#rachdhan

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📸 The Well Dressed Photographer

Some action shots from last night at Vantacor games night. Finally got to run Birbgirl again - and it certainly wasn't a boring night for her!

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Heroes Odyssey Masterpost

Fics

Homecoming Series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five Kireia Duskdancer, Reiana Wolfsong

The Mugen - Kireia Duskdancer

Bird Brain - Kireia Duskdancer

Uncommon Speech - Kireia Duskdancer

Linguistics - Kireia Duskdancer

The Watcher - Kireia Duskdancer

Early Years - Kireia Stormsong

Feather and Fur - Kiron Nightshade, Reiana Wolfsong

The Birdfolk - Creation Myth

Out of Character Posts

Introduction (OOC)

Art & Photos

Ruby Dragon Banner

Kireia Duskdancer

September Summoning: Kireia

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Careless Words

Category: Heroes Odyssey - Summoning Rating: T Warning/s: Politics Originally Written: 21st October 2019

A continuation of the events of the Summoning...

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ~ | Part 5

As always, there was something occurring in Not’ere that had most people in a state of disarray. With everything else Kireia had going on, trying to prevent bloodshed from these strange new creatures wasn’t exactly on her list of priorities - but she had taken the time to talk to them.

They were about as friendly as was to be expected of Strangers in Not’ere, so she decided to stay out of their way.

She shared the scroll’s information with the others of Ismara, and the handful of Moriandel strangers who claimed to be allies. They carried bells and worshipped a goat, so Kireia had learned to just stay mostly out of their way. Like most goat folk, they weren’t entirely sane.

It was close to the midday meal when Kireia saw several of the Inner Circle knights approaching the base. While most of the other houses had built small forts and walled spaces throughout Not’ere, the Ismarans still embraced the open air and welcoming breeze that came from the lake their base overlooked. There was a roof, but no walls in their space, and Kireia preferred it that way.

“What you want?” She asked the Circle knights as they approached, raising her bow to indicate they should halt.

“We come bearing greetings from the High King,” one of them stated. “Your leader’s presence is required at the meeting of the High Council.”

Council. That was the word they used when all the leaders supposedly gathered to discuss important things. Were they finally going to get their act together?

Kireia turned around and spotted Milenko’s tall figure returning to the Ismaran base. Then, raising her voice, she called out across the open space.

“MILENKO! COUNCIL MEETING!”

He waved back at her, and she turned back to the knights in front of her. “He is coming.”

The knights seemed somewhat taken aback at Kireia’s method of passing on the message, but it had been effective so what was there to be so surprised about?

“He’s allowed to bring one other person,” one of them stated. Kireia tilted her head. She had been planning to come even without an invite, but this only made things simpler for her.

“I will come,” she stated with such certainty that the knights had no way of responding. She jerked her head at the top of the hill. “We wait while you tell the Mugen.”

The knights exchanged glances, before one of them shook her head. “Actually, the Mugen haven’t been invited. They aren’t part of Vantacor.”

This old chestnut. Kireia could have rolled her eyes at their statement. “They live in Vantacor, they are part of Vantacor.”

“They won’t want to come,” one of the others stated.

“Ask anyway. Is nice to receive invitation, even if you don’t want to go.”

Did these people know nothing of etiquette? An invitation didn’t demand someone show up, it just told them they were welcome if they did. The tensions between the Mugen and the rest of the Vantacorians had as much fault on either end, but given the fact that the Vantacorians never seemed willing to include the Mugen, Kireia couldn’t really blame them for not feeling like they had a stake in the land.

“What’s goin’ on?” Milenko asked as he joined the group.

“Is High Council meeting. I am coming, too.”

Milenko gave her an odd look, but didn’t argue with her as he gestured to the knights. “Well, lead the way.”

The Knights of the Inner Circle had set up their small fort on the other side of town, just beyond the limit. It wasn’t too long of a walk, but Milenko didn’t take the opportunity to tell Kireia what to expect.

She could remember sitting in on a Rechsmiit with her father when she had been younger, and had watched as all the Rechs of the other Ainmhi tribes discussed problems with each other. Though they all had their rivalries and dissidence, they still used the miit to come together and agree on things.

“We argue with our friends, but make peace with our enemies” 

Kiron’s words echoed through her mind as she followed the Knights into their small fort. Much like the Legion fort, most of the space was open with a very small tower enclosure. A table and some chairs had been set up in the small courtyard, and it was evident by the seat taken up by Orphaniel that this was where the meeting would take place.

Other leaders arrived, some late, and the meeting began with the High King Orphaniel taking down the names of those attending. Vilkin of the Vikings, Angelos and some lady from Pride, Boneman from Legion, Milenko from Ismara, and...

“Dansachii Kireia Duskdancer of the Rachdhan of the Ainmhi of Ismara,” Kireia spoke up, offering her full name and title. Though she abandoned most practices of etiquette on the field, she had still been taught how to present herself to those who believed they held rank.

“Are you going to represent Ismara?” Orphaniel asked. Kireia frowned slightly. Wasn’t that why she was here? Milenko might have held peace with the Ainmhi, but he didn’t know all the things happening with all of them.

“Are you going to be on the Council?” Orphaniel rephrased his question, speaking slowly as though she struggled to understand him. Kireia opened her mouth to ask why it mattered, but Milenko cut across.

“No, she won’t be.”

Nor did she want to. Orphaniel hadn’t even bothered recording her name, so there was nothing for him to scratch out in his book. His attitude towards her indicated that she wasn’t entirely welcome here. Looking around, she knew she was among the supposed high society, but they didn’t know of her past, of her lineage.

They didn’t know what the owl brooch pinned to her shirt meant.

After other events of the morning, Kireia had decided the brooch would be safer attached to her, and had pinned it to her shirt. The weight of it was heavy, both because of the abundance of gems on it and the weight of the position it indicated. When she returned, too, she would have to give the Rachdhan her answer, of whether she would take the title of Rechs and represent her people beyond the tribe.

But that was in the future. She needed to focus on the now.

“We are missing Mugen, Horde, and Chaos,” someone stated.

“We sent messengers, they came back alone. They’ve missed their chance,” Orphaniel stated. Kireia frowned at this, tilting her head. A Miit never began if a Rechs or a representative was missing, and from what she could see, this “Council meeting” was very much like a Miit.

The first couple of topics that Orphaniel brought up were of no interest to Kireia. Something about the capital city, taxes (she vaguely remembered the uproar from the last Summoning about that), and then--

“Now, for this problem with the Fae Realm,”

Kireia sat up straighter, tilting her head. slightly to allow sound to enter her ears better.

“We need to deal with Tumpkee,” Orphaniel said insistently, landing his fist on his book to emphasise his point. Why did he always feel the need to hit the book just to get his point across? Kireia could have rolled her eyes.

“Al’fuss is no longer answering our calls,” he continued, “And I fear that his silence is Tumpkee’s doing. We must devise a plan to stop this god in his tracks, and prevent him from causing further damage to our lands.”

“If I may,” Boneman spoke up, “When it comes to combat, our plans are fine. It’s the rabble, the common people that tend to make things fall apart. We need to bring in penalties for those who stand in our way and prevent us from achieving our goals. Only then can we hope for success, unhindered.”

Unity. He was trying to open the discussion to unity, but he was talking about punishing those who... didn’t join the union against this enemy?

“Several times, we’ve come close,” Orphaniel agreed, “But the Mugen have gotten in our way, and others. You are right; we need to impose penalties for anyone who stands against the common good.”

“Why punish those who could become your strongest allies?” Kireia spoke up suddenly. She hadn’t thought about her words, but several pairs of eyes fell on her as she raised her voice to be heard. No choice but to roll with it, now.

“You stand here and preach unity,” she said, looking at Boneman and Orphaniel, “But you have not even the patience to wait for three of your fellow leaders. You cast out and deny the Mugen the same rights as any Vantacorian, and stand against them, but they are far superior in strength to many of your forces. And here, you talk of unity against a common enemy - they hate these “gods”, and would welcome chance to remove one or more of them. But you are the ones fighting against them? Some concept you believe in - stand together, but not with our enemies. Heal the wounds of war, but only with some. And meanwhile, the “rabble”,” she glared at Boneman, “The common folk, the ones who you are supposed to represent, they are dying. Your fighting hurts them. It tears apart the land, claws at the flesh of that which brings you life - but you care not, because the farmers whose homes burn in your border raids, are the ones who cannot afford to support more than themselves.

“You, all of you,” she turned to look at them all, “You all lead from the front, from behind, or from alongside. Your fighters are trained to defend you. Well, not you,” she added, gesturing to Vilkin, “You stand among your people, as an equal. But the rest of you - High King? Lord? Lady? Duke? These words mean nothing, they are just words, but you speak them with your name and act like they give you the right to dictate the lives of those whose lives you don’t even try to protect!”

“Kireia...”

She heard Milenko’s warning tone, but the anger was already afire in her, burning within her blood as she whirled to face Orphaniel. “You preach unity, yet stand against your strongest allies! Why not make peace with them in the name of defeating your common enemy?”

“The Mugen refuse to be included in the matters of Vantacor--”

“Refuse, or aren’t welcome?” She snorted, “I stand on the field with you! I hear how all your people speak of them. You disrespect them, disregard them, and some of you in the same breath will disrespect the rest of us! I am one of the people you are supposed to represent!” She raised her voice, thumping herself on the chest, “I am one of the “rabble”! And my friends, my people, they suffer from your hatred of each other! Allow the Mugen in here.”

“I will do no such thing!” Orphaniel snapped.

“Why not?”

“Because they are being controlled by Tumpkee!” He roared, his own anger flaring up. Kireia stood her ground as he slammed his fist on the table, hard enough to make a bottle of ink almost spill. “They support the very evil we are trying to eradicate from our lands! I will never side with them! They are treacherous, traitorous cowards who serve only themselves, and are being controlled by the very demon we seek to cast out!”

“Do you know this for certain?” Kireia demanded. All eyes were on her and Orphaniel, and she could sense Milenko moving forward as if to stop her from starting an actual fight.

“I have my sources,”

“But do you know for certain?” She repeated. “I can tell you anything I want about anyone, and you are the one who chooses to believe! Ask them in here, ask if it is true! Because I have forged alliances for myself with some of them. They are not the evil you seek to destroy. Ask them yourself, and you’ll find they have the same goals as you!”

“I will not allow them in--”

“Let them in!” She thought for a moment, trying to recall two names. “Kaito, and Yokai. I know them both. I will vouch for them.”

That was partially a lie; she knew Kaito, but Yokai was barely known to her. She knew he held rank, though, so he would be best to welcome into the council meeting.

“On your own head be it,” Orphaniel sighed. For a moment, he seemed tired, as though his angry outburst had robbed his energy. Kireia turned to the door guards expectantly, and they glanced at her, then at Orphaniel.

Milenko tapped her on the shoulder, and she glanced back to see him giving her a warning glare. Though she knew the significance of the look, she couldn’t summon the energy to hold back her temper; Rachdhan were known for their ferocity when it came to defending their beliefs, and Orphaniel’s challenge of the Mugen directly contradicted her beliefs.

“What’s this about?” A voice called out as two figures entered the courtyard. Orphaniel sighed heavily.

“As citizens of Vantacor, you should have a position within the High Council,” he said heavily. Kireia glared at him - was he really turning against everything he had just been arguing for?

“We are trying to devise a plan to rid our lands of the scourge of Tumpkee,” he continued. “Your input is more than welcome.”

“Horse shit,” Kireia snapped, “Not five minutes ago, you insulted these men and their kin, cast lies against them. Why not ask them the truth of the information you claim to have?”

Orphaniel glared at her, clearly trying to remain patient. “It isn’t imperative--”

“You insult the Mugen behind their back and be friend to their face!” Kireia snapped, “What kind of leader are you, that you have no spine to stand up for your beliefs?”

Milenko grabbed her at that moment, muttering some semblance of apology to the others in the courtyard as he excused himself and Kireia from the council. Kireia was ready to fight him as well, to stand up for herself, even if it meant the brief, temporary death of battle - but clearly, Milenko was not in the mood to accommodate such a thing.

Reluctantly, Kireia allowed herself to be removed, cursing them in her own language the entire time. To her surprise, though, once they were away from the base, Milenko glanced down at her. The corners of his eyes were creased, as though he was smiling.

“Well done,” he commented, “He’ll probably come hunting for us on the field, but well done.”

“I have more to say to him,” she snapped. “If he wants to fight, let him. I am ready to make enemies.”

If that was how the leaders of Vantacor were allowed to act, she decided, then she was more than suitable to stand as Rechs of the Rachdhan. She, at the very least, was willing to insult people to their faces.

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Careful Words

Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor Rating: K+ Warnings: N/A Originally Written: 30 September 2019

After being torn from her reunion with the rest of her tribe, Kireia weighs up the choice they gave her, the path ahead of her, and the weight of other matters affecting Vantacor...

Part 1 | Part 2 | ~ | Part 4 | Part 5

The Summoning.

Kireia had only experienced it once before, when she was still learning her place among the rest of the Ismarans and other Vantacorians. In fact, those few days in the realm of Not’ere had been eye-opening for her, and she had formed a tentative allegiance with a formidable foe.

But this time, she knew what to expect. And she knew what she needed to do in Not’ere, before she lost her chance.

If she was being honest with herself, Kireia was tiring very quickly of kings and so-called leaders. Strange things had been happening in Vantacor of late, and from what she could see, the land was being torn apart. Various whispers and rumours suggested that Vantacor was a victim of the havoc being wreaked in the Fae Realm, though what that place was, she didn’t know. For the most part, she was feeling the distress of Nature as it was being attacked, torn to pieces, manipulated, and severely affected by whatever strange curses were being wrought upon it from afar. It was the reason she had decided to abandon the most recent event and return home - the distress of Nature had made her feel concern for the other Rachdhan.

Of course, in the single evening she had been home, she had learned of more discord spreading on Ismara, and the elders had proposed to her a simple idea that could lead to a solution.

Kireia sat in the small base that the Ra’moness had set up for the Ismarans in Not’ere, turning the owl brooch over in her fingers as she watched across the lake, looking for any potential enemies on approach. The land here shifted, and the Mugen had placed their encampment at the top of the same hill Ismara had dominated as the space they had previously been was no longer available. While some of the Ismarans had voiced mild concern for the Mugen’s presence, and while other friendly types had voiced the same concerns, Kireia felt none of these. Although the Mugen had recently decided to declare outright war on Vantacor, she had affirmed with them that her truce with them still stood.

She was torn as to whether the Summoning occurring now was a blessing or a curse - a blessing, because it meant something could be done about the Fae Realm, and a curse because it meant that precious time would be lost in the problems the Ainmhi of Ismara faced.

The fact that the “leaders” of Vantacor were more concerned with their own personal grievances rather than resolve their conflicts for the sake of saving their lands, however, was a more pressing matter.

Kireia recognised one of the men of Legion hiking up the hill towards the Mugen base, and she recalled an incident several weeks prior. There had been a scroll available to help them translate the text that had been found on random artefacts throughout Vantacor in recent months, and this scroll had offered a translation. The house of Legion had claimed it, and Kireia had agreed to help them hold it if they made the information public knowledge - there was something about the leader of Legion that she didn’t trust. He spoke in very specific words, and Kireia had learned that this was typical of people who lied or veiled their insults.

Of course, her allegiance had resulted in a victory for Legion, but she was yet to see the results of her agreement - she’d held her end of the bargain, so why was Legion deferring on theirs?

Kireia was on her feet and chasing the Legion male up the hill, calling to him as she ran.

“You are Legion, yes?” She demanded, upon reaching him. She knew that black and yellow were the Legion colours, but there was a chance that another house from another realm had the same colours.

“Uh, yeah,” the male replied warily. She nodded, certain now.

“You recall, I help you weeks gone, to keep that scroll of letters. You remember, yes?”

“Oh! Uh, yeah,”

“Good. Come with.”

She whirled about, starting back down the hill. The male hesitated, before following her as she paused. He was one of her witnesses.

She had passed the small fort Legion had set up on the outskirts of town, and knew exactly where she needed to go to find the leader. Boneman, they called him. Well, she had a bone to pick with this “Boneman”.

She stopped in front of the fort and called out to the Boneman, refusing to answer any of the other Legion folk that tried to respond. Boneman was the one she wanted to see, and it seemed to take him a few moments to approach the entryway.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said with disinterest. Kireia was taken aback for a moment at the idea that he had actually remembered her despite ignoring his half of their agreement, but she didn’t let it alter her composure.

“I bring your man as witness,” she stated, “Weeks ago, I help defend your clan and a scroll, on the condition you make the scroll public knowledge, yes? Where is this public knowledge?”

Boneman regarded her coolly for a moment, before waving a hand for her to enter and stepping aside. Wary of a trap, Kireia moved forward.

“I was meaning to have someone find you,” he told her as he led her towards a small desk in the main room. The fort was very small, but Kireia reminded herself that this was only a temporary home for most people - no need for grandiose designs if you only used it a few times a year.

“Here,” he stated, holding up a scroll, a hardened wax seal keeping it rolled. “Though it’s addressed to the Ismaran leader, it’s for you and you only. What you do with it is up to you.”

Kireia eyed the man as she took the scroll, before breaking the seal and opening it to read.

“It is cursed,” she stated simply, and he nodded. Insurance, she realised - he had to maintain control or power in some way, so cursing the scroll so that it couldn’t be copied was the easiest way for him to do so. She realised that Boneman wasn’t necessarily an unfair person, he just liked to be the one in control of a situation. Like most of the Vantacorian leaders.

“Now, we are even,” he told her, gesturing for her to leave. Kireia straightened her back and bowed her head politely.

“I had assumed you had reneged on our agreement,” she explained, “I apologise for my assumption, and thank you.”

Nothing on the scroll said she couldn’t show it to other people, so that was exactly what Kireia was planning to do once she returned to the Ismaran base. After all, Boneman had told her that what she did with it was up to her. If she had to deal with Legion in future, however, she made a mental note to be very wary of the words they used.

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Homecoming - Part Two

Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara Rating: T Warning/s: N/A Originally Written: 20th October 2019

Despite the suspiciously warm welcome, not all is right among the Ainmhi of Ismara, as Kireia learns...

Part 1 | ~ | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

It became apparent that Reiana wasn’t the only one who had believed her dead, and Kireia had to remind herself, several times, that information within the village travelled much faster and with more accuracy than information on the battlefield. To her surprise, the welcome she received from those who had once alienated her was friendly, almost one filled with relief for many of them. As dinner was handed around and she joined the circle, others begged her to recount stories of her adventures.

At first, being in the central spotlight was daunting, but Kireia remembered after a while that these were not foreigners or strangers - these were her people. Many of them had known her before her ear feathers had even begun growing, and she wasn’t simply another strange little thing picked up on the tide with the rest of the Ismarans. Here, she was Kireia, daughter of the last Rechs and the Inati, descendant of the Kirvid

Because of their obsession with status, Kireia had discovered the Common Tongue had a word for her position among the Rachdhan: Princess.

The evening seemed to wear on almost endlessly, but eventually Kireia was left with her mother and a few of the elders of the tribe. She was tired herself, after several days of travelling from Vantacor, but something about the fact that the other elders remained told her that they needed to discuss something important with her.

Following the death of her father, the Rachdhan had elected several former Inati and Rechs to stand for them until a new Rechs could step in. This group of four began to lead the tribe, along with Reiana’s work, to the point that the tribe decided by vote to have the Elders lead them - and abolish the title of Rechs until such a time as it was needed desperately. It was an action that broke the tradition of generations, but Kireia had watched from afar as the decision-making of the tribe was done by a group of people, and something would only ever be done if all five - the four Elders and the current Inati - could agree together.

“Your return comes at an auspicious time, Dansachii,” the eldest of the group, Ioliin, stated as she settled on her small bed. Her legs were not what they used to be, and the elderly owlblood usually spent evenings in her home, for comfort. But she had insisted on joining the tribe’s dinner tonight. Kireia looked up at the woman - she was easily the oldest of the tribe, and nothing seemed to happen among her people without her hearing of it.

“Trouble?” Kireia asked, sensing the sudden tension in the air. Ioliin nodded slowly, and Kireia sighed heavily. “Is it the Wolfkin?”

“Your mother’s place among the Rachdhan has ensured peace is held between our people,” Tamian, one of the former Rechs, gestured dismissively. “No; this trouble lays within the Ainmhi itself.”

The Ainmhi was the name given to the wildlings of the Ismaran island - half-human, half animal in feature and brain. While the population was mostly divided by the animals each clan shared traits with, they had co-existed with a tentative peace for decades - a peace that, Kireia sensed, was about to be endangered.

“The old High Priestess, the Mother of Mothers, she passed a month ago,” Reiana explained, “She didn’t name a successor, and there are four currently vying for the role. One of them has an especially skilled song, and she has been working to turn the tribes themselves against each other.”

“Then turf her out,” Kireia shrugged, “I don’t see why it’s such a problem.”

“Because the other tribes have begun taking sides,” Ioliin explained, “And, as per tradition, all the tribes must have a Rechs or representative agree that she is to take the title. Many of the larger tribes are pressuring the smaller ones to vote in favour of the Inati they support.”

“Have they approached us?” Kireia asked, standing up and beginning to pace.

“No.” Ioliin stated, “They know that we will be difficult to sway, so they’re leaving us for last, I believe.”

“Who are the claimants?”

“Another Deerkin, a Ratsune, and two Fiachat.” Tamian stated, “They are all rather young, and dangerously ambitious.”

“Ambitious enough to provoke war,” Ioliin nodded, “Obviously, the two Fiachat have caused their own clan to split in favour of their preference, so it’s not only tearing the Ainmhi apart, but also dividing bloodlines.”

Kireia hissed a curse in Common, ignoring the confused stares she received from the group now watching her pacing back and forth.

“The problem is primarily led by the Inati,” Reiana stated, “If we could approach the Rechs of the other tribes to discuss this, without the Inati interfering, then we could reach a resolution. But we cannot.”

Kireia spun on her heel to face the trio. “Well, why not? Ioliin, you’re the closest thing the Rachdhan have to a Rechs--”

“But I am not one, nor have I ever been,” Ioliin stated, “Unfortunately, our cousins have adopted more of the mainlanders’ customs than we’d ever thought appropriate. Only a Rechs may call the other Rechs together to discuss things,”

“And the Rachdhan don’t have one,” Kireia realised, rolling her eyes. “Why do we have to be the most enlightened while our cousins choose to keep to archaic traditions?”

She turned, looking into the flames of the slowly dying fire as she thought about the new information. More recently, she had been becoming exposed to the politics of Vantacor, and she was beginning to find it infuriating that so many self-proclaimed “leaders” allowed their egos to get in the way of what was best for not just their people, but all the people they worked with. The very events that had caused her to fear for her clan’s safety was a perfect example - the troubles were happening to everyone in Vantacor, yet all the leaders seemed to care about was proving their superiority against their rivals.

Of course, the Strangers of the mainland chose their leaders based on bloodlines rather than skill and intelligence. She’d met far too many barons, dukes, even kings, who claimed those titles simply because of who their fathers and mothers were. If the Rachdhan held any weight in Vantacor itself, Kireia proclaiming herself as the daughter of the Last Rechs and the Wolfmother would undoubtedly win her status - but she had found that among their strange customs and unusual words, she preferred that anonymity of “just a wildling from Ismara”.

She turned away from the fire to see Ioliin, Tamian, and Reiana all studying her carefully. “What?”

“The Rachdhan are aware of the potential threat, and of the tensions,” Ioliin told her, “And, for that reason, they agreed to elect a new Rechs.”

“Temporarily,” Reiana added, glancing at Ioliin, “The person they chose was, well, a wild card. Someone who has been off learning new things. Carrying out the tasks set to them by a power greater than the tribe. They’ve spent close to a year doing Nature’s bidding, in fact. So, we held a vote. They agreed, eventually.”

“It’s only a puppet role,” Tamian stated, “Within the tribe, the Rechs holds no authority over others that they haven’t won in the Games. Outside of the tribe, though, they speak on the Rachdhan’s behalf and fulfil the external duties of a Rechs.”

“Makes sense,” Kireia nodded. She didn’t like the idea of a Rechs taking over once again, but if it was only for the purpose of calling a meeting of Rechs, she could see the sense in it. “So, who did they choose?”

Ioliin and Reiana exchanged glances, both of them smirking slightly.Tamian arched an eyebrow as he looked at her.

“Someone who, until recently, we thought had actually been killed,” Reiana stated, “We were due to hold another meeting to find the successor in a few days, but thankfully, we were proven wrong. They still live.”

“Well, who is it?”

“You, feather-skull,” Ioliin laughed, “They chose you.”

Kireia stared at the elderly woman for a moment, then at Reiana and Tamian. They chose... her? Kireia Duskdancer? Why her? She wasn’t skilled in combat, wasn’t a wise warrior, and her hunting skills were adequate for survival but not much beyond that.

“Why me?” She asked finally, looking at the trio. “I... I was basically thrown out of here, last time. I ran away, I was always causing trouble as a nestling, never paid attention to most of my lessons--”

“Kireia, tell me why we want to avoid the tribes turning against each other,” Ioliin stated, tilting her head, “Obviously, we have the strength of numbers, and our treaty with the wolves, they will join us. Just our two tribes together numbers greater than most of the others put together. So, we have nothing to fear from a war of tribes. Is that not correct?”

“No,” Kireia shook her head, recognising the problem immediately, “If it comes to war between the tribes, that risks cutting off the smallest, most endangered of all the tribes. The Goatfolk, the Ratsune, the tree-climbers - if it comes to war, we risk losing them entirely, unless they agree to remain neutral, which they won’t.”

She shook her head as the analytical side of her mind seemed to kick into action. Although the Ra’moness (tried to) keep the peace and even help to protect the Ainmhi where they could (or wanted to), there were still threats on Ismara, and beyond - and now that she was engaging in battles, making enemies and friends, there was a chance that those enemies would take the same challenge as older traders and merchants once had.

“That’s not the only problem,” she realised, turning back to the fire. “With the tribes divided against each other, it leaves us weakened for other, worse threats to approach unnoticed.”

"I have had many dreams in which this happens," Reíana admitted softly, focusing on the fire, her wolf ears pricked forward indicating her attentiveness, though her posture suggested relaxation. "Sails on the north shores, a wedge driven into an already split log, and broken eggs scattered across the ground. Aiidhen has dreamed of it, Ioliin too.”

Kireia kept her gaze on the flames. One of the main reasons Inati were selected was their Sight, their ability to sense or see omens, but her father had argued against sending Aiidhen, her younger brother, away to be formally trained. Mainly because Aiidhen didn’t want to leave the tribe. But Kireia had kept the secret to herself, that she also had these types of dreams occasionally. In fact, it was this premonition, of division causing an exploitable weakness, that had led to her leaving Ismara.

“I was hated by these people,” she said softly, “Why would they choose me as a leader?”

“Because a leader needs to know more than just her people,” Ioliin replied, “You had the knowledge of a Rechs before your father died. Your mother ensured that you knew of the Ainmhi etiquette, regardless of whether you were willing to follow it. But more than that, your isolation, your travelling, your experience beyond the walls of this village, that’s more life wisdom than most people even your mother’s age have known.”

"When you left here last, you were an errant nestling in the body of a youth," Reiana stated, "That was evident for all to see. But you forget, your brother knows the songs of Nature. He has heard your victories, sung by the winds, your successes. He has shared that with us." She smiled gently, reaching out and slipping a paw into Kireía's taloned hand. "You may not be the most skilled at the blade, barely proficient in the language, and struggling to achieve the tasks set for you, but your perseverance, your diplomacy, your ability to prevent unnecessary bloodshed, and the way you have naturally fallen into leading when others have fallen out - it is exactly like your father. The birds are chirping, Kireía. You are not the errant nestling that left this place so long ago."

Kireia was silent as she let this sink in. Her mother had always been the first to chastise her throughout her life, but here Reiana was now, offering her blessing. It was a strange thing for her, Kireia realised - strange but not unwelcome. For the first time, she realised, someone was actually putting their faith in her.

She needed to show them that it wasn’t misplaced.

"We need to hold a meeting," she stated, "The tribal leaders, without the Inati. If things escalate, it means war, and that has never been the role of the Inati, traditionally. We need the Rechses of the tribes to affirm their peace with each other. They can have their rivalries, we won't begrudge them that - but we can't let faith interfere in politics. The two must be kept separated; that is why we've always had a Rechs AND an Inati leading our clans--”

She broke off suddenly, tilting her head as her ear feathers twitched. What was that sound? It seemed familiar, but...

“I told you she’d get straight into it,” Tamian remarked, smirking at the two women, “Just like her father. She hasn’t even considered the fact that she’ll be the first female Rechs of the tribe.”

Yes, she had definitely heard that sound before. Kireía turned to the trio of elders, looking from one to the other.

"Can you hear it?" She demanded. Reíana frowned, already watching her daughter’s sudden change.

"Hear what?"

"Good," Kireía stooped, snatching up her sword and quiver. Her unstrung bow was tucked into the quiver with her arrows, but she knew she wouldn’t need to worry about stringing it just yet.

"I will be back," she promised, "As an adventurer, many things control my life, and this is one of them. I'm about to disappear, but I'll return.”

“Kireia, there is no sound,” Ioliin tried to reassure her, “Relax, dear one, you needn’t rush so.”

“Once I return, we will go to the others, bring the tribes together, and guarantee peace beyond the Inati problems." Kireia turned to face the trio, to see Tamian and Reiana were on their feet and Ioliin sitting up straight, alert.

“Where are you going?” Reiana demanded.

“Not’ere,” Kireia replied, “But I’ll return. I’m being summoned elsewhere, but it won’t take long. I’ll be back within a week.”

There was a strange pulling sensation as the colours around her seemed to bleed into each other, but Tamian was already moving, pushing past Reiana as he grabbed Kireia’s hand, pressing something into her palm.

“Take it,” he told her, “Consider the weight of it while you’re gone. Then, give us your answer when you return.”

Kireia opened her mouth to respond, but the air was sucked from her as an incredible force wrenched her off her feet. She closed her eyes, stomach lurching as she felt the strange sensation of both falling and flying, at the same time.

Solid ground struck beneath her feet and Kireia staggered sideways, collapsing to one knee as she gasped in air. Early morning sunlight greeted her as she opened her eyes, and she realised she was standing just outside of the small town. Others were gathering, trying to work out what was happening, why they’d been Summoned, but she knew it would likely be some time before answers were received.

Looking down, Kireía inspected the object Tamian had shoved into her hand before she had been pulled away. A familiar diamond and sapphire owl brooch glittered in the morning sunlight, and she stared at it. She recognised this; her father had worn it for as long as she could remember.

“Consider the weight of it while you’re gone. Then, give us your answer when you return.”

She knew she didn’t need to consider anything. The role was only temporary, and for months she had been told to find ways to unite others despite differences in beliefs. Had all of it, her travels and education - had it all led to this task? If so, then she was ready to take it - and if not, then it would still be a great place to start.

The kings of Vantacor had their crowns. The Rechs of the Rachdhan had her owl brooch.

[testedtransgressor]

Homecoming - Part One

\Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara Rating: T Warning/s: N/A Originally Written: 16th October 2019

Set immediately before the events of the September Games Weekend. Kireia reflects on her past as she returns home after her adventures in Vantacor.

~ | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Returning home was never very high on Kireía's list of priorities.

Though she loved her homeland, though she missed the sweet song with which Nature spoke to her on the island, and though she longed for the familiarity of home, returning home meant she had to face her mother, her tribe.

And so far, she had barely achieved anything of her goals in setting out.

Kireía stood before the twisted trees that marked the entryway to the large settlement the Rachdhan had built, exhaling slowly and shaking out her new feathers in anxiety. Nobody had ever told her that wearing clothing over feathers was so uncomfortable - but then, nobody had ever really been around as she had been coming into her feathers, and that was more her fault than theirs.

Kireia was the second daughter and oldest surviving child of Kiron Nightshade and Reiana Wolfsong. Reiana was what they called “wolfkin”, a person born of the wolf tribe. She had been sent to the Rachdhan, or Birdfolk tribe to try and help convert them to the main beliefs the other Ainmhi, wildlings of Ismara, had converted to. The story of Kiron’s love for Reiana and his rise to power in the name of that love was almost legendary among the tribe even though for most it was still in living memory.

Kiron had been killed in battle alongside his eldest son when Kireia had been 12, and she had witnessed this. The male that had done it, sadly, was Reiana’s brother, and Kiron’s brother-in-law, who had come to the tribe with a group of others who believed Reiana had been kidnapped or even killed. Despite the death and invasion, the Birdfolk wanted no more fighting to come as a result, and the wolves, upon learning they’d slain family for no reason, were only too happy to oblige.

Kireia, however, had wanted revenge. Realising that the treaty between the tribes kept vengeance from her reach, she left the Rachdhan, disappearing into the forests of the island.

It had been ten years. She had let them believe her dead for several years, but eventually fate had demanded she return and show her face to them. In the years following, she had remained alone, keeping to her wanderer life among the Ismaran forests. She would occasionally return, but this past year had been the longest that she’d been gone for - and she had never even told anybody when she had left the island.

Kireia crossed the threshold into the settlement, and the sounds of the outside forest seemed to fade away as the magical shielding of the village came into effect around her. Kireía inhaled through her nose, her mind processing all the information her senses offered - the smell of someone making seed cakes, the soft chirruping of several nestlings contrasted against the joyful screeches of older nestlings, the feeling of the soft fern leaves scattered over freshly-churned dirt beneath her feet. Travelling with the other Ismarans, she had reluctantly adopted the custom of wearing boots, but since boarding the ship that had brought her home, she had gone barefoot - it just felt more natural to her.

The return journey had been one full of anxiety. Things in Vantacor had been becoming more dangerous of late, and she had begun to fear for her tribe, so had decided it would be time to return. The sun had passed its zenith before she had reached her tribe’s village from the docks, and as she walked through the outer ring of the homes, Kireia felt herself beginning to relax. These people were her own. She didn’t have to hide her feathers or talons here, didn’t have to contort her mouth to form foreign sounds, words, sentences, and best of all, she didn’t have to communicate only in words - the other Rachdhan could identify what a simple chirp or screech meant. Shedding her fur vest, she shook out her new feathers again, picking a few stray pieces of fur from them. In the centre of the village, they would be preparing a fire for the evening meal, but she had no desire to make her return known just yet. She closed her eyes, feeling as her muscles continued to relax, knowing exactly where her steps needed to go without needing to see her surrounds.

"Kireía?"

The voice was soft, unmistakable, and Kireía opened her eyes, almost startled out of her peace as a tall woman stood in the middle of the pathway, staring at her. Her wolf ears were pricked forward, eyes bright as she stared at Kireia, as if seeing her for the first time.

For her part, Kireia simply stopped in her tracks, staring at the Wolfkin in front of her. Though the troubles of the years showed in her face, Reiana Wolfsong was still beautiful by many standards, a beauty that Kireia had always somewhat resented her for in her own younger years.

“Kireia, am I seeing things, or are you really here?” Reiana asked softly. Tentatively, she stepped forward, and for a moment, Kireia realised that her mother was regarding her as though she were a spirit.

"Chaírbhadhna, Inati," Kireía replied carefully, making sure to inflect the greeting with the right tone. It was the formal greeting offered to the priestess of the tribe, one that Kireia had always used in private to defy her mother’s insistence of using it in public.

The tension between the two women seemed to break suddenly, and Reiana swept forward. Kireia flinched, expecting a slap or rebuke, but was instead engulfed in her mother’s embrace. It took her a moment longer to realise that Reiana was shaking.

Something was wrong.

“Mother?” Kireia asked, reaching up to touch Reiana’s shoulder, “What is it? You’re shaking, are you okay?”

“I thought you were dead,” Reiana admitted, her words choked with tears. “Aiidhen saw you in a large battle, he said you were cut down--”

Of course. Kireia realised her mother was unaware of the supposed divine blessing offered to the “heroes” of Solendium. She returned her mother’s tight embrace reassuringly.

“He was wrong,” she reassured Reiana. “I have many things to tell you, it seems.”

[testedtransgressor]

The Mugen

Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara Rating: T Warning/s: N/A Originally Written: 16th October 2019

These events actually happened over the course of my first couple of months at Heroes Odyssey, and the events of Not’ere happened during our July Games Weekend. Big shout out to Jordan and Troy for letting me feature their characters, Kaito and Wolfgang (respectively), because the interactions Kireia had with them weren’t planned, and they’re just great fun to roleplay and biff with.

Since first setting out on her adventure, Kireía had not intended to make enemies. Indeed, it had been the need for unity within the world that had called her from her comfortable lifestyle.

She had quickly learned, however, that not all others shared that same view. Looking back on her self of several months ago, she realised that, though knowledgeable about those of her homeland, she was embarrassingly naïve about the various other peoples of Vantacor and beyond.

Her first encounter with the Mugen had been brief, one that she could not recall herself, but had been informed about by witnesses - apparently, the curse that preserved her from True Death came at the cost of a few minutes of memory immediately preceding her demise. In her opinion, this was an acceptable trade.

She had been curious about the warriors of afar, sensing the mystical energies of their Kami and admiring their discipline and combative skill - but they were not an enemy she wished to face. In her earlier weeks of adventuring, many a time they had stood between her and her allies' goals, executing anybody who dared cross them. So, despite her admiration and respect for their skill, she had become resentful. Nature had whispered to her, knowing that she knew she could not act in vengeance, informing her when her death had come at the hands of one of the Mugen.

Yet, she still attempted to bridge the gap. Among them was a Wolfkin, and she had briefly enjoyed peaceful words with the Kami, so she knew that amidst the storm of their violence, there was a certain calmness.

It wasn't until her adventures in the strange land of Not'ere that she began to truly see the peace within the storm. For fun, she had asked and received bounties over her time there, one first for a man named Kaito. He had walked into a trap that had been so obvious and simply laid out that she hadn't expected it to work.

Though he had known he was stronger, capable of escape, and they'd been confronted by his Mugen brothers, he had still agreed with her to split the bounty, whatever it may be, for turning him in. She still wasn't certain what had driven him to make such an agreement with her - the Mugen, as far as she had known, weren't motivated by money.

The second bounty she had received had been one that had unsettled her. The Wolfkin among the Mugen was, in her mind, a Cousin of sorts - though not Ismaran, he still bore all the features of a fully-grown male Wolfkin, and her own birth mother was of their people. Attacking the Mugen Wolf was, to her, like betraying one of her own.

But the bounty demanded to be acted upon, and so she had hovered close to him throughout the day, trying to find an opportunity to capture him. Unfortunately, Kaito stood by his side most of the time, and he was not as lenient as he'd been the day before. It had only taken her two attempts to realise that she was not going to be able to collect on the bounty, even though it so deeply unsettled her to even attempt it.

But Kireía had been gifted with the Corvid mind. She had learned the previous day that the Mugen weren't as unreasonable as she had once thought, that they were open to conversation and persuasion. She herself had been beginning to doubt the things others had said about them - so diplomacy was her next best tact.

During her time in Not'ere, she had won for herself a sword, which she had no idea how to use but was ready to try. Her companions all used the sword, and most of her foes on the battlefield carried one, so surely learning to use their weapons against then would be of benefit? Except that she was horribly inept.

But the Mugen weren't. In fact, she had watched and decided they were likely the best warriors in Vantacor, perhaps even in Solendium - and who better to learn from than a master?

"You teach me to use this," she said in her heavily-accented Common Speech, indicating the new weapon at her hip, "And you may have this," she stated, showing the bounty slip to the Wolfkin.

"What is to stop me from killing you and taking it anyway?" He asked. Most struggled to understand her through her accent, but he seemed to have no difficulty - whether because he himself was foreign or because of a distant blood relation, she was uncertain.

"You have honour," she pointed out. "I am not attacking. I offer fair trade. To kill me for a piece of paper when I offer no threat is not honourable to your people. Is that not correct?"

Of course, in her broken speech, the words didn't come out exactly as that, but that was the message she was trying to get across to him.

The Wolfkin seemed to think for a moment, turning to Kaito before returning his attention to Kireia. "Okay," he agreed, "You have a deal."

His name was Wolfgang, he told her, as he led her to an open space just beyond the edge of town - a space where they could practice uninterrupted. He seemed far friendlier than she had expected of a Mugen; but then, Kireia realised, this was one of the first times she had actually spoken to a Mugen outside of conflict.

Wolfgang was patient as she began with some of the most basic drills to strengthen the muscles in her arms. As an archer, most of her strength came from her shoulders, and it was awkward at first for her to move the new sword about using only her wrist motions.

“Keep practising every day and you’ll build up the strength in your arms in no time,” he reassured her.

They both looked up as a figure approached, and Kireia immediately assessed the man as being rather wealthy - he was well-dressed, wearing many things of various metals, and held himself with an air of self-importance that she immediately disliked.

The male tossed a triangular bar of silver on the ground between Kireia and Wolfgang, looking between the two.

“Fight for my entertainment.” He declared. Kireia looked at Wolfgang, almost expecting him to attack and utterly destroy her in a matter of seconds; they both knew he was capable of it, after all. Wolfgang, however, was eyeing the bar.

“Split it?” He suggested to her. Kireia looked at the bar, before shrugging and nodding. The concept of currency had only just been introduced to her, and she was learning that things of copper, silver, and gold held value to all people of Solendium - which meant this bar was currency.

Bird and wolf turned to the wealthy male, who had apparently been expecting to see them turn on each other. He swore as they, seemingly in unison, decided he was a more interesting target. Both charged forward, and he was only barely able to draw his own sword as Kireia reached him first. He struck faster than she had expected, striking her three times before Wolfgang was on him.

One of the strikes had cut deeply into her thigh, and Kireia pressed her palms over the wound as she looked up, watching Wolfgang force the rich male into defence. The wound was too deep for her to survive, and with Wolfgang distracted, she knew he would be unable to heal her before she bled out.

And if she died, she would lose her memory of those last moments before the death - the moments in which she had learned those very simple yet crucial drills.

A figure in red and black raced past, followed by another, and she felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking up, she recognised Kaito as he spoke a hasty incantation. The magic that he commanded was different to that most other Vantacorians were able to wield, and it took her a moment to realise - he was healing her.

“Why are you attacking?” The stranger demanded indignantly, as Kireia realised the other two figures that had raced past her beforehand were also Mugen. He was on his knees, beaten down, and Wolfgang stood over him, a few small marks in his fur indicating that he hadn’t come through unscathed.

Kireia had to agree; it was no surprise the others had raced to Wolfgang’s aid, but they had helped her as well, despite her never having had any allegiance with them.

“We were training,” Wolfgang replied, “You had no right to interrupt that.”

Kireia didn’t flinch as they finished off the stranger. Her leg still felt strange from the foreign healing magic the Mugen apparently commanded, and she glanced down, the healed skin visible through the tear in her clothing.

“Well, then,” Wolfgang turned to Kireia, and she realised he was holding the silver bar the stranger had thrown between them. “Shall we cash this in?”

As the events of Vantacor seemed to force them on opposing sides more often than not, Kireia became uncertain of the friendship she had apparently struck with Wolfgang - and, by extension, with the rest of his clan. She was certain, however, that the afternoon events in Not’ere had changed her view of the Mugen - for the better. Many of the other adventurers of Vantacor and beyond often scorned the Mugen, but having interacted with them so amicably, Kireia was granted another view of the warriors.

Where others claimed that they were cowards for never attacking alone, she recognised solidarity within their ranks. Where others insisted they were backstabbers, she saw a common combat technique that had been spurned by those who valued bragging rights and had never learned not to turn their backs to an enemy. Where others saw an unreasonable, treacherous, lethal enemy, she began to see a powerful, selective group that was more than a simple House or clan - a group of people with shared belief, who were prepared to support each other in order to support the entire group.

After all, a flock was only as fast as the slowest member, and the Mugen ensured that their least-skilled were still protected enough that they would not fall easily.

[testedtransgressor]

Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara Rating: T Warning/s: N/A Originally Written: 22 August 2019

Sometimes, the bird instincts kicked in, and when they did, Kireia couldn’t control them.

It was part of the curse of living half-human, Kireia had learned. Humans experienced involuntary bodily actions, orcs experienced involuntary surges of anger, and Rachdhan experienced involuntary moments of bird behaviour. There was nothing she could do but watch herself, in abject horror, as she attacked a foe much larger and stronger than herself, or leapt from a height she knew she couldn’t land.

So when she sensed the “bird-brain” kick in prior to reaching the gem fields, she knew it would be an interesting adventure, at the very least.

The gems, they had been told, would only have value if they matched the colour chosen by a specific being that was held captive-- and that was all Kireia had heard before the bird-brain took hold. It went for the shining round objects, collecting as many of them as she could and stuffing them into the hands of her companions to hold and carry. Once they had established a base, though, that was when the truly awkward part happened.

Rachdhan were more human than avian in the way they carried and birthed their young. Nestlings - young Birdfolk - were born, not hatched from eggs. But birds certainly laid eggs, and to the bird-brain that had hold of Kireia on this occasion, the sparkling gems looked very much like eggs.

“Are you nesting?” Roan asked, as Kireia sat crouched over the collection of gems, sword drawn, her human brain more than aware of how ridiculous she must have looked, but the bird-brain determined to protect the “eggs” she had claimed. Resigned to her fate, Kireia nodded.

She hovered above the gems for a while, the bird-brain forcing her to get aggressive when anybody got too close - even her allies. Like any mother bird, she was determined to protect the things - with her own life, if she had to.

And then, she was waking up on the ground, well away from the nest she had, in her bird-brain moments, begun to build.

It took Kireia a few dizzying moments to realise what had happened - the bird-brain’s oath to protect her “eggs” with her own life had been tested and proven true. She had died, and was reawakening, as happened often. She didn’t bother questioning Nature for the details of that time before her death - she had no need to know who had slain her, or why. The gems held value - it was a simple enough reason.

The urgent need to return to her “nest” was almost overwhelming, but Kireia’s sensible mind prevailed over the bird-brain. She knew exactly what she would find if she returned, and she knew that the bird-brain would be forced to react. Instead, she focused on searching the field for potential allies, if not her Ismaran counterparts. The bird-brain would have its chance to seize control another day - for now, she decided to remain mostly human-minded.

[testedtransgressor]

Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara Rating: K+ Originally Written: 4 July 2019

More about Kireia’s struggles with Common Speech. The part featuring Roan actually happened in our games night the week this was written. Kireia was quite hurt by his statement, but more because of what it meant to her than the words themselves. I know that language is something a lot of people struggle with, so maybe some can relate to Birbgirl on that level...

It wasn't that she couldn't speak; it was more the fact that nobody else could understand her.

Except for Evrin, of course. Evrin was a cousin; she could understand Kireia when they spoke in their shared language. But Roan still had trouble understanding her.

"Can anybody tell me what's going on?" Roan had asked, the last to join them at the beacon tower they were supposed to be protecting. Kireia had already tried speaking to the two leaders of the two separate groups, who seemed to have struck a deal with each other and were allies. She knew it wasn't technically her place, as Roan was usually in charge when Raven or Milenko were away, but he had been away and although she liked Evrin and Maeve, she didn't trust them to broker any sort of alliances, temporary or not.

She had moved forward, ready to stumble over the clumsy words of the Common Speech in order to communicate to Roan what he had missed, but the look he gave her as soon as she volunteered herself was one that she was all too familiar with.

The look of disdain she often received from the Common Speakers was wearing thin on her patience by now. She had been trying to learn their words, but their language had so many sounds that were so ridiculously foreign, and they used six sounds for a single symbol - or a single sound had four different ways of being written. She knew Rachana, Inati, and Vangor already - but of all the languages she'd learnt, Common was by far the most difficult. It also didn't help when people kept misleading her when she had at first asked for help, which was the primary reason she now chose to learn by watching and listening and mimicking, the way she had learned it at first. She was trying, but it was difficult.

And yet, still they gave her that look.

She could handle the look. She had learned early on that although looks hurt, they were physically harmless. So Roan's disdain wasn't enough to perturb her - he had asked for a description of events, and she was willing to offer one.

"Someone else? You can't speak Common."

If the look didn't hurt, the words did.

Kireia paused, waiting for the laugh or grin that usually accompanied one of the Strangers’ "jokes", but it was clear very quickly that none would be forthcoming. She closed her mouth as Roan continued searching out someone to explain, completely overlooking her. And all at once, she felt that searing pain that she'd known since her days as a nestling, the familiar feeling of isolation.

Here she was, surrounded by allies, yet separated from them because of the words that she couldn't speak.

The speech that Nature had clarified for her blurred into a background noise, and she backed away, brows knitting together as she tried to focus, tried to separate the sounds and make sense. Although she'd been gifted, she still needed concentration to understand the words the Strangers would say. But all that she could hear, ringing through her mind over and over, was Roan's statement.

You can't speak Common.

She found herself moving away from the beacon, away from the people. She turned her back, looking away from the group and instead settling her gaze on the distant hills, trying to focus on those and let her thoughts calm themselves. There was no sense in getting angry - they were simple Strangers, after all. They didn't understand things they didn't know, and they didn't know her, her abilities, her skills. He probably hadn't even realised she could understand his words.

Yet, all the excuses she kept making for them did nothing to ease the hurt.

She looked back at the group, who were simply milling around the beacon, waiting for something to happen. Roan was talking to Evrin, and the way they kept looking at her was enough indication that she, Kireia, was the topic of their discussion. Evrin would likely come and try to explain to her, and Roan would probably come over as well, but she didn't want to talk to either of them. How could she communicate, to either of them, that the reason for her upset was more than the words he had said so carelessly? How could she explain, in words he would understand, that his statement had been a reminder of the chasm that still separated her from those she now travelled and fought alongside?

She couldn't. Because she couldn't speak Common.

Chilodh, her cousins of other Wildling blood, struggled to understand Rachana. Strangers - the Ismarans, the Vikings, and everyone else they found themselves allied with - would never be able to understand. Rachana was her first language, her native tongue, and she spoke in it so elegantly that any other speakers would easily recognise her as a princess and diplomat. A female born of high rank, high status, and high intelligence - all of which were true. She was, among her people, one of the highest bloods save for her older brother.

Yet in Common, she was treated like one with less wisdom than a nestling, looked down upon because she simply struggled to speak the right words.

As expected, Evrin came to check on her, and Roan followed, trying to explain why he had said what he'd said, but she had already decided that the best course of action was to pretend to ignore him. She turned her back to him, folding her arms, scowling at the distance. So, of course, he made another one of his hunting jokes.

These Strangers, they treated her like an unintelligent mound of feathers and flesh, and yet they were the ones that made such barbaric insults. It was infuriating - if she were to introduce Roan to her world, her people, he would feel as isolated and stupid as she was made to feel among the Strangers, yet he would still refuse to accept that he was in a world he didn't know. It was the way with all Strangers - their way was, supposedly, the only way.

"They complain I do not understand them," she told Evrin as she reluctantly rejoined the others, "But it is they who do not understand us."

Evrin simply agreed, with a grin and soft hiss.

[testedtransgressor]

Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara Rating: K+ Warnings: None Originally Written: 21 June 2019

Of course there’s a story of star-crossed lovers in this series somewhere.

Reiana was a young wolfkin who had studied her entire life under the tutelage of the High Priestess, and worshipped the gods more devoutly than any other. She was selected, both out of jealousy and hope, to be sent to the secluded Rachdhan community, to try and help the wild Birdfolk conform to the norms of their so-called cousins. She was nervous upon arrival, being still young, but was devoted to her task and believed that her gods would protect her from the supposed harm the Birdfolk inflicted on outsiders.

From the moment she arrived, Kiron Nightshade was besotted with her. Unfortunately for Kiron, he was a mere hunter of the clan, and only the clan's Rechs was allowed to partner the Mother, if she accepted him. As a hunter, Kiron was barred from ever reaching the level of Rechs, the greatest of the clan's warriors, and thus his dream of pairing with Reiana lay just beyond his reach, denied to him by the corvid blood he had once boasted of so proudly.

The old Rechs recognised the desire in Kiron, having seen many young men fall victim to it before. Knowing the danger it posed not only to the young hunter, but also to the other dansas of the clan - those of the warrior classes - he gave Kiron a task. Every day for a year, Kiron had to climb to the tip of the Beak, collect a firestone, and bring it back. He must complete this task alone.

As a hunter, Kiron had never been told to climb the Beak before - only ever the Wing of the great mountain. He accepted the challenge however, knowing the peril he'd face, and set off on his task. He was gone for so long that nobody believed he would return, but return he did, carrying one of the precious firestones in his scarf as it was too hot to hold with his hands.

The next day, he returned with another, and the day after, he brought back another. And thus, he continued for four hundred and fifty days, longer than the year length of the original task he had been set. Every single one of the stones, after being accepted as suitable by the Rechs, Kiron would offer to Reiana as a gift, and every single one of them, she would accept, not knowing their true value yet appreciating them for the effort he put himself through.

The Rechs was reluctant to accept Kiron's victory over the Beak, but the hundreds of firestones that kept the young wolfkin warm in her small dwelling was a testament to the young hunter's success. So, the Rechs reluctantly allowed Kiron to be recognised as a dansa, one of the warrior class. When the time came, he joined with the other dansas in the Games, a competition between all dansas, with the victor claiming the title of Rechs for the clan.

Kiron had been bet against by many of his former friends, and even Reiana feared for his loss, because she knew that his eagerness sparked a fear in the other dansas, enough that they may intentionally hurt him more than the games permitted. Much to everyone's surprise, however, Kiron came through the competition with relative ease, knocking down his opponents and drawing first blood with seemingly little effort. When he reached the final competition, however, he was faced with the Rechs, who was unwilling to give up his position. Kiron could sense the Rechs was injured from an earlier fight and was not eager to face a wounded opponent. The Rechs called him many foul names and insulted his lineage, to a point where he disgraced himself, but Kiron refused to rise to the bait - he would not begin a fight with a wounded man, no matter how much he desired victory.

The Rechs, enraged at Kiron's inaction against him, charged, tripped on a loose tree root, and fell on his face. The rest of the clan seized the opportunity and collected the man, before outcasting him for his display of jealousy and aggression against someone who had stayed true to their morality. The Rechs was deposed, and for enduring the criticism he had and the torment of the older man, Kiron was offered the position. He accepted, and immediately turned to Reiana, but before he even had a chance to ask, she said yes.

They were paired on the same day Kiron became Rechs, and together would have four children - Reiikii Fairdawn, Kird Duskshade, Kireia Stormsong (later Duskdancer), and Aiidhen Fairsong.

[testedtransgressor]

 Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara Rating: K+ Warnings: N/A Originally Written: 15 June 2019

A piece about Kireia’s earliest years, as what the Birdfolk call a “nestling”.

The storm had finally found a lull, but the brief moments of peace that enveloped the camp were shattered all too soon by an indignant screech.

Inside the hafod of the Mother, several figures pressed around the exhausted woman, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the small, shrieking baby that was being hastily bundled into warm furs. Already, one of the birthmaids bore several small scratches along her forearm, a testament to the newborn’s indignation at the sudden cold it had been exposed to. The elder of the pair waved away several of the more curious young women as she lifted the child to the Mother’s chest, gently manipulating the woman’s arms to wrap around the bundle that bore her second child.

“Girl,” she stated simply, breaking the silence that was said to be sacred to the first moments of a newborn’s life.

As if in answer to the birthmaid’s simple statement, the storm renewed again, the calm of the eye having passed. Wind whipped the flames of the torches about, casting almost terrifying shadows across the faces of the near-humans in the room.

The Mother peered down at the scowling face that was blinking blearily up at her, black eyes scanning the features as if committing them to memory. She was too exhausted to do anything but smile, and gazed at her first daughter.

The first daughter of the Mother was said to bring good luck. A child born at the height of the moon’s arc was said to be fair of skin, hair, and eyes. A girl born under a storm was said to be gifted with the movement of the wind.

Within her very first week, it was clear to all that Kireia Stormsong was none of these things.

Birdlike screeches would sound intermittently from the Mother’s hafod, loud enough to startle nearby wildlife into flight. It was clear even before the nestling’s ear feathers began to come in, that she had taken after her father in blood - the Mother had the ears and tail of a wolf, while her father was one of the Birdfolk.

As she grew, the toddler began to follow her father about, trying to learn the speech that the High Priestess had demanded they learn to be in line with their land cousins - but even then, it was clear that she stumbled on even the most basic words and sounds of the language.

It was a common problem for many nestlings. The Birdfolk had lived with the same language and customs for generations, ever since their grounding, and that knowledge was passed through blood. Forced to learn the common Wildling language from birth, many of them would struggle - but young Kireia’s struggles seemed to be greater than most.

So her father abandoned the demands of the High Priestess and the wishes of the Mother, and began to teach the nestling Birdspeech, the ancient dialect that had been preserved by their people for generations. To the Mother’s surprise, Kireia took to it with greater skill than she had demonstrated in any other linguistic learnings - of course, none of the Birdfolk were surprised.

Kireia was seven when the Mother became so frustrated with her lack of skill in the Wildling tongue, that she began insisting the girl learn to write, and write more than runes scratched into tree bark or packed dirt. She taught Kireia the Wildling tongue through this, and was pleased that her daughter was eager to learn more about writing. Kireia’s days became filled with hunting and exploring with her father and brothers, and her nights became filled with lessons - lessons in writing, in the gods that she didn’t believe in, and in the diplomacy, grace, and etiquette that would be required of her when she eventually took over her mother’s position.

[testedtransgressor]

Heroes Odyssey

So because I’m a special person who needs to have creative freedom of a sort, much to my house leader’s dismay, I sort of took the idea he had for “wildlings” and ran off with my own concepts, which I’m now trying to thread back into Heroes Odyssey and Ismara lore in a weird way.

Essentially, I joined this thing four weeks ago and I’m already hijacking everything. It’s almost like joining a text RP again, except that this time I’m not just typing responses frantically on a smartphone.

So to give a bit of a run-down, Ismara is an island in Vantacor, one of the realms (or “chapters”) of Solendium, which is where Heroes Odyssey is based. It used to be known as Ratsu Island, and was inhabited by Ratsu - a giant half-man half-rat monster created by Eldazor (a Dark Elf who is one of the main antagonists in the overall lore).

The native wildlings have been there since before Jackal, the first of the Ra’moness. The wildlings have always had a sort of peace agreement with the leader, who is the only one (along with maybe one or two others) allowed around the volcano where the wildlings are based. The Ra’moness helped the wildlings stay hidden from the Ratsu, and according to lore and history, respected their space and never hunted them. Apparently.

The Ra’moness, a band of smugglers, have been hidden away in the western coves for countless generations, but in the last 10-12 years, Arkham and Ermine (player characters) built the Tavern of the Three Ravens in the east. During a major battle, Arkham spoke to the giant, Tusk, and treated him as something more than just a creature, offering him sanctuary in the island’s south-east..

And that’s about where I came in with wild ideas and stampeding all over the place.

It became clear as soon as we started trading ideas on languages that the “You’re the first of your kind” freedom boat had already sailed. Other wildling characters had already joined, which restricted some aspects I had to work with, not to mention that my house leader had his own base ideas as well. As someone who’s been creating fantasy realms since before I can remember, worldbuilding is something that I go absolutely wild with, so many of the ideas that I’d already toyed with had to get put on the shelf. When this happens, I find weird ways of sewing them back into the tapestry of pre-created lore in a way that is congruent with lore (to an extent), but it just means more brain work on my end. That’s fine, I actually like that sort of thing.

After lots of late-night queries and an incessant amount of clarification that is probably getting on my house leader’s nerves, I think I’ve finally worked out the basic lore that is specific to my character and any who want to follow her. This is a masterpost of that lore, as well as the stories focusing around my character and her life, and roleplayed events.

[testedtransgressor]

Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara Rating: K+ Warnings: N/A Originally Written: 15 June 2019

A short piece on the struggles Kireia faces with learning a new language while on campaign with her new “friends”...

Kireia had seen many curious things since forming a tentative allegiance with the Strangers of her island. She had travelled with them to the main realms of what they called “Vantacor”, where she had fought alongside them in various tasks, as well as alongside others.

She found, above all else, the language caused the most problems. Those who she walked alongside most often had learned to respond to her attention call, but others were unused to it, and did not respond. She may have learned many words already, but there were so many sounds, and not all of them were like the sounds she had grown with. Trying to learn all of them was difficult - and of course, once they realised she struggled with the language, many of the native speakers were so helpful, leading her astray, teaching her insults when she sought complimentary phrases..

She had abandoned any attempts at learning directly from others after a disastrous moment when she had tried to ask an innkeeper for a beer and instead called his wife a pig - the young traveller who had told her the words to say had ended up losing a tooth in return. After that incident, Kireia had instead tried to learn by observing, as she had in the very beginning.

Perhaps, thus far, the most frustrating encounter had been with a strange man. He had an air of importance, maybe arrogance, The way he stood tall and moved told her that he was a field warrior, a land person, and that he came from a place full of land people - after all, only those who did not need nature on their side walked like that. He was well-dressed, in red and white, but she couldn’t recall which group those colours represented.

Most curiously of all, this Stranger had horns, similar to many of her cousins. His were unlike any cousin or animal she had ever encountered, though; sweeping back over his head like waves. She was familiar with many different creatures, but none that had similar cranial protrusions, Of course, as was her nature, curiosity overrode her sense of safety, and she approached the stranger, inspecting his horns more closely.

It didn’t take him long to become aware of her scrutiny, and he turned his gaze on her, almost irritated as he made a sound. It took her a moment to register that the sound was, in fact, a word.

“What?”

She gestured to her own head, then to his horns, trying to recall the right words to phrase her question. She meant to ask “What creature are you from”, but the only word she knew in Common was the first of that sentence - the same thing he had said to her.

“What?”

“They’re horns,” he replied, stating the most obvious fact he possibly could. Kireia made an impatient noise, gesturing again as she tried to find another way of wording the question.

“Why?”

Once again, her lack of Common words had failed her - her intended question had been “Why do you have horns?” Fortunately, he seemed to understand.

“Because I’m a Terror,” he replied. There was no pride in his statement, nor shame - simply fact. Kireia found this odd - she, and many of her cousins, took pride in their animal ancestors. For all the flaws they inherited through their bloodlines, they also inherited traits and skills that weren’t often shared by other bloods, much less the full-blood humans.

But a Terror; she had never heard of a Terror before. “What Terror?” She asked, now looking at the man’s face. His expression seemed stoic, focused on something else, and she sensed that he was becoming slightly irritated with her distraction.

“I’m part demon,” he told her. This only served to confuse Kireia further, but before she could continue her line of questioning, someone else drew his attention away.

What the hell was a “demon”? Kireia made a note to ask Milenko when she saw him again, but by the time their tasks had been completed, the query had vanished from her mind.

The rest of the language barriers she encountered were equally frustrating. She knew that, were she able to speak their words, she could negotiate peaceful resolutions when the clans clashed, but she was still a long way from being able to do that just yet. It seemed that all she was good for currently, was fighting - and even then, she wasn’t terribly good at that. She was more accustomed to fighting with her fists and feet, but these Strangers had rules to combat that forbade brawling. Why? Brawls had fewer casualties, so surely it was a more preferable method of settling a score? But no - no brawling.

So she fought with hunting bow and small blade and stumbled over words and asked questions and listened. She had her own set of skills, a very specific set of skills, apparently, that could make her trouble in the right situations - she simply had to wait for that situation to arise. And until then, continue to watch, and wait, and learn.

[testedtransgressor]

The Birdfolk

Category: Original - Mythology Rating: K Warnings: N/A Originally written: 9 June 2019

Notes: A tentative attempt at a Creation Myth, this is a story that I’m going to work into my Heroes Odyssey character’s backstory as one that her father told her as a kid and that she still holds to. I’d like to imagine that it reflects the Aboriginal Dreaming story of the Rainbow Serpent, but in a sort of reverse way. If you’re unfamiliar with the story of the Rainbow Serpent, this is a variation of it on YouTube.

Long ago, before Strangers came to the island, there were only the animals. They had learned the ways of the island, learned to listen to its song and feel its touch, and they had come to live together peacefully, each of them contributing to the survival of all. The birds, high on wing, could see furthest and fly high enough to see all the happenings of the island, and would report to others where to find shelter, fresh water, and safety. They were apart from the other animals, because they could escape to the sky while the land animals could not. They knew a freedom and had a way of seeing all things that land animals could not understand, and this gave some of them the gift of Third Sight, the ability to know things before they had come to pass.

The Greatbird, oldest and wisest of all on wing, called a warning to all birds one day, in the special language they spoke that the land animals could not. He told them that one day, the mountain would throw fire and stone into the air, and the island would be burned and turned to stone, and would not be liveable for many years after. When this happened, he told them, they must leave the island, only to return once the trees began to grow again.

Many of the birds were upset. They knew that only their flight would save them, and that their land friends would be abandoned, but the Greatbird told them that it was better for some to survive, than for all to die.

The Kirvid, however, refused. She was not the oldest, nor the wisest, and she preferred to play games rather than do work, but she was clever and creative, often seeing new beginnings where others only saw end, and she had one of the brightest colourings of all birds - feathers of bright blue and deep red. She warned that abandoning their friends would only cause them harm, but because she was so young and small next to the other birds, none of them heeded her.

When the mountain began to grow hot, the Greatbird gave the call for all the birds to flee. The Kirvid alone stayed with the land animals, and told them to go into the water to escape the fire. She flew through the ash and smoke, passing the warning to all the land animals dutifully. The water cooled the fire and turned it to stone, and the animals were kept safe as they took shelter in the coves, eyes to the sky as they watched the blue and red Kirvid moving among the black smoke. She did not stop until all the animals were safe, by which time the smoke and ash had stained her feathers a dark black.

Once the fires stopped and the island was covered in hot stone, the animals began to return - but the stone was almost too hot. To save their hooves and feet from burning, they began to walk on their hind legs, and learned to use their forelegs to chip at the stone or dig in the sand, even learning to light fires and cook the fish they captured in the coves. Many had had such narrow escapes that their fur had been scorched off, and staying in the water so long had softened their hides.

The island took a long time to cool, so long that by the time it was safe to walk on all fours again, many of the land animals had forgotten! As time passed, plants began to grow on the island again, and then trees. The Kirvid watched over the other animals, continuing her duties by telling them where to find the best food, where there was shelter, and where to find fresh water. As plants grew back all over the island, she realised that the other birds would soon return.

The other animals, however, were still angry at the birds. They had abandoned them to death, using their gift of flight to save only themselves. They cursed all the other birds, condemning them to share the fate of the land animals should they ever return. And as the birds did return, they lost their wings, and most of their feathers were replaced with the soft skin the other animals had gained. Only the Kirvid was spared, but she became so lonely as the only bird in the skies, that eventually, she too threw off her wings and joined the other birdfolk.

[testedtransgressor]

Category: Heroes Odyssey - Vantacor - Ismara Rating: K+ Warnings: N/A Originally written: 7 June 2019

The scenery was almost idyllic as the trio of men set up camp for the evening; the sunset had lit up one side of the volcanic mountain to the west, sunlight dancing over the glassy firestones that littered the rocky slopes, while the small creek they had found reflected the cloudless sky. Fresh, green forestry surrounded the small clearing, trees and shrubs spanning in all directions, with the exception of the path they had carved for themselves, the branches they'd cut away now stripped of greenery and piled in the centre of the space.

The trio found it difficult to feel at rest, despite a hard day of work clearing the hunting track. Tomorrow, they would continue around the base of the volcano, and were in need of a good sleep, but they felt a prickling sensation down their spines, on the backs of their necks - the unmistakeable feeling of being watched.

Of course, they were indeed being watched, and had they looked closer at the surrounding trees, they would have been able to spot their watcher - but strangers didn't often look up, and so the watcher knew she would go unnoticed for now.

Purple eyes glared between the deep greenery of one of the larger trees, spying on the strangers as they set about making camp, removing their weapons and laying them aside. One wore an interesting golden pin on his clothing, and she watched as he set it aside, her eyes lingering on the shining object as he moved away from it. She didn't move, as she could sense their uneasiness, and knew that any motion would shift the branch she was perched on, making enough noise to draw their attention. The breeze was picking up; she'd shiftwhen it made enough of a noise to mask her actions.

She had been following the strangers since the sun had been high, watching as their weapons cut into the greenery, clearing it away and leaving a path of destruction in their wake. Stupid strangers; unable to move with nature, they simply destroyed it to suit themselves, cutting away life that was never meant to be ended. She bared her teeth at the thought of their savagery and ruinous nature, at the way they played god of the island. Her island.

The wind, almost as if sensing her mood, began to pick up, rustling the leaves around the clearing. She tilted her head slightly, listening to it play over the branches, the song it created in the trees. It was angry at the men. They had taken down small trees it had once caressed, trampled shrubbery that had once danced to it, uprooted families of the different animals that had called those small trees and shrubs home, and forced them to find a new place. And now, they burned the corpses of what they had not abandoned.

The island was angry. Kireia felt its anger.

Her movements masked by the dancing song of the leaves, she raised her bow, arrow already notched to the string. Carefully, she took aim at the one furthest from her - the nearest was a runner, would flee once his companions were dead. The one she aimed at was the leader, a fighter much like herself. The other was equally likely to fight or flee, but he was smaller and she was confident she could dispatch him with a second arrow, or with blade if he found her before the arrow found him.

The wind shifted suddenly, loose strands of reddish hair cast across Kireia's face, interrupting her gaze. She hesitated, ear feathers ruffling slightly as she listened to the leaves carry the wind's message to her. Almost reluctantly, she lowered her bow, relaxing the string with a soft hum of disappointment.

The island was angry, but not enough to allow more death.

Kireia Duskdancer waited for night to fall and the trio to relax into sleep. One of them kept his back to the fire, watching for trouble, but he was positioned so that his back was also to Kireia. As full darkness fell, she slipped from her hiding place, bow now slung across her frame. Mismatched clothing of soft fabrics made no sound as she crept quickly to the very edge of the firelight, purple eyes darting from stranger to stranger, assessing the way their chests rose and fell.

The guard was focused on sharpening his sword, and as tempting as it was to creep up behind and slit his throat and claim the nice blade, she heeded the island's plea for mercy. Strangers, murderers, and savages they may be, but their connections were to each other, to their blood mothers and blood fathers, and not to the land that gave them life. They had lost it, she understood, because they had stopped listening to it, instead worshipping figures that represented it. They had lost themselves. They deserved pity, not death.

Though, pity would only spare their lives.

The golden pin was first to disappear. Then the stiletto dagger one of them had half-tucked beneath his cloak. A sword with an ornate hilt, and some of their sweet foods also disappeared into the darkness. Every movement was carefully calculated, every potential sound masked by the ring of sharpening steel as Kireia expertly timed her actions. Strangers were not only idiots, but also ridiculously predictable in their actions.

When the guard woke one of his companions to take over watch, they discovered the missing weapons and food. A fight followed, with angry shouts ringing through the forest as the trio first exclaimed their discoveries, and then began to blame each other. Kireia bared her teeth in a twisted grin as she watched them turn on each other. This was why she preferred to be alone - humans were so quick to turn on their friends when things went wrong, but the island? The island would never turn on her.

[testedtransgressor]

Kinda fucked it by not wearing my lip rings, but you get the picture on what she looks like. She’s growing more feathers over this break, and will be making a return on-field in the new year...

And maybe by then, I’ll have gotten used to wearing purple contacts...