An Age of Mysterious Memories

Having just been thinking about Tiktik, and Jeegoobotstan, there are some things I think important enough to be worth accomplishing. Piping up my own goals, I state, “I think we need to ensure we have open lines of communication, especially instant communication like my paired scrying sensors, with Jeegoobotstan, and the arch-sorceress living therein, Tiktik Clocktok. Not only that, but there’s an open portal to the ‘Twixt there, which could yield more information if approached appropriately. It’s my first choice of location to evacuate our citizens, our civilians, to, should the worst come to pass, and Solace need evacuation.”

Musing further, I add, “I’d want operations prepared on both ends in order for the Jeegoobotstan refugees to be prepared to receive our people on a moment’s notice. If we get the ‘Twixt operation up and running, it’s going to be a narrow pipeline, basically one person at a time, in a fast moving queue.”

Of course, Littlebit’s eyes sparkle and widen larger than saucers at the idea of being able to have instant visual and auditory communication with her girlfriend, at all times. I certainly don’t blame her. Hm, thinking about visibility and communication, what about a goal involving the opposite? Invisibility, and hiding? Having a fallback plan that involves a disappearing act might help to evacuate our civilians should the need come down to it. It could help ensure that we can shuffle the Draconiacs and younger dragons and such to safety if things go belly up here.

Sensing me thinking about bellies being up, Lucky rolls over, exposing his own. I catch his mind latching onto the current problems, telepathically sounding out, “Dig, stone, hide. Safe?”

It’s as concrete a goal as any other offered so far, so I add it to the list, “Lucky says we should excavate, dig in, like the Derbrightmine dwarves. It’d be good if we had a fallback, some sort of shelter for the aftermath of things, the fallout, since we’re still expecting two more apocalypses, and have the other half of Terrorzin’s forces to deal with, post the final battle. I guess we could call it a fallout shelter. I don’t think we can trust proximity to the ‘Neath though, so what I’d actually like to do is hollow out some of the foothills and mountains where Terrorzin would least expect it, right in front of him in Vieriss Valley.”

There are several shocked expressions, accompanied by murmurs, that are eventually followed by nods of agreement. Sadly, that’s a job that falls almost entirely on Lucky, and perhaps Lil, and some of the sand or rock dragon civilians to some extent. Ugh. I do not want more parallels to our last months on Can’Z’aas popping up, but—I sigh, knowing it makes sense. I float over to Lucky to scratch his belly, and give his ribs a thorough rubdown.

I’m supposed to be more capable than most, at most things, or at least it seems that way. Yet it seems like the things that my loved ones specialize in tend to take them away from me, for one reason or another. Rattling my skull, I try to remind myself that things aren’t always down to me, landing squarely on my shoulders alone. I certainly won’t be defending Vieriss Valley successfully solo.

While thinking about the valley, I mutter, “If we’re doing some stuff out there, he’ll probably expect bunkers, because it’s a solid strategic move. I’d hate to disappoint him, but I want those bunkers filled with badass bombs, rather than our allies. Let him send in elite troops to snuff ‘us’ out in our bunkers where he would expect us to wait to defend the pass. We won’t be there, but they’ll be in for a world of hurt.” Turning to Nala and Littlebit, I finish with a query, “What do you two need to create powerful, hyper-deadly explosives, or bottled enchantments with a heaping helping of hurt inside of them?”

Nala blinks, stunned at being set to task on something so brutal, and violent, but scratches her chin thoughtfully. Littlebit however jumps at the chance to show off her knowledge of combustibles, “Saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal would get us rolling on demolitions, but I know a few tricks of the trade to pack a more powerful punch in a much more miniature scale. I can get you a list of what I need after our group meeting, when we get some private time. Yeah Tiger?”

Nodding to Littlebit, I agree, glad of her straightforward nature. Moments later, I blush, realizing I agreed to private time with the devilishly charming little lady. Shooting a glare her way, she’s literally feigning innocence by whistling and rocking back and forth on her heels, while she holds her hands together behind her back. It’s so cartoonish, and well played. Teuila catches on, and waggles her brows my way, while Luni frumps a bit, sending impatient, pouty waves my way telepathically, knowing how long it might be before we get some cuddle time.

Suddenly Littlebit pipes up again, “Oh, oh, oh! Since Nala and me—,” Nala interrupts to correct, “Nala and I,” Littlebit cheekily turns it around, “Littlebit and you, you mean,” she giggles momentarily, then retracts her tease, “Okay, okay, anyway, since we can both animate clankers, from some pretty simple components, what if we add them to the ranks? Nala can only keep six minis, and a couple of micro-turrets active, while I can do a big, a middle sized, and a small bot. Like, as much as I love my little buddies, I can always recreate them. Can’t recreate any of you folks if, if, if…”

Littlebit’s words hang in the air, the sentiment unspoken, but felt by all of us. If any of us die, we can’t be brought back by digging through a scrapyard and tinkering for a few hours. Disposable-yet-renewable soldiers are what she’s offering, in a sense. In a war when we’re so vastly outnumbered, it makes a hell of a lot of sense to put together a power play like that, placing puppets and clockwork in emplacements to do damage where it’d be risky for our living, organic, or digital allies. Suddenly, the mortality of my closest loved ones is forefront on my mind.

Gulping back sadness, I mutter, “If, if um, if one of my inner circle, if, if a member of the SAP is, is dying, they’ll be derezzing. I don’t know if they’ll even be tangible, but, if any of you, could, could catch or save their polygons before they disappear, I’d, I’d just, just please, please do, if that happens. We don’t, well, they, don’t leave corpses. I don’t know about me absolutely for certain yet, still, despite my um, mishaps.”

I might not have actually finished dying back with Ephlomseestiph and Laombigla, when I got my neck snapped. Then the resurrection buff happened, and I didn’t pay too much attention to some of the aftermath. I can’t recall if my body morphed, if I left a full corpse, or if I initially left a corpse that then dissipated when the reincarnation occurred. It’s kind of hard to think about those moments clearly. My adrenaline was pretty high, and epinephrine, and such. Luni gazes my way, sadness in her eyes, and I return the glance, my emotions catching up with me.

Seemingly out of nowhere, resetting the mood, Shiz chimes up, “Let’s rattle their scales! Let ‘em know you’ve got a couple of the rarest breed, Thunderers. Serves two purposes, does some damage, and lets ‘em know that there’s mercy, another side beyond the Ice of Rage, to take in a couple of turncoats. I know Atty’s conjugatin’, but in the last couple days before the final battle, I mean, she’ll know the viability of the last of her clutch.”

Clasping her chest suddenly, Kinzul nods and fights down her emotions. A mother whose unborn young will never see the light of day, at least some of them, because of having had to hide them from Terrorzin. I can sense how deeply this wounds Kinzul, how much she blames herself for the problems facing dragonkind since she turned down the mantle of King of Dragons in The Platinum’s stead. Her heart aches for Attraxiaz the Loud, quite possibly the eldest Thunderer alive on Rayileklia. We did all we could, but Atter already knew that at most, five, six, maybe seven of her clutch would be viable by the time she even started conjugating.

Glancing at Shiz, I recall the promise he and Atter hinted at that he said was uncouth to speak of. I’m almost certain it was to wait til the last moment, and conjugate the last viable egg, if no other options were found while still under the Ice of Rage’s banner. It’d have been the slimmest hope for a chance to continue on the Thunderers’ legacies, despite being siblings. Awkward thought, but well, it is what it is. Shiz nods my way solemnly, his boisterous attitude vanishing at overhearing my thoughts. I blush for unintentionally bringing up such a sensitive topic, one that he’d wanted avoided, even if it is only mentally.

Her eyes up-leftward in thought, Te chimes in again, “What Airhead did tonight, we need to do more of. Specifically though, we’ve gotta find out who any of the big baddies and group leaders are, where they are in the ranks, any of them that aren’t the Icebox of Old Age Rage.”

Several Onyx Dawn members sneer at Teuila’s play on Terrorzin’s title, a hint of satisfaction at disrespecting the tyrant, others suppress giggles. The newest amongst us, Zelshiz’s Spellknights look taken aback, surprised that anyone might mouth off about Terrorzin. They’ve never met Teuila before. Obviously. Regardless, I nod at Teuila, it’s a concrete goal, an action we can prioritize and take.

Furthering what Te said, I add, “I’d say that’s two goals then, two steps, one, finding out T-zin’s formations, and ranks, two, setting up our own guerrilla hit and runs, some non-accidental assassinations. What I wouldn’t give for—huh. Uh, nevermind me.”

Gazing at me suspiciously, Luni squints, furrowing her brow and wrinkling her absolutely adorable little nose. I playfully avert my gaze, since for the most part she’s being silly and overreacting. I know she cares for me and my mental health though. My brain might literally explode according to her, if I handle certain trains of thought wrong. I embrace her tenderly momentarily in our shared thinkspace, where Teuila roughhouses with Lil and Lucky.

With my attention on her, Luni decides to comment, “Um, research. We need to figure out some things with certain, uh, Muse duties and stuff. Plus, a tome from Autumn Brook, that was in Astridus’s hoard should be arriving any minute now, as long as it didn’t get intercepted, and it shouldn’t have.”

My heart races at Luni’s assertion, my mind yearning to put together pieces of a puzzle. A box from the Sisters, the right shape for a tome, one I was told not to open until after I’d imbibed all the requisite Dragonforces. A book of Eights in Nala’s library from Yisstendahl’s hoard. A book from the ‘Neath. A book that Astridus somehow knew to steal from Autumn Brook before she unleashed the Fel hordes, likely on Terrorzin’s orders on the behalf of the Celestial Emperor. One more, somewhere, somewhere that I lost time, but I can’t recall where. We’ve run into all five tomes at this point, I’m sure of it. What does it mean though?

Will it be as simple, and helpful, as directions to finding my cure, once I’ve got the requisite Dragonforces? I highly doubt it, though that would be a nice change of pace. Sighing, I try to still the rampant pace of my heart, slowing it to a manageable level. I’m virtually quaking, though I’m not even sure why I’m shaking so badly.

Cooing softly telepathically, my wife comforts, “My love, if you are weary from your adventure, your battle, and your monumental feats, multiple days in a row, please take your rest, and know that I will ensure we cover any topics that need attending to. Please forgive me any unseemliness you may have sensed. I wasn’t myself after raising our enchantment, our Worldstorm.”

Oh, I guess that makes sense. It must have taken a lot out of her. Now I feel doubly like an arsehole for denying Kinzul’s request, but my gaze meeting hers sees and offers only love, acceptance, support, forgiveness. We each feel equally responsible and guilty for the other’s ills, whether emotional, or otherwise. I notice Prinrin catching our gazes, and she nods in her understanding manner, somehow putting together unspoken pieces, as usual. Her intuitiveness is uncanny. I’d suspect her of having a Latent related to it, but I know it’s simply empathy cultivated over a long lifespan spent observing while overshadowed, being a runt amongst dragons. One whose caring and loving nature shines through, despite everything else.

Suddenly, as if to contradict my most recent thoughts, addressing me directly, Prinrin asserts, “The Damnations Schism my sweet. They need to pay dearie, once and for all, for the Platinum, for Orthral, by way of their Evil Claws, for so many more over the ages. Schism my sweet, they need to be slain so we can be sure they won’t surprise us come the time for the final battle.” Sweeping her gaze about the room, making eye contact with all gathered, Prinrin finishes, “Right my dears?”

There’s hesitation as the gathered individuals glance about at each other, for confirmation, as if no one wanted to factor in the Damnations. I answer with a slight modification, “I’ve some information that I think means that the Damnations are out of commission for at least the rest of the current segment of our war. We should definitely verify it though. If I’m wrong, then yeah, they become one of the top priorities for me and my SAP.”

Meekly, a lovely voice floats up from near Teuila’s hip as Alanea suggests, “Well, with, well, all this talk of battle, and, and death, your infirmary is, is, well, very basic. We, well, with Reggie’s, Teuila’s, Luni’s, Lil’s, and Lucky’s otherworldly magic, this shop thing they can operate, can, and should stock it up, and, well, see to it that any volunteers are trained in first aid, and equipped with supplies to administer it. There’s sure to be many injuries between now and the fighting’s end, and, well, yes, um, I’ve said my piece.”

Nodding appreciatively, I agree, adding it to our list of responsibilities, goals to accomplish, “You’re right, we can get more civilians further away from the fighting, and down here helping out purchasing medical supplies, and perhaps training manuals or equipment, from the shop system. Any of them willing or able to chip in with triage and the like deserve—hell, need—to be equipped to handle the things that’ll be coming their way.”

I hadn’t noticed it happen, but apparently Ahliyuri shuffled about the room to stand at his sister’s side, lean on, and wrap an arm around her. From his new location, Yuri comments, “If supplies are to be had, and you have a magical means of procuring them, then we need actual defenses, both solid and magical fortifications. If there’s any chance your supply stream can provide, then it needs to be exploited.”

Agreeing, in her soft-end-consontans accent, Farzhis adds, “Tha’s true. If we can defen’ an’ keep the army away, the longer the better. Time, tha’s a goal all by itself. Some… some of us nee’ i’ to ge’ back to our bes’.”

Nodding vigorously, Veril seconds, “Yeah, Farzhee’s right. The more time we can buy before the final confrontation the better, and, and use it, like, call that a um, thing. Stratagem or something. We should plan for what time we’ll give up each choke point, and fall back, so none of our defenders are, are too hurt, or worse, lost, but still as long as possible.”

Echoing their sentiments, Kinzul announces, “Yes, time itself is a valuable resource, and we should seek to buy as much of it as possible, in more ways than one. We should buy time to secure the safety of those weakest and most vulnerable amongst us, having plans and redundancies in order to evacuate the denizens of Solace. If the worst should come to pass, and all are needed in the fray come the final fight, our denizens will be vulnerable to anything that slips by in the chaos.”

Gulping at the gruesome imagery that races through my mind, I clutch my stomach and clench my eyes shut. I don’t want to imagine the sweet, kind citizens of Solace subjected to some brutal elite troop of Terrorzin’s that sneaks past our vanguard when we’re busy fighting off the majority of his forces, to keep them from destroying Solace outright. It will come down to that too, I know it.

The horde’ll have enough might left over, after all of our assaults, that they could streamroll Solace itself, crashing it down atop our heads, if we tried to hunker down and withstand the siege from within. Hell, I virtually gave them the idea myself with my little act earlier today, if they hadn’t already been planning on doing it. Maybe if I had enough adamantite to reinforce the entire surface of the mountain, I’d feel like our citizens are safe, and that we could just weather the siege, taking our time whittling away Terrorzin’s entire army. There isn’t that much adamantite in the entire world though. At least, not yet, not for a long time. Our respawning resource warrens don’t produce it quickly enough to do something like lining a mountain with it.

Slightly timidly, which is a bit odd for someone as powerful, capable, and in-command as they are, Zelshiz requests, “If, ahem, since lord Shiz made a suggestion, if I may as well, we are your magical might, beyond your Schism, and their inner circle. If this magical supply system of yours could perhaps produce tinkering and enchanting supplies, we are capable of at least minor feats in the realm of artifact creation. Single-use artifacts at the very least, though a few of mine have talent, and excel enough at their crafts to perhaps provide more lasting items.”

Before I can comment on how glad and amazed I am at this news from Zelshiz, Vylon, squinting suspiciously at them, requests, “In that case, another goal should be to disburse anything our new magic users manage to craft then, distributing trinkets and enchantments where they serve best. Aye?”

There’s hostility in the air between Vylon and the Terrorzin-turncoats, mostly one-sided, mostly. I frown his way, glaring, and try to diffuse this tension as I answer, “Yes, of course, distribution will be prioritized too, so that we don’t have a useless pile of trinkets and artifacts deep out of reach when they might be needed.”

Assent is murmured, and the tension in the air is no longer thick enough to cut with a knife, dying down to a gentle simmer. The gathered begin to mingle, though we haven’t concluded our brainstorming yet, let alone our prioritization. I don’t have to cough for attention though, because Iylynila, whom I hadn’t even noticed arrive, does that for me.

I’m transfixed, and wistful of our on-hold relationship as Illy seems to be addressing me directly. As our gazes lock, she announces, “Time and tide Schism, they don’t wait, and you know it, but if anyone could fight them, it’s you. You’ll do it, won’t you?”

Gulping, my mind races at the implications of Illy’s hints. Times of war, the tides of battle, the tides of fate, the time to come, all of it. I nod slowly. Of course I’ll try to fight, and stem the tide of fate. Of course I’ll try to buy as much time as possible in order to alter the outcomes of predictions we’ve long since accepted.

If I could have certain prophecies become technically fulfilled, without triggering their gruesome, horrid implications, I’d certainly breathe easier. Nodding once my way, slowly, Illy virtually melds into the background, her hood up. She doesn’t have Errissa’s Latent, but her shyness, and desire to witness devious little webs of romances have granted her a talent for slipping about as unassuming as one can be, despite her regal beauty rivaling her mother’s.

When Kinzul raises an eyebrow my way curiously at my mental assertion, I steam at the collar. That came out wrong mentally. It’s bad form to compare the beauty of individuals, especially individuals you’ve been, and slash or are still romantic with, even moreso when those individuals are blood, mother and daughter to be specific. Gulping, I avert my gaze, unable to meet Kinzul’s, though I sense mirth beneath her mildly suspicious glare. I’m certain she takes plenty of pride in Illy’s skills, strength, prowess, beauty, and everything else about her amazing daughter.

Mentally, to me alone, Kinzul utters only one word, “Quite.”