Aegis Online

As I dangle the suddenly-pale, sweating Karrul beneath me, I watch as his father spreads his wings, preparing to attempt a rescue of his horrible son, and shake my head.

 “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. You see, I could simply loop my chains around his throat and SNAP his wretched neck before you even got off the ground. Or I could send him sailing helplessly over the edge and watch him plunge to his death. There are DOZENS of ways I could end him before you could even lay a hand on me. YOU insisted on treating Morrigan like a freak, simply for the fact she had no wings. Well, she HAS wings now, and proved already she’s more than a match in speed, agility, and talent than every other person who participated in today’s race.  YOU wanted her to go back to being your punching-bag. YOU wanted to pick this fight. Well, YOU will have the consequences to live with. As for THIS little bastard… he’s already tried to beat me up once, and it went about as well then as it is now. He’s a rotten, entitled, self-important little tosspot, and I think YOU bear most of the blame for that, too. So, give me one GOOD reason to spare his worthless life, and I’ll consider it. Well?”

 

I watch Karrul’s father go almost as pale as his son, and he begins to splutter like an old lady having a conniption fit. I swing my hand lazily, causing my dangling prisoner to sway erratically.

Morrigan looks up at me. “Miss Kettrin, please put him down. I don’t like him, but I don’t think he needs to die.”

I watch with grim amusement as Karrul’s father holds his tongue. Wise move there, buddy!

 

I sigh. “Oh well, look at that! Morrigan’s such a good girl, huh? Very well, since she asked me, I’ll… let you go!”

I swing my burden a few more times, just for fun, before letting the chains go. Karrul lands in an ornamental fountain, which decides that the sudden addition of a Skyborne is too much to bear and all the water vacates the premises, leaving Karrul getting pissed on by a stream of water flowing from the mouth of a hideous decorative cherub.

Morrigan giggles, stifling the noise, before calling, “Thank you, Miss Kettrin!”

 

As Karrul struggles to move his face out of the water stream, his father rushes over, warily eying all of us, the summoned mecha, the monster, and the giant winged snake.

 

I slowly descend. “Do we have your attention NOW? We have you by the BALLS! You might pride yourselves on your status, your smug belief that wings make you better, but I’M nobility, and I don’t think much of you lot. However, much as I’d like to claim to be the wronged party here, I’m not. So, Morrigan?”

I turn to the startled girl.

“What punishment do you want us to enact on these jerkwads? Would complete annihilation be enough, or should we add in a few extra war-crimes, just for good measure?”

 She stares at me, eyes wide, and then bursts out laughing. I smile, waiting for her to calm down.

 

“Miss Kettrin, I don’t really care. I wasn’t planning on staying, anyway.”

There’s a silence so deep, you could have gone swimming in it. Mor clarifies, “I was planning to leave after the race, using this to pay for transport on an airship, but… well… I have another idea. Could I join your guild? Miss Asteria says you take anyone who can fly if they’re a nice person, and I can fly, so…?”

I smile. “Of course! We’d be happy to have you! And, since you don’t really care, I guess we aren’t destroying Aerene TODAY.”

I glare at the three-dozen or so native assholes. “But let me tell you this. If I hear that another Skyborne without wings is born and treated like you treated Mor, I’ll return and lay waste to this place myself. If you’d rather not risk that, simply be better than you are, and raise them like any normal, self-respecting parents would.”

 

As the crowd starts to back away, Harvenhaight’s horrific bone monstrosity lets out a shuddering, rattling roar that sounds more like… three dozen people howling in agony.

Ulged sticks his head out of the cockpit of his Behemoth. “What’s goin’ on? We pullin’ th’ trigger or nae?”

 

I shake my head, reaching out and calling forth a magic quill and the Guild Master’s scroll, unrolling it and finding the list of members. Asteria Willowthorne. Farne and Tirran. Lady Gloria Arabella Cosette Felicity Kingsley III. The names of our Dwarven machinist, our new cook, the helmsman… and now, with a fiery blue light shining from the parchment, Morrigan.

 

I let the ink dry, then roll the scroll back up and return it to my inventory.

“Alright, Morrigan. You’re now an official member of our guild. You are part of the Wings of the Storm!”

 

Morrigan blinks at the gleaming golden pin that’s appeared on her black leather jerkin. A pair of wings formed from bolts of lightning, spread wide. It winks in the morning sun. I smile. “You’re one of us now, Mor. Welcome home.”

 

She throws herself into my arms and I hug her as I feel her trembling against my chest. She’s not crying, but there’s a lot of emotion running through her right now. The Devil Hunter lowers, harpoon-launchers and repeating crossbows still aimed, and Tirran wrestles the gangplank into position, the end bumping on the white stones. She calls, “all aboard who’s coming aboard, before we shove off and let these guys choke on their own feathers!”

I hustle Morrigan on first, keeping a watchful eye on our chastened opponents. Then Asteria. Ulged and Trinity march their machines up the plank and take up most of the deck as Harvenhaight boards, then me. Naberius hisses loudly, baring gleaming white fangs like sabres of bone, his wings beating, as the bone golem rattles menacingly, before it burrows back into the ground as if going back to bed and tugging the covers over itself. That’ll leave them wondering if it’s still there! Ha!

  Finally, I board, as Tirran retracts the boarding ramp, allowing us to take off, Farne’s magic flowing as he directs the power flowing through the Revolfins like a natural.  Mor stares about in excitement. She’s likely never been aboard an airship in flight.

 

My Devil Hunter banks away, as we set a course for new lands. Hoping that the name’s non-indicative of any malevolence or horror stuff, we chart a course for the Darkwood Heights. Looks like we’re going to be airborne for another two weeks…

 

 

A few days pass before I can log in again, college classes coming and going. Everyone seems to be doing their best to get my new name and pronouns right, making accommodations for me. I really appreciate it, and find myself actually enjoying myself at college for the first time in years. Dad’s been cackling over the mystery box he’d ordered for our DnD campaign. It’s… beginning to be scary, honestly.

 

Time for our weekly session, and we assemble in the Den, as dad adjusts his wizard’s hat and beard, taking his place as our DM. he grins. “So, after your valiant efforts in saving Fisher’s Ford and being hailed as heroes, you’ve decided to head back towards Glenhollow, but, due to recent earth tremors, the pass you came by is badly blocked, and would take several weeks to clear and shore up the sides of the pass.  However, there are a couple of options you have. You can go the other way, towards the capital city of Highwall Bastion, go around the mountains and reach Glenhollow that way, or return to Fisher’s Ford and wait. What do, guys?”

 

Mum smiles. “I vote for heading towards Highwall Bastion. The capital city will have plenty of work for a band of Adventurer’s Guild members like us.”

Dana and Jeffrey nod. “Sounds good to us.”

Houseworth grins. “I’m up for that. Ah have kin there, t’will be good to catch up with ‘em.”

I nod. “Yeah, I’m up for that. Hopefully we’ll be able to find out if the cult of weirdos has managed to get their claws into it. I fear they have, but there’s no telling just how deeply.”

With a unanimous decision, we head for Highwall Bastion. However, along the way on our first days’ travel, we get attacked by three separate groups of bandits, clearly seeking to take advantage of the landslide. They really don’t manage to do more than slow us down, and I eye my dad. He’s starting to get a mischievious twinkle in his eyes that promises shenanigans are forthcoming.

He adjusts the sleeves of his voluminous robes. “two days of travel along the mountain passes and a few bandit attacks later, you make camp in a small nook, sheltered by an overhanging ledge and making do with some of the travelling supplies you’d been given by the goodfolk of Fisher’s Ford, as the rumbling of thunder booms in the distance, the rippling flickers of far-off lightning. Could I get a… Nature check?”

Dana grins. “This is where I shine, baby! Lemme see… 17!”

Dad claps his hands. “Nice! So, as the rest of the party rests, Faeln, you notice there’s a series of cracks at the back of this nook. There’s a very faint breeze coming through the cracks as you run your fingers against the cracks. Make me either an Investigation or Survival check, please.”

Dana grins. “23!”

Dad’s eyebrows raise, and he grins. “As the Ranger’s fingers fumble cautiously along the cracks, and then… click!”

Dana flinches.  Dad continues, smirking.

“The cracks widen, a large stone doorway slowly grinding open before you, dust and stone chips flaking away and raining down as a blast of musty air emanates from the newly-discovered passageway.”

 

We all lean in, as Dana beams. “aw yis, secrets!”

I ask, “So… what do we do? Do we… go in? Or find somewhere else to camp? I’m getting a bad feeling about this…”

Dad grins. “Helm, you would recognize the entrance of this passage. Painted onto the wall just inside are runes from the Dwarven language, but they’re old. Very, very old.”

Houseworth’s eyes narrow. “I’d like to read them.”

Dad gets up and circles the table to reach our Dwarven Fighter, whispering in his holographic ear and then retreating to his DM’s seat. Houseworth actually looks unnerved. I’ve not seen him look so spooked before.

 He clears his throat. “Th’ runes… they warn of a great evil, one that the Dwarves who called this place home were woefully unprepared for. Whatever message they left here, it’s… unfinished. And… the paint… it’s blood.”

We slowly enter the passage, the darkness thick enough to cut with a blade. Jeffrey grins. “Guys? I… don’t have Darkvision.”

We all stare at him. “Uh… you’re the only one, dude.”

 

Jeffrey grins. “well, I can use a torch, right? Flaming torch?”

I shrug. “I mean, it’ll be useful, so yeah. Go ahead.”

With Ironhand now able to see, we proceed. In a hushed tone, my dad describes the scene.

 

“The passage is perfectly smooth, carved uncounted years prior, the pinnacle of Dwarven engineering… but grime lies thickly on every surface. There are no footprints marring the blanket of dust, no traces of any living thing having passed this way for who-knows how long. The air is dry and cold, and the ever-present dark is eerily silent. The passage ends at a crossroads, with doors cut into the paths leading off. Some are closed, but a couple hang ajar. There’s no sound or light other than that which you are making. The dust is even thicker here, and you can see dead, unlit sconces every few feet.  What do you wanna do?”

I swallow. “I want to use Sacred Flame to light those torches, please.”

Dad nods. “I’ll allow it. Naa’ril summons a small ball of glowing white flame and passes it along the sconces, lighting the torches and driving the darkness back for now. What else?”

Mum raises a hand and points at the map in the centre of the table. “we’re… here, right?”

“That’s correct.” Dad moves some black paper aside a little more, to show the light I’ve added to the scene.  Mum points to one of the doors.

“So… that door’s open, can I peek in?”

Dad nods. “As the Warlock slowly inches towards the half-open door, her eyes can see the inside of the room…”