The Eastern Forest [POST HERE FIRST]

"S-so TeLl Me MoRe- mOrE abOuT yOuR sElF-eLf"

The sound of the woods halted. Not gradually, as if one might have missed it. One moment the world around them was as vibrant and inviting as could be and the next, nothing. The song of birds were distant dreams. The drone of insects the product of fantasy. Then, a voice: Guttural, like an animal attempting to speak. It repeated her words mockingly, as if unable to grasp how to formulate the sound. Around them, the way they'd frolicked so merrily into the woods on their hike, they would find that the trees looked...a little less friendly. A little less...real? The change had seemed subtle at first and yet now, perhaps, less so.

"SEE the SIghTS, EaT the food, meet the women"

Again that voice, terrible and grating, only now from behind them. If they turned to see its source, however, they would only see that the way they'd come had become a mockery. The rocks had unnatural, awkward angles, looking more like folded pieces of paper. The trees were still parted, although their faux-surfaces looked more like canvas than actual wood. No, something indeed wasn't right. Not right at all. 

"But what's life without a little danger, yeah?"

The voice, from somewhere new now. It was speaking more clearly now, but the strained noise that accompanied it seemed all too much as if it weren't supposed to be speaking at all. Well, one thing was for certain: They weren't supposed to be here. 

"... no," the witch whispered, pausing right beside Sangrei. "Well, I do have a few ideas, but I'm not sure if any of them are right. I am here to learn, after all."

There were several things that lived in the woods that loved to play tricks, and one of those things were definitely fae. The creatures varied so much from one to the other, however, that she couldn't pinpoint exactly what kind may be toying with them.

"Sangrei. If it asks you questions, think carefully. Don't insult it. Do not look it in the eye. Don't touch it or follow it. If you have iron, I suggest you pull it out now."

Foolishly, Eira realized her own iron trinkets, made for incidents like these, were in the carriage. She cursed under her breath, keeping close to the man. "Who's there?" she asked the open air.

This could have been a mistake.

Being a visitor to the area, Sangrei was completely unfamiliar with local wildlife. The only indicator for him was his persistent gut feeling that the situation was dangerous and his surroundings were incorrect. The corners of his lips dragged down, all five senses on edge waiting for some attack which had not come yet, for some reason. Although the mysterious voice and nearby background clearly wanted to eject the two of them, nothing had happened yet.

“…PRoMISES!”

This was his cue to draw his sword, which he did in one fluid movement. As he proceeded forward, a few paces in front of Eira, curiosity overtook him and he tapped a nearby tree, finding it surprisingly tough for its papery appearance.

“…it’s..like a painting? Everythin’ just doesn’t look right,” he mumbled softly, just loud enough for his companion to hear. “But there’s not much else we can do. Let’s keep walkin’, and figure out what exactly this is all about. I’ll trust you t’handle things you can handle, and trust me to handle things I should handle.”

As they proceeded through these "woods", each step upon this false ground felt...unnatural. There were no normal curves as they passed small ledges, where the parchment-like earth they stood upon bent strangely. Anyone who traveled these woods before, or who had the intellect to make an informed guess, might find that the features of the land were ultimately an analogue. Stepping over a particularly tricky ridge they would spot a flow of water, real water, flowing down a trough of parchment. This might have even been a sense of relief, if it didn't look so out-of place. 

"Too...early to tell!"

The voice cried out, all at once sounding quite like Eira. So much so that a relative stranger like Sangrei might not even be able to tell the difference. In the distance they might hear something akin to the tick of a clock...shortly before it washed over them at incredibly volume, enough to shake the ground they stood upon and bend the canvas trees slightly from its sheer force. Then, the sun arched through the air, disappearing behind the horizon as a crescent moon made of white paper arched upwards opposite, reaching the distant spot where the sun had been moments before. 

The light was gone. Pitch blackness overcame the land on which they stood. Then: Music. It likely wasn't much louder than a piano being played nearby, or than a music box in one's hands and yet in the absence of visual stimuli it was almost deafening. It was dangerous. Not, however, more dangerous that the sound of footsteps. A pitter-patter that solidified what they likely already knew: They weren't alone. For Eira, it was a noise from the void of blackness they seemed stuck in. A giggle of child's laughter here, a mutter of unintelligible growling there. 

Then, not far from Eira: A voice. Sangrei's voice. Maybe she knew Sangrei was on the opposite side of her. Maybe she didn't.

"Oh, jeez, what's all this now? Lemme give ya a hand, we can talk after."

Torrin and a dozen Sentinels followed behind the Empress, vicious looking warriors all, glad in heat resistant armor for this excursion.

"We're in position your Majesty, area seems to be clear for now."

Torrin took a spot just behind and to the left if the Empress, while the rest of his Sentinels spread out a bit, so as to not offer one clumped together target for dragonfire.

Out of the forest stepped a tall figure with elven features. Clad in armor and draped with a cloak, only the man’s face was bared to the world. The sight of Jun the mage, a known dragonslayer, did not please Trogdor. A dark and evil magical aura accompanied the transmogrification and there was certainly nothing funny about it. It was an unstable power exemplified by an incomplete transformation. As the elven figure drew closer the awaiting Israins would see the armor Trogdor wore shift from ornate finery to red scale and back again. Viewed from the peripheral vision the cloak became dragon wings and gauntlets became claws. Yet, when focused upon the features settled into a humanoid anatomy.



Trogdor stopped five paces from the Empress he had come to speak with, “You do me great...honor,” Red eyes snapped to Jun, “To bring such a powerful mage as your escort.” The tone of voice was low and words crisp as if being bitten off. Erect and stiff, Trogdor stood like a statue, motionless in its singular form. Rather than move and shift as a person would, the dragon’s humanoid form continued to waver. The beast within wanted out, but it was repressed.

Rancid magic emanated from Trogdor like a bad odor. The energy could now be sensed spewing from a sheathed dagger. The decaying mana within the capture blade might be familiar to Jun. It smelled of wasted benevolence, corrupted purity, and deadly rot. It burned at the senses like heat from a fire that is far enough away to make the cold feel colder.

Uncomfortable as the environment may be, the dragon had no intentions of attacking. Today was for talk, “I come to propose an alliance of sorts. During my time in these lands, my goals have been thwarted by a disagreement with humanity. Once, it was prophesied that I would make you stronger. Again, I was warned that death would take me if I did not change my ways.” As the dragon spoke scales began to creep up his neck and flair around his head. Trogdor’s mien locked into Naoki’s stare revealing his anger, pain, and most of all suffering. Shining brightest in the red eyes was the gleam of desire.

“You cannot understand the depth of my want… my need. You think me a beast. I am one. But I have learned from my errors and now come with an offer instead of a demand.”

The thick, salacious scent of Trogdor's aura made her knuckles turn white against her helmet.

Yah, she recognized it. She wasn't expecting it, not after going over a year embracing a life of relative purity. The scent of his mana, the familiar, belligerent righteousness of the dagger, it almost blinded her with visions of her old self, visions of Gomrath, of a burning sky, the scent of roasting orc flesh. Her nostrils flares and her pupils dilated. Her chest rose slightly.

She steeled her composure, resisting the curling of her lips into a maleficent grin. She was a professional. She practiced holy magic. She had to keep Lady Naoki safe. That was the priority. But the glimpses of red scales of Trogdor's faltering facade, belying an even more intense bloodlust, were threatening to seduce her old self out of hiding.

        “You cannot understand the depth of my want… my need."

Make a wrong move, please. I want you to try to eat me...

She almost forgot to question why Trogdor's presence reminded her so of the fallen demigod. She did forget to speak, letting Naoki's question go unaccompanied.

Her mana's presence was unmistakable. It was white, clean, cold as snow, a stark contrast to Trogdor's sickening miasma. But the invisible force of her energy met his, taut, assertive, every so slightly bending a single leaf that stood in between them, a determination and steadfastness that bordered on predatory.

Jun's discomfort and the admitted evil nature of the beast before them put all of the Sentinels on edge.

Torrin regarded the figure before them as a beast, in spite of its own claims. Pursuing a course because your nature and being compels you too was the hallmark of such creatures, and were his face visible it would show disgust for the creature. His thoughts echoed Jun's wanting the beast to make a misstep in front of the Empress.

None of that was noticeable from the outside, each Sentinel standing like a statue, unloving except to grant themselves a better position as Trogdor moved.

At the very mention of Stonevale, Jun's aura pulsed slightly. It took all of her concentration not to take a menacing step forward.

Stonevale had a special place in her heart. It was her very first home after she had left the Expanse to start her own journey. Her very first friends outside of her tribe were made there. It was also where her best mentor, Lum'Valia, had introduced her to light magic, where she had personally helped repair the city from harm. And when Goraia took over, it was the source of many sleepless nights, struggling to resolve her conflicting feelings over the nature of war.

And this overgrown red iguana wanted to buy it like a turnip farm.

But then she relaxed a bit, her ire momentarily diverted by another puzzle. She was surprised that Trogdor's aura seemed to have so much give. She could feel her own aura consuming his, cleansing its presence from the air. She didn't push the effect more than an inch, at the risk of antagonizing Trogdor in a delicate situation. But that was interesting. She wondered just what was the nature of Trogdor's weapon.