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5/15/2025, 10:12:00 PM
>>6242165
You close your eyes, focus on Saint Bragia’s cameo, reach out to the presence of the Sun-Birther above, and snap your fingers.
Its slithering tongue catches fire. With a shriek and a gurgle, weakly holding it with its bloodied talons, the beast chokes on the taste of blood and cinder.
Then it stops moving.
The encampment is almost completely destroyed. The noises come onto you as if shielded. Rubida cleaving through another beast’s back, her axes hewing skin and flesh and bone — blood staining her beautiful form. She looks like the embodiment of vengeance as she spits and screams at the burglars of children and innocents.
Soralisa walks about, still muttering under her breath — her arms still bearing the marks of the Sanction. They probably forever will.
Wherever Soralisa walks, fire walks after her. The Ubaiidi scream their final choked breath, dying under the last rays of Her sun.
The smoke and the stench raise like the sparkles.
You step into the closest tent, following a hint. The inside is dark, warmer than you would expect. A noise and the reek of spoiled meat.
You cover your nose. A bundle of arms in the corner, behind a throne carved out of wood and scales — there’s something there.
“It’s safe now,” you say.
Pulling back the veil of a blanket, you glance upon a terrified face.
It’s a girl.
She might be two summers younger than you — but the fear in he face makes her look two dozen winters older.
You hold out your hand.
How must you look?Like a demon of vengeance, with your silver hair, your blue eyes like twin flames, your sword, Carnaval’s feather pulsating crimson on your thigh.
But you keep your hand still.And bit by bit, like a scared animal, she reaches out.
When you do not hurt her or shout, she screams and holds onto it.
Frowning, you help her out of her hiding spot.
There’s more limbs and heads where she is staying, but those look much holder, dried.
They remind you of the way your family used to purchase dried meat and let it out in the sun for hours, to get it thin and easier to store—
Your stomach churns as you help the girl outside.
[cont.]
You close your eyes, focus on Saint Bragia’s cameo, reach out to the presence of the Sun-Birther above, and snap your fingers.
Its slithering tongue catches fire. With a shriek and a gurgle, weakly holding it with its bloodied talons, the beast chokes on the taste of blood and cinder.
Then it stops moving.
The encampment is almost completely destroyed. The noises come onto you as if shielded. Rubida cleaving through another beast’s back, her axes hewing skin and flesh and bone — blood staining her beautiful form. She looks like the embodiment of vengeance as she spits and screams at the burglars of children and innocents.
Soralisa walks about, still muttering under her breath — her arms still bearing the marks of the Sanction. They probably forever will.
Wherever Soralisa walks, fire walks after her. The Ubaiidi scream their final choked breath, dying under the last rays of Her sun.
The smoke and the stench raise like the sparkles.
You step into the closest tent, following a hint. The inside is dark, warmer than you would expect. A noise and the reek of spoiled meat.
You cover your nose. A bundle of arms in the corner, behind a throne carved out of wood and scales — there’s something there.
“It’s safe now,” you say.
Pulling back the veil of a blanket, you glance upon a terrified face.
It’s a girl.
She might be two summers younger than you — but the fear in he face makes her look two dozen winters older.
You hold out your hand.
How must you look?Like a demon of vengeance, with your silver hair, your blue eyes like twin flames, your sword, Carnaval’s feather pulsating crimson on your thigh.
But you keep your hand still.And bit by bit, like a scared animal, she reaches out.
When you do not hurt her or shout, she screams and holds onto it.
Frowning, you help her out of her hiding spot.
There’s more limbs and heads where she is staying, but those look much holder, dried.
They remind you of the way your family used to purchase dried meat and let it out in the sun for hours, to get it thin and easier to store—
Your stomach churns as you help the girl outside.
[cont.]
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