The Ailes Bones... To the Southwest: Dragon Scale Island
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Sacha, The Shepherd of Souls and Aramil of Sahil, his Advisor
The small, crescent-shaped island was quiet when they arrived in a most violent manner. It was not peaceful there. They landed upon a driftwood-strewn shore of rocks that had been battered and abused by the ocean into the smooth, egg-shaped cobble they were. The island trembled. All of the Ailes did. There was an odd darkness that had overtaken this island, so close to what had once been the bright, green jewel of the Ailes. Capios was smothered and dying and the surrounding islands, connected by something older than space or time, knew what would come next. It was as close to afraid as the Ailes could get, being only old islands. The tearing between realities was an odd sound amid the waves that crashed on the eastern side of the island. The waves were harsher than the usual low tide brought. A battle raged on Capios, and it was felt in the water and transcribed on the beach in natural morse code. Their bodies hit the sand, first the arrowed-end of a staff carried by a scratched, pale hand and a ripped sleeve of the deepest, dark blue. Then, like an animal at birth, the rest of the hand's body rolled forth and spilled unmoving into the wet sand and tide pools. It dragged a twin with it, another body by a tether of white light that roped from one hand to another. The second came and dropped to the sand. Driftwood pieces rolled and scattered. Some were as large as small trees and were not quite so easily disturbed. Both men were battered, scratched and bleeding as if they has swam through an ocean of mountain bramble and dragonclaw briar to get here. There was an echo behind them, a rush of ethereal wind and wailing and unearthly screaming that made the land shiver. Then the tear between realms sealed itself, having no such business being open, and the only unnatural sound on the island was the thudding of a blue, twisted Shepherd's Crook as it left the hand of the much paler man and thudded to the sand.
The pale man sighed as if in relief and then went still. His hand twitched in one last effort to grab for the blue hooked instrument nearby and then too went limp. In the tide pool, the blood rune that bound Sacha and Aramil together was washed away. The Soul energy used to tether them together dissipated and then disappeared altogether when the marking was broken.
For a moment, all was still. Then the man clearly not from the West stirred and coughed and pushed himself up from the sand that was wetter than any sand he was used to. Instinctively, he ran a hand across his beard and face to clear it from his hair and skin. He had claw marks across his arms, his neck and face. There was a gash-wound at his temple. His brown eyes looked around, disoriented.
"Shepherd."
His dark, brown eyes went wide at the sight of the Shepherd of Souls lying unmoving in the went sand and water. He was beside, falling to his knees as much as he was dropping to them, within seconds. His damaged hands grabbed the white-haired man by the shoulders and rolled him over onto his back.
"Sacha" Aramil shook Sacha's shoulder roughly. The man was scored with claw marks all over his body. A large gash ran lengthwise across his chest. It stained the dark shirt he wore beneath his robes. It ran lengthwise across his back, an exact mimic of the front. It was a slash to his Soul rendered visible once they returned to the living world. A consequence of his abilities in a Realm that was extremely troubled. Aramil took a moment to check Sacha's body for further grievous injury. The man had done his best to protect the Shepherd, but it was the Shepherd who ended up protecting him. Him, a loyal Advisor. He had seen Sacha move, when he practiced with staffs and his Hook, but not like that. What he saw of him in the Realm of Spirits made him think back to when he would see boys or men being trained to fight in the arenas for sport. The ruthlessness, the sole desire to survive placed perfectly into every move. Another time, he might have asked the Shepherd of Souls about it. Another time.
Aramil closed his eyes and placed his fingertips on Sacha's face. He splayed them open, thumb on one cheek, pinky on the other. The man from Da'Jinn closed his eyes.
With a gasp, Sacha's blue eyes flung open and he jolted upright. Aramil swiftly removed his hand and exchanged it for a hand to steady the Shepherd at his back. Sacha's eyes were wide. His hand had come up to fight whatever ghoulish entities tried to keep him from crossing the Spirit World to get to the Ailes. His other hand had dug into the wet sand and grabbed the hilt of his Crook. Aramil's hand on his back steadied him. He knew a hand of the living versus one of the dead. He breathed heavily and brought a hand to his chest. He drew it away and looked at the blood on his palm. Then Sacha closed his eyes and breathed in relief. Aramil waited a moment and kept his hand at Sacha's back.
"Advise your Advisor" he pleaded gently in his low, accented voice. "What can be done?"
But the Shepherd of Souls shook his head. He took another moment to catch his breath.
"How close did we get?"
Aramil pursed his lips and then bobbed his head from side to side. He lifted one hand, palm up, in Eastern fashion and then gestured toward Capios to the north.
"Oh" he said as if truly contemplating the distance. "I would say you got us close enough."
Sacha opened his eyes and they went wide. Before him, past the hills of the southern side of the great island, he saw the protective dome of Capios begin to crack and then fall. All this travel through the tempestuous Spirit Realm was done to avoid the complications of passing through the dome. A dome, he was told by other Priests, could not fall. It was one reason Maginus did not invade Enchantry to gain back the wild Ailes. One, though he suspected that was just preening and talk. Now shards of it began to fall, and the only reason he could see it was because the ichor parted and watched the destruction before savagely descending down to reek their own.
*The Golden Goddess|The Goddess of All Motherless Secundae*
*Dexter to the Core|Council of Guidance|Matriarch of Poetry*
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