Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Midlands: Lanari Plains

Tiko

Draconic Administrator/Mentor
Administrator
Mentor
Nexus GM
Arelle had been traveling for weeks with little sign of life. Not even the chirrup of a bird had split the air in what seemed like days. Desolation was the only word to describe what she had come across, and the landscape itself bore the scars of the cataclysmic events that had shaken the Midlands in the months past.

Vast sprawling plains stood where mountains had once divided the Eastlands from the Midlands, previously lush forests had been reduced to charred ash, and deep rends and craters could be found carved into the earth by unknown titanic battles. Towns and villages lay abandoned, many destroyed by fires and earthquakes but others stood peculiarly unmarred as vacant ghost towns. Vehicles and wagons lay broken down and abandoned alongside the roads leading between towns, and even the occasional grave marker lined the roadsides.

What had driven the locals from the region remained a mystery to the foreigner, Arelle. Stretched before her on this day though she found her path west to be barred by a large body of water that had seemingly washed out the road ahead. The lake was vast and it only took one sweep of the eyes to note something greatly amiss about the whole thing. In the distance, the tall steeple of a building projected skyward above the lake, and the shadowy shapes of buildings could be made out beneath the still waters. An entire town it would seem had simply been swallowed up beneath the lake.

It was hardly the strangest thing she had encountered in her journey westward, but the eerie emptiness of the vast amount of land she had covered spoke of the fear and paranoia of her community back home. Their fear of the supernatural, and of the powerful. Their fear of that which could snuff them out without so much as an afterthought. The fear that had driven them to keep their heads low and to shun the lands beyond - and to shun those who might bring such events upon their own lands.

Nearby a large wooden sign had been hammered into the earth, large letters scrawled upon it in paint.

"Jadeson Town survivors traveling north. TNG offering safe passage into the Northlands for those who reach the Borean Forest."
 
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Traveling West was supposed to have been an adventure. Arelle had heard stories and seen the paintings but as she traveled there was nothing but waste. She poked at a grave marker with her boot and frowned. Some adventure.

On the other hand she'd yet to be demeaned or ridiculed for her birth, so she could call her travels a success in that regard.

When she came to the lake, she made a note of it in her book. At first, it was just a large body of water and she wondered if everything she had been told was a lie; perhaps this was the ends of the earth and she had reached it... but upon closer inspection she realized that an entire town had been swallowed by the body of water and she felt a shiver run down her spine. What had happened here?

The woman finished scribbling her notes in her journal and she glanced around. It's then that she noticed the sign. There were survivors--other people!--North. After a minute to check her bearing, she turned that direction. West had led her here, now she'd follow the sign.
 
She wouldn't make it far as she followed the lake edge northwards before the faint sound of life caught her ear - the sound of a baby's cry. It was perhaps the most perplexing of sounds to suddenly fill the air, and perhaps one of which she was mistaken. Perhaps it had simply been a wounded animal, or even the wind whistling?




Somewhere nearby...

"Please, I haven't got anything," a woman pleaded. "There's no one else here."

The woman clutched an infant in her arms, and was surrounded by a trio of rugged men. At her back was an old barn that had survived the nearby destruction of the town - though it had surely seen better days.

"If she's got a baby, she's got food somewhere," one of the men sneered.

"Search the place," another barked.

The men and women alike were filthy and had clearly been on the road for some time with grime and dirt stained clothing. Unlike the women though, the men looked battle hardened. The one barking orders loomed over the woman as he grabbed a fist full of her auburn hair and started shoving her towards the barn entrance after the other two men. The painful jerk drew a sharp cry from her lips as the infant in her arms started to cry.

"Move it," he snarled as he unslung his rifle from his shoulder and gripped it in his free hand.

The man's name was Daryl, and the past months had left their mark upon him. When faced with the horrors and loss that the people of the Midlands had endured, many where left broken and devoid of hope. Some found inner strength they didn't even know they possessed, but others became twisted by the cruelty of desperation. Daryl was one such man, and there was a viciousness reflected within his eyes that only hinted at the insanity that had crept into his mind.
 
Arelle was in a much better mood now that she had a more determined destination. Wandering had grown tiresome. The sound of a crying... baby stopped her in her tracks. At first she was unsure if she'd even really heard the sound, or perhaps misinterpreted it. A second later, though, the sound came again and she recognized it for sure. She hadn't come across another soul since leaving her home and the first interaction she comes across is with an infant. At first she was worried; perhaps it's parents had died and it lay abandoned and she started to rush toward the sound only to falter in her steps a moment later.

What if it was some kind of trick? It seemed unlikely that a baby would be a lone survivor out in the wastelands. Arelle approached the noise with more caution now, taking great care in each of her steps; her hunting knife was held loosely in her right hand. Soon enough she saw four figures. A woman was being shoved around by her hair, the man pushing her held a gun in his hand. She heard the baby crying and Arelle's face fell into a frown.

These men had been through hell, if the surrounding area was any indication, but they were just the same as what she'd seen growing up. These men were nothing but bullies and Arelle grew angry watching as they pushed this woman around. She kept her step light and followed the small group.
 
"Now listen here," Daryl growled into the woman's ear as he stood at her back. "You're going to tell us where you have food, or we're going to just have to cut our fill out of your flesh." His eyes dropped lower to the infant in her arms. "For your sake, you better hope you have food."

The other two were already making short work of ransacking the place as they overturned empty barrels, and pulled a dusty tarp off an old rusted tractor.

Tears ran down the woman's face as she wept. "Please, we don't have enough."

"Where?" he growled, giving her hair another painful jerk.

Before she could answer, another figure joined those gathering the barn.

"Let them go," came a husky hoarseness came from the loft overhead.

The man looked as battle hardened as those below, but his face was pale and thick with sweat.

It was difficult to place his race, ethnicity, or even species for that matter. His ears were tapered to points, like that of the elven people, but his luminescent green eyes reflected nothing of the elven people that Arelle may have been familiar with from what little she knew of the world beyond her home town. His accent proved equally unfamiliar to the woman - though that in itself wasn't unusual given the cloistered nature of her town and limited exposure to travelers.

Whatever the man's origins, his gaze remained locked upon Daryl with unwavering focus despite the pain that danced behind his expression.

"Oh, ho ho," Daryl chuckled. "I thought you were alone," he remarked wryly to the woman in his grasp. He tightened his hold upon her, keeping her between himself and the stranger overhead. "And why should we do that?" he called up to the new arrival. "It looks to me like you can barely stand, and there's three of us."

At his side, his fingers shifted almost imperceptibly upon his rifle.

The movement didn't go unnoticed though, and as Daryl shoved the woman and infant to the floor, the man in the loft was already moving as he took cover behind a wooden support beam. It took only a fraction of a moment for Daryl to swing his rifle up into a two handed grip to fire off a shot that splintered wood but missed its mark. Arelle's entrance at his back went entirely unnoticed with the men's focus now on the stranger above.
 
She stood at the entrance of the barn, growing more and more angry as she listened. Eat the flesh... She clenched her free hand into a fist and was surprised when another person entered the mix. He seemed ill but determined.

The leader of the ragtag group of un-merry men took a shot at the sick man and Arelle had decided now was the time to intervene. Just as he pulled the trigger she lunged forward, attempting to put her blade to his neck.
 
"Behind you!"

The warning came from one of Daryl's traveling companions, and he spun on heel. He had no anticipation of what may be behind him, as to have survived the fall of Westeria City meant to be ready to react on instinct and to expect anything. The flash of the blade drew his eye first and foremost as he shifted one leg back to center his weight. She was already too close to bring the rifle around to utilize against her through its traditional purpose, and instead utilized its longer reach to pull back and shift his grip to drive the butt of it towards her face with vicious force before she could close on him enough to bring the knife to bear.

"Kill them all!" Daryl roared.

Meanwhile, with Arelle mid lunge, the two others also moved into action. One drew a rusted machete as he closed on Arelle's position to aid Daryl, and the other turned on heel and drove a fist into a support pillar beneath the loft. The shockwave that unleashed upon contact far exceeded that of any ordinary human, and wood splintered in all direction. As the structure gave out above him, a purple miasma billowed out to engulf the immediate area. No sign of the man could be seen, but movement stirred within before a large feline creature with a purple scaled hide erupted forth from the cloud. It landed in a crouch before wheeling about on the man with a snarl, though it too bore the signs of former battles. It favored one foreleg, and the scales down one side had been rend through. Fresh blood dripped to the barn floor as its wounds re-opened.

The appearance of the animal had a sobering effect on the man who seemed less than pleased with their advantage in numbers seemingly wavering. He narrowed his eyes upon the beast and closed his hand into a fist as he waited for it to make a move.
 
A bully, just like at home. Ha! Not even close. These men were smarter, faster, and stronger. She managed to grab a hold of the gun as it rammed into her, only softening the blow some. It still brought her to her knees, though as the pain shot through her.

She didn't stop moving, though, as she touched the ground she rolled away from her current attacker and his rusted blade. The commotion and sudden appearance of a scaled creature was distracting and drew her eyes, if only for a moment. A heartbeat, and then she back on her feat, facing of the man with the machete.
 
The machete cut through the air, falling inches short of Arelle as she stepped back, but he was quick to press the attack as he tried to use his beefy size to simply overwhelm her.

Meanwhile Daryl had the chance to bring his rifle back to bear, though not upon Arelle. Instead he wheeled on the sound of the snarl and fired off several shots at the beast. The bullets ricochet off its armor plated hide with little effect though.

Through the eruption of chaos, the earsplitting wailing of the infant near at hand continued unabated. The woman had the sense though to crawl her way clear of the immediate fighting, taking shelter beneath the nearby tractor.
 
Arelle continued to dodge, watching for a weak point. Her own, much smaller knife, wielded at the ready. The next swing from the machete was ducked under and the aasimar thrust the large hunting knife forward, aiming for the gut. She was vaguely aware of the woman moving away from the fray, but she couldn't afford too much focus to keep tabs on the woman and child.

She could only remain focus on her current attacker and when she heard the shots, she was only grateful they hadn't been aimed her direction.
 
Arelle proved faster than the beefy brute of a man, and as his machete cleaved air once more, her knife met its mark. Pain and surprise crossed the man's face, followed by anger as he swung a hand to backhand her even as blood and intestine spilled from the gaping wound in his abdomen as he stepped back. A grunt later and the man fell to his knees.

Meanwhile Daryl fired off two more shots at the beast, but quickly determined that the weapon lacked the firepower to penetrate the scaly hide. The beast however suffered no such shortcomings and two bounds cleared the distance between it and the man who had felled it from the loft. As he closed in, the man swung his curled fist to intercept the animal, only to find his balance thrown off as it connected with only air. The beast that had been in front of him had simply vanished in a faint puff of purple smoke, only for the rake of clawed to split the flesh open upon his back as two-hundred and fifty pounds of muscle bore him to the ground. The maneuver exposed its wounded side to Daryl though who was quick to train his sights upon the feline once more, this time aiming his weapon for the open wounds that bisected its ribs and left a gap in the protective scaling of its hide.
 
Even in his dying breath the man had been stronger than Arelle had been prepared for. She staggered from the blow but caught her balance. The brute had fallen. She retrieved her hunting knife and surveyed the scene before her. The feline was focused on the third member of their little gang and the one with the gun had it aimed toward the creature.

Uncertain as she was that the creature would not turn on her next once the men were all gone, it was currently on her side. She charged forward, hoping to knock the man off his aim before he could get off his shot.
 
Daryl let out an oomph of breathe and his shot went wide. The felled man's screams were quick to follow the deafening gunshot as the beast's gaping maw closed around his head. Screams turned to stuttered groans and twitches as powerful canines pierced his skull.

Daryl meanwhile realized that the fight had very much not turned in his favor as he twisted to face the girl and put some distance between himself and her while keeping the beast in his peripheral vision.

In an accompanying fluid motion he withdrew his sidearm from within his coat and pointed it not at either if them, but at the woman and infant sheltered beneath the tractor.

"Now let's all settle down," he growled. "Call off your animal, and I'm going to walk out that door, or I'm going to spray that woman and that fucking baby's brains all over the floor."

The piercing wails of the infant were nearly enough to drive him to pull the trigger just to silence it, and his finger twitched. He held his ground though, watching Arelle and the oversized feline warily.
 
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Arelle stumbled with the man as she ran into him; she began to lunge again when he drew the weapon. She didn't have to look to see where the angry man was pointing his gun; she'd seen the woman crawl out of the way earlier. Arelle planted her feet and studied the man carefully. Would he shoot the child? There wasn't a doubt in the young girl's mind that yes, he would.

She also knew that if he did shoot the woman or the child, that he'd probably be killed before he made it out of the barn. "The animal is not mine to call off," She admitted, after a beat. "I'm sure it is free to do as he, or she, wishes." Arelle lowered her own weapon; not much use it would be against a gun, anyway. Her eyes flickered to the creature, a quick study, looking for a sign that the animal was more intelligent than wild. Her gaze returned to the man, "You could try asking the animal, instead."
 
Though the feline raised it's gaze to watch Daryl, it made no move to approach him as it stood over the body of the dead man. It was breathing heavily for the minor exertion it had expended.

As neither Arelle nor the beast made any move towards him, Dylan began to slowly edge his way towards the front doors to the barn. His eyes flicked bath and forth between them and the woman, before he reached the entrance. Slinging his rifle back over his shoulder he used his now free hand to swing the doors shut.

A loud clatter of metal was heard, and then nothing more save for the crying of the baby at the woman began to attempt to comfort it.

The feline took a few steps forward before it was engulfed in a thick purple miasma. As the smog cleared, the man from earlier was kneeling upon the floor where the beast had previously stood. He looked about as rugged as the aggressors had, with travel worn clothes and a haggardness to him.

He had one hand pressed over the reopened wounds that had left deep rends across his ribs, and his other arm hung loose at his side as he regained his footing, eyes upon Arelle. He studied her silently, awaiting her next action. An ally in the moment could quickly turn opportunistic enemy just as quickly.
 
Letting the man go did not sit well with Arelle, what if there was some other defenseless sole out there? She stared at his retreating figure; had he not the gun she might have considered going after them. The moment the door slammed shut, though, her shoulder slumped, relaxed and defeated.

Her eyes flickered to the woman, assessing; she was uninjured, as far as Arelle could tell from where she stood. Her attention quickly turned to the creature, though, when the smell and smoke filled it's side of the barn. She recognized the man who she'd mistaken for ill earlier. Not sick, injured.

She stared back at the man, calm and appraising, before sticking her knife back in it's sheath. Arms and fingers spread wide so he could see no other weapons. "I would like to help," She offered, quietly.
 
He studied her a time longer, his eyes searching her own. Whatever he found there seemed to satisfy him though and he simply nodded.

"Staying here will no longer be safe," he said. "There's another," he added with a gesture towards the tack room near the far side of the barn.

"My husband," the woman nearby explained softly. "He's badly hurt."

The infant's crying had turned to softer whimpers, as the exhausted baby clung to its mother.

The man's own expression lacked the emotional depth of the woman's own, and there was something almost distracted about his gaze. Despite his actions to aid those within the barn, he didn't seem to possess the emotional attachment for any of them that the woman clearly held for her husband and child. There was almost an impatient urgency that lay behind his luminescent eyes. Yet whatever pull tugged at him, some sense of compassion - or perhaps duty - had lent him to not abandoning the trio. Or perhaps he was simply too wounded to part ways. Arelle would no doubt find it difficult to make a full assessment of the man, or his motivations.

"I'm Rynhart," he added after a brief pause.

"Emeryll," the woman added.
 
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With his own assessment complete, Arelle eyed the man, carefully. "Arelle," she supplied after the woman. "And I do not think it was very safe to begin with." Rynhart seemed not to feel a sense of compassion so Arelle turned to the woman and child, crouching down and offering a hand to assist her out from beneath the tractor.

"Can you travel?" She didn't really direct it at any particular person, meaning it as more of a general question. The woman with her baby, the wounded man, and the husband who was also very injured. She considered the matter, "How badly injured?" Not that she had experience patching up severe injuries; judging by the fact that he'd been unable to come to the aid of his wife and child, she assumed the injures to be beyond a few scrapes, bruises, or a bloodied lip.

Golden, pupil-less eyes, surveyed the rest of the barn, looking for anything that could be carried with them... She would certainly be taking the dead man's machete. "Are you hungry?" These people looked haggard, dirty, and exhausted. In contrast she appeared well fed; she was not clean, but she did not look like she'd seen the same destruction these people had. "I have some dried meat?"
 
"Few places are truly safe these days," Rynhart replied.

"My husband can't..." the woman replied. "We were... He..." she hesitated. "Come see."

Emeryll was quick to lead Arelle to the tack room where her husband lay unconscious upon a makeshift bed of old feed sacks. His head, arms and chest were all bound in makeshift bandages, but the extensive bruising across his abdomen suggested at more injuries that lay beneath the surface. His breathing was shallow and raspy.

"He hasn't woken since it happened two days ago," she revealed.

Her eyes glistened, and the acceptance was there upon her face that she knew there was nothing more that could be done for her husband, so far from civilization.

___

Meanwhile, Rynhart had made no move to follow the pair, and instead seemed distracted with his own internal thoughts.

"Taima..." he whispered softly to himself.

I cannot save them all, and so many more lives hang in the balance.

His thoughts were met with only silence though. He had heard nothing more from Taima since she had placed her mark upon his chest and sent him in to battle against the Butcher. He was well accustomed to such silence, but never before had he faced such widespread destruction that left him second guessing his every decision. How many more would die for his failure to fell the Butcher in favor of saving the life of one human child? How many now would perish for his delay with these strangers.

He sighed and shook his head, putting the matter from thought and mind for the time being. While Emeryll and Arelle were otherwise engaged with one another, he turned his attention instead to his own injuries.
 
The damage was unlike anything she'd ever seen. Her small, secluded village had never seen much injury and she was beginning to realize just how sheltered her life was, despite everything. "What happened to him?" She asked in a whisper, as if she might disturb the injured man.

He was not going to make it without a miracle, but who knew how long it would be, too, until he passed. "You have to consider going on... He is your husband? I am sure he would understand, he would want you to be safe. That... man might come back." Arelle turned from the injured, focused on the living. "You have to make a choice between your husband and your child, right now. Who do you have a better chance of saving?"
 
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