“I’m telling you, the tracks lead here. Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean I can’t.”
“Perhaps we should have waited for Tichi. She’s just as good of a scout as you are, Cargan.”
Aengellania Heartmender lets Cargan and Myloc’s bickering wash over her, as she takes in the Ghurish boneyard with uneasy and morbid fascination. She never ceases to marvel at how different the two are, even after spending half a decade in their company.
Cargan Cook, short and stocky with a hardiness bred into him by Ghur, folds his arms and glowers up at Myloc like a boy several years his junior.
“Maybe in other Realms, but this is Ghur, my turf. I know the way this land speaks, and it’s telling me that whatever I saw last night came here recently.”
His counterpart, taller but frailer, wearing an academic’s robes, glasses and a scraggly beard that Aengellania tries not to find funny, sighs with an age that is three decades older than him.
“We don’t even know if what you saw has any importance at all. For all we know, your ‘hairy man with big ears’ could just be some practical joke, or a one-off harmless creature. We have better things to do right now.”
“Like what? Stare at some pieces of paper? The town can look after itself for a day without us coddling them, if you can call paperwork coddling.”
Cargan and Myloc continue bickering between each other for a while, and Aengellania has to remind herself that they are practically the same age as each other, and not much younger than herself in human-years. Still, she loves her fellow Soulbound all the same.
Blodaen Snow-Woven grunts and slowly pans his gaze over the bones. Aengellania can feel his wariness at the back of her mind like a cold forge, ready to be ignited into fury when needed. It is a disquieting feeling, and though she has gotten used to it Aengellania prays that Blodaen’s anger would never be needed. She has a soft spot for the grizzled old Runefather.
And then there was Ylthe, standing off to the side from the Soulbound. To Aengellania, the others were familiar to some degree, with odd but understandable human and duardin mannerisms. But the Branchwych feels alien to her, a little apart from them all with her Sylvaneth mind. Aengellania has a number of fond memories of time spent with her, but sometimes she wonders if they could truly understand one another.
Ylthe must have sensed the gloom that thought provoked in Aengellania, for she turned to look at her. The hole in her bark that acts like a mouth when Ylthe cares to move it briefly curves into a smile, bringing with it a warm balm for Aengellania’s soul. The aelf smiles back, happy at least that she had formed a close enough bond with the oft-cantankerous Sylvaneth that they were friends.
Without warning, a figure steps out from behind an enormous tibia. It stands taller than the young wizard, and as broad as Blodaen. Its white fur is matted and dirty, and its horns give it half again as much height as its body. It carries a gnarled staff carved from ancient wood, and its hooves do not make a sound.
“Ulumak var dun gor? Fjur galk me-raan thra.”
The Binding reacts quickly, though with varied responses; after recovering from their surprise Caragan and Blodaen brandish weapons, rifle and axe and javelin respectively. Ylthe lifts a hand and begins a powerful though incomprehensible chant.
Only Aengellania remains still, staring at the new arrival in shock, taking in every detail of a form she has only studied (and poorly at that) in dusty old volumes. She’d never seen a Beastman before, let alone one this close to her, and the sheer proximity of being near something that she’d been told was inimical to peace set her heart pounding with fright. She tries to draw on the courage of her Soulbound, but now Gorkamorka’s roar seems like a distant memory…
Myloc starts as the new arrival speaks and quickly lifts his hands, though to the surprise of the others amethyst magic does not manifest from him.
“Wait! They… They’re greeting us. They just want to talk.”
This is enough to make Blodaen, Cargan and Ylthe all hesitate.
The hoofed creature taps its staff on the ground, and raises its free hand in a conciliatory gesture.
“Iradesh var gorruk kla-zeputun. Me-raan thra Ghur kor delaak.”
“’I meet you as same-kin. Greet you as Ghur-children.’”
“How do you know what it’s saying?”
Myloc lets out an exasperated sigh at Cargan’s question.
“Unlike you, I’ve actually opened a book once in a while.”
Blodaen gives Myloc an uneasy look.
“Myloc, that thing is a Beastman. Whatever it’s saying is lies, better kill it and move on.
“It defiled the Realms. Corrupts nature. Brings Chaos. We can’t trust it.” Ylthe spits out.
Aengellania shakes her head, trying to dispel her shock.
“We can’t attack it without at least hearing it out, can’t we?” She barely manages to gasp out.
“Arumak inndistun var anekamun Sigmar.” The gor-kin chuckles.
“They… They say that a true servant of Sigmar would not strike down a… ‘hornless’ envoy.”
Blodaen snorts at this, and hefts his axe.
“And Sigmar would tell his servants to root out Chaos wherever we find it.”
He takes a step forward, but is stopped as Aengellania stoops down to lay a hand on his shoulder.
“Blo! They’re not at all acting like the Beastmen in the books I’ve read, they’re trying to talk with us. For all we know they might have renounced the Chaos gods.”
Blodaen shoots her an frustrated look, voice becoming a growl of barely-contained violence.
“You haven’t fought these monsters. I have. It’s a trick.”
Aengellania quails under Blodaen’s anger, but behind it she can sense a care for her and the Binding. She takes hold of that care and uses it to rally her courage to her, enough for one last-ditch attempt at convincing him.
“And what if it isn’t?”
The boneyard descends into silence for a long while, everyone waiting for someone to break it. Eventually, Cargan does, speaking hesitantly.
“It can’t hurt to hear them out for a little bit, can it?”
Blodaen keeps his glare on Aengellania for a second longer, before turning to spit on the ground.
“Fine. It can breathe for a minute. After that, I’m cutting off its head.”
Aengellania lets out a breath, and gives Blodaen a grateful smile.
“Thank you, Blo.”
Ylthe lets out a groan, but lowers her hand. When she speaks it reminds Aengellania of the groaning of trees, slowly swaying in quiet woods.
“The beast will make it meaningless…”
Blodaen jerks his head at it.
“She’s right. No need to thank me if this all ends in catastrophe.”
He throws the shaman one last dirty look and stalks away some distance. Aengellania fights down her trepidation and turns towards the Beastman, addressing them directly.
“So, what do you wish to discuss with us?”
“Margrash junra dhar qurnosh.”
“’Not-war and… No dark-magic between us two.’”
Myloc glances nervously at Aengellania .
“They don’t really have a word for peace, that’s the closest translation I can make.”
Cargan grunts, rifle still ready in his hand.
“You could have just said peace then.”
Aengellania raises a hand stilling further arguments between the two. Her nervousness dampens a little when they fall silent.
“Then we can teach them that word, just as I expect we can learn a few things from them.”
She looks back at the shaman.
“And why do you want this peace?”
“‘Peace’? Hargruv keetala var yith sardonis.”
“Peace? I want… When-the-beastlord-kills-another-beastlord-and-takes-their-tribe… Without the killing.”
Myloc shrugs apologetically in the stunned silence.
“Again, the closest translation to ‘cooperation’ that I can get.”
Blodaen shoots Aengellania with an angry glare, which she tries to ignore. She shakes her head and speaks again after a shocked second.
“Why… Why do you want cooperation?”
“Ghur chakam var inshrun.”
“’Ghur is a harsh land.’”
At this Blodaen snorts.
“We know that. Doesn’t answer why we should work with beasts of Chaos.”
As he spits out that last word the boneyard seems to darken, as if the shadows lengthened with a sudden dipping of the sun. Even Cargan, who has braved the borders of the Everwinter, and Myloc, who has lived in the gloom of Shyish, shiver.
The shaman steps forward, its staff thumping on the ground as it walks.
“Ur-grasha var iridesh peh, dhar vosh ghurumesh.”
Myloc hesitates for a second, before translating.
“’My tribe has been hunted by those beasts, and we wish no more of it.’”
Blodaen grunts under his breath. Aengellania can feel from the veteran duardin that he clearly spares little thought for the Beastmen’s predicament. By contrast she gives the shaman a pitying look.
“It must be terrible, being attacked by your own kind.”
The shaman stops shortly before Aengellania. It looks her in the eyes.
“Garadan, varu kesh? Ghurumesh ijek var bhent.”
“’You feel gor-when-it-shares-pain-of-other-gor, aelf mage? You hold a bigger heart than others.’”
Aengellania suddenly becomes self-conscious of the looks of the others upon her. Even Blodaen glances up at the aelf, thoughts hidden behind his flowing hair and beard. Finally, praying to Teclis that she is making the right decision, Aengellania smiles at the shaman, and holds out a hand.
“I just hope it’s big enough for your whole tribe.”
“Grak vrash hargra var yutimos. Ghur vrash loto toros.”
“’It will be big enough for the tribe. Ghur will be sated by it.’”
The apprehension ratchets up in the boneyard, as the other Binding members stare at the shaman, waiting for something, anything, to break the tension. Through the thread of souls connecting them, Aengellania can feel Blodaen’s calloused hands tighten around his axe and javelin, Cargan clutches his rifle closer to his body, even Myloc’s breath becomes shallower, as if simply exhaling too hard would shatter the moment.
Only Ylthe looks at Aengellania, standing absolutely still.
A dart sprouts from the shaman’s neck. His hand goes to the wound, and comes away with blood. The beastman’s eyes bulge in his sockets and blood leaks from his lips. He convulses and drops to the ground.
“Grar… var jad gradha.” He gasps out, before perishing.
Aengellania’s eyes widen and mouth hangs open with shock, and she instinctively stumbles backwards, too disturbed by the sudden death before her to even cast a healing spell. Eventually she falls backwards onto a bone and sits on it, still staring at the corpse.
Myloc gags and covers his mouth, while Cargan and Blodaen whirl in the direction of the dart’s providence, though they lower their weapons when they see a skink exit a pile of bones. Cargan cautiously approaches the corpse as Blodaen shakes his head irritably and grumbles;
“Tichi, you should have warned us that you were following us.”
The voices of the others fall on Aengellania’s deaf ears as she keeps staring at the corpse, shell shocked as she is by the sudden eruption of death before her. She’s aware of what they’re saying, but too much of her mind is too focused on the dead shaman to parse the meaning behind them.
The skink, an enigmatic if friendly enough companion that had joined them for her own purposes some years prior, licks an eyeball.
“Should have waited. Child of chaos, treacherous words.”
Cargan kneels next to the body and hovers his hand around the wound.
“That’s… Not a bad shot really. Straight into the throat, poison pumped right into the oesophagus and trachea.”
His praise comes begrudgingly, with an undertone of disquiet to it. Aengellania dully remembers that he has never hunted with poison before. Blodaen just snorts and waves a hand at Cargan.
“This beardling fool wanted to head off straight away. I told him to wait for you, but apparently he thought we didn’t need you for scouting.”
He grumbles a bit under his breath, then looks back at the Shaman.
“Well, at least it’s dead now. It can’t hurt anyone.”
Aengellania feels like she’s about to cry.
She feels an arm loop around her shoulders, startling her. Aengellania finally tears away her eyes from the shaman and looks up to see Ylthe sitting next to her. The Sylvaneth’s amber eyes look softly into Aengellania’s amethyst own.
“Do you need aid, Aenghel?” She asks in a gentle, sussurating voice.
Aengellania takes a deep, almost sobbing breath, and replies;
“I-I’m fine. I’ll b-be fine.”
Ylthe cocks her head to the side. Aengellania can feel the Branchwych’s scepticism at her answer, but similarly also feels the care she has for her.
“But… I am here for you, if you feel you won’t be.”
Ylthe reaches out to take Aengellania’s hand. As soon as they make contact Aengellania can’t help but cling desperately onto Ylthe, but the Branchwych doesn’t seem to mind. They share silence together, Aengellania letting Ylthe’s calm and strength bolster her spirit.
Aengellania whispers to Ylthe, a whisper that echoes far into the future, far enough to haunt her for centuries.
“Thank you, Ylthe.”
The voices of the others come into focus again, Tichi speaking to Blodaen in her high-pitched scritching voice.
“No one hurt? Shaman cast no spells?”
“None that we could detect.”
Blodaen glances over to Aengellania and Ylthe, then back at Tichi. His usually harsh voice softens and quietens.
“I think it’d be better to sort this out back at town.”
“Suspect herdstone.”
Blodaen’s expression darkens.
“Hrm.”
Blodaen turns back to Myloc and Cargan.
“Myloc, Cargan, you’ll come with us. Myloc’ll look for Beastmen magic, Cargan will scout. When we find the Herdstone, you two’ll head back for reinforcements.”
The two humans nod, and begin preparing to head off again with varying degrees of shakiness. Blodaen looks back at Tichi.
“We’ll stay and deal with it as best we can.”
Finally he turns towards the two sitting on the bone, and once again his demeanour softens, with an edge of ruefulness to it.
“Ylthe… Just take Aenge back to town. Make sure she’s alright.”
Ylthe nods and stands up, supporting Aengellania with her shoulder. She leans forward to whisper up into the aelf’s ear.
“Don’t talk. Just let me guide you.”
Aengellania nods in response. Blodaen turns back to Tichi and brandishes his axe, filling himself with the grim authority of a Runefather at war that scares Aengellania.
“Now, let’s hunt some Beastmen.”
The two groups split off, Aengellania and Ylthe heading back to town and the rest continuing onwards. Though Aengellania’s pace steadies after a few minutes of walking, neither of them feel like parting for the moment.
Eventually they reach the Ghurish town they had been tasked with protecting. First scattering the rapidly growing crowd with a foul-humoured glare, Ylthe then quickly pulls Aengellania into the stone house that had been their lodgings, away from the prying eyes of onlookers. She wordlessly carries Aengellania up to her room, opens the door, and sets her down on the bed.
Aengellania sits there, silent, unmoving. Though deathly still, her breathing is taken in ragged gasps, and she doesn’t seem to see her hands even as she stares down at them.
Ylthe sits down next to her, and places her hand in Aengellania’s.
“Aenghel… You’re not well.”
Aengellania shakes her head.
“No, I’m…”
She takes in another ragged breath.
“It was so quick, and horrible.”
In the corner of her eye Aengellania can see Ylthe lower her head, quizzical.
“Have you never seen death before?”
“No, not like… I mean I’ve seen animals and people die. I… I had a pet mustori that… That passed away.”
She instinctively folds her hands closed, around Ylthe’s.
“But I’ve never seen someone be killed in front of me.”
Aengellania feels Ylthe’s arm slowly make its way over her shoulders, and feels comfort from its presence. Comfort, and perhaps something else that she can’t quite pin down…
Ylthe leans towards Aengellania, speaking softly as she could.
“I am sorry, Aenghel. I had not thought that quickbloods would be so… Susceptible to the shock of death.”
The memory of the shaman’s bloody corpse erupts back into the foreground of Aengellania’s mind, and she feels like crying again. She takes a deep breath, and pushes on against the grief threatening to overwhelm her.
“I-it’s not just that. I f-feel like I didn’t d-do enough. H-he died because of m-m-”
A wooden finger suddenly enters her vision, pressing against her lips and stilling them.
“Don’t say that, Aenghel. Don’t do that to yourself.”
A moment of silence between them passes. In it Aengellania can feel surprise in Ylthe’s mind, as if she were as shocked as the aelf is by her sudden outburst.
Eventually, the finger drops away to Aengellania’s chin, raising up her head. Ylthe continues speaking slowly, methodically.
“You did that Beastman a kindness, sparing his life from Blodaen. Tichi killed him because he had betrayed your kindness.”
She squeezes Aengellania’s shoulders.
“I know he was trying to trick you. Preying on your empathy. Getting you to follow him into a trap, and sacrifice you to his dark gods.”
“S-so I was a f-foo-.”
“I… I didn’t mean it like that, Aenghel.”
She lowers her finger further and taps Aengellania’s chest, just above her heart.
“There’s nothing foolish about your heartwood. I know you wish the best of others, and that pushes you to act on it. How many others would be so brave as to get in the way of an angered Runefather for an enemy?”
She then taps Aengellania’s head, moving her mouth into a wry smile as she does so.
“But you do need experience and a little sense to temper it.”
Aengellania returns Ylthe’s smile, first slightly, then more widely as Ylthe’s own grows. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt like she could watch the Branchwych smile for a long time.
“Th-thank you, Ylthe. You’re a g-good friend.”
Ylthe’s smile disappears quickly.
“Yes… Friend.”
An apprehension fills Aengellania’s soul, one that she knows doesn’t solely originate from within herself.
“Ylthe, i-is there something wrong?”
“Hm. Nothing wrong. But… Aenghel…”
Ylthe tilts her head to the side, watching Aengellania with wide, almost nervous eyes that unsettled her. Had she ever seen Ylthe so unnerved before?
“Do… Do quickbloods describe how we feel as friends?”
“Ylthe, o-of course they do.” Aengellania whispers, somehow feeling like she’s lying.
Once again Aengellania feels Ylthe’s gentle scepticism, probing into her mind.
“I don’t think they do.”
“What makes you say that?”
Ylthe shakes her head. Her voice becomes uncertain
“Aenghel, Sylvaneth do feel love…”
The word sends an odd feeling from Aengellania’s stomach, up into her heart.
“We love Alarielle, our mother-goddess. As Branchwych, I loved the new-grown Sylvaneth I cared for. I love the friends I made, both within my grove and without.”
“But I have never felt love as I do now. Love that is foriegn to me.”
She hesitantly raises a hand, slowly bringing it up to Aengellania’s cheek.
“I… Want to explore it with you.”
Ylthe’s fingers stop just inches short, and she gives Aengellania a worried look.
“May I?”
Aengellania nods with wide eyes. She feels like speaking now would only shatter the moment, or wake her up from a dream.
Ylthe closes her eyes, and slowly brushes the back her fingers against Aengellania’s cheek.
Aengellania gasps at the contact, shivering as it brings a torrent of emotion with it. Soulfire burns visibly in Ylthe’s hand, flowing from it into her, and flowing from her into Ylthe. It dissolved thought into itself, leaving her nothing to hide behind from the stark, blazing truth that it was born of her and not of her. Of something in between, of union. Within and without.
Aengellania loves Ylthe, and she knows with absolute certainty that Ylthe loves her. Just as she knows that Ylthe knows that Aengellania loves her, and that she loves Aengellania, and so on in a rolling wheel that flows forever onwards even as she is caught up in it, becoming it. Becoming her love. Becoming Ylthe’s love.
She wanted this moment to never end.
But it did so abruptly as Ylthe pulls her hand away, shaking her branches. Aengellania continues to shiver in its absence, soul aching to feel it again.
“I’m… I’m sorry Aenghel. I… I overstepped, I shouldn’t have…”
She retreats her hand a little further, only to be stopped as Aengellania gently catches it.
“Ylthe…”
She tentatively wraps her fingers around Ylthe’s.
“You did nothing wrong.”
She slowly brings their joined hands to her lips, as she whispers to Ylthe.
“I want you to share your love with me.”
She kisses Ylthe’s fingers, bringing about pangs within her soul.
“I want to share my love with you.”
“You… You love…?”
Aengellania nods.
“Yes, Ylthe. I love you.”
Ylthe brings her free hand to Aengellania’s cheek, cupping it and tenderly bringing her head closer. She whispers back through bark lips, before their Soulfire makes speech unnecessary.
“I love you too.”
Somewhere, far away, Blodaen stands wait-deep in corpses, alone save for Tichi. Cargan and Myloc he had sent away a long time ago, both to make sure they wouldn’t get hurt and to make sure that they didn’t see him… Like this.
He suddenly turns and looks in the distance, frowning. When he realises what’s tugging at his soul he quietly curses under his breath.
“You young fools…”
