailing body was taking towards the slope below and located an intermediate point. She only had one shot at this, so she gave herself a bit of wiggle room, choosing a spot close to the rocks and making it as wide as she could.
The teen arced towards certain death… and then, without fanfare, disappeared into a yawning crack in the air below him. A similar portal tore itself open below the falling panther and yawned wide, spitting the dazed kid upwards to meet her.
She grabbed him by the shirt–well, no, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, but some manner of ridiculous leather strap getup–and spread enormous wings, banking against the air until she’d slowed her descent enough to land on the side of the mountain below. Once she was sure of her footing, she jerked her head upwards, tossing the kid unceremoniously onto her back and diving into Slipspace herself, reappearing back on the steps a hundred feet above.
Imogen and the boy reappeared behind the group of teenagers, who were standing on the steps, gaping down in disbelief. As she dropped the stunned child onto the step next to her, they turned around, clearly torn between shock, fear, and relief.
The witch shifted rapidly out of cat-form, pulling up the teen she’d just saved (from almost being killed by her) and turning him over, searching carefully for any signs of concussion or other injury. None were evident; it seemed she’d managed to catch him before he’d suffered any bodily injury.
Kitty struggled up the far stair, holding the clothing and bag she’d discarded in his mouth, then trotted over to her, dropping them next to the dazed kid.
"And- and- and let that be, uh, a lesson, to, to you all.”
Her voice sounded sheepish, not at all commanding, the admonishment flat and lame, but the bewildered children quickly nodded anyway, creeping closer to inspect their compatriot as Imogen struggled to put her clothes back on.
Once she’d finished that task, she found the teens staring at her, and decided to try to salvage some of that.
"I hope you’ve, er, learned… not to be rude...”
“Or you’ll turn into a monster and throw us off the mountain?” asked one of the girls, eyes huge.
"Ye- well, no- uh.”
The kids were staring at her.
"Goodbye.”
Imogen took off running, her cat barely keeping pace. The teenagers watched her go, absolutely baffled, but all still alive.