A Bird in Hand

Log Info

• Title: A bird in Hand
• Emitter: Whirlpool
• Characters: Cryosanthia
• Place: Outside Mictlan - Wilderness
• Time: Thursday, September 15, 2022, 12:52 AM
• Summary: Cryosanthia is in the woods, taking a moment to follow up on the missing Mul'niessa when her Sending Stone actives and warns her to be prepared. She over-thinks things, as the warning was regarding and imminent teleportation. A black winged Egalrin arrives, one of the Raven Lords, and immediately collapses. She examines him for wounds, finds nothing informative and takes him back to Mictlan for treatment, recovering, and hopefully, eventually, some answers.

Times change. Seasons change.

Daily duties remain the same. Cryosanthia's have expanded to fill all her available time. Between caring for her nestlings, socializing with the other mothers, casting most of her spells in some defensive form, or practicing her dance, her time is expended. Almost all. Sometimes there are interruptions.

Sometimes, she arranges a few moments for herself and sneaks away. The whitescale stands in front of a non-descript tree, or it would be if bullet holes, claw marks, and knife cuts didn't distinguish it from others. She leans back, cocking her hip, one hand resting on it as she gazes as the beleaguered arboreal. She exhales, "My old nemesis."

She turns and leans up against the base of the trunk, opens her bookbag and removes a Crimson Pen edition and a notebook. There's another huff of exhale as she reads, with occasional notation. There's a warmth exuding from the sending stone. Is it finally activating? The feel of it would seem to indicate that this is so.

It takes a moment. First she feels the heat, then her mind blanks on what could be causing it, followed by realization and a sudden scrambling to pull the Sending Stone out of her pouch.

How did it work? Right! Her hand moves over it, her scales twinkling as she activates the object. Her immediate impulse is to say something, but she recalls there are limited words, a message and a reply.

So she waits, opening herself to receive the message. Also standing, as if she was in a presence of someone.

"Prepare."

The first word of the message. Prepare for what? The Raven Lords that Cryosanthia met were not one for a whole lotta talking, but clearly they're warning of something.

She runs through the short list of potentials. Invasion, which Alexandria and Mictlan are already prepared for, from the wights, although they are standing down. Attack, the Raven Lords might be making their move, expecting allies to come reinforce them. Subterfuge, unlikely, it's not Grauthis the Greivor's style.

Her thoughts race. She could ask about timing, but they wouldn't have contacted her if it wasn't happening soon. Twenty questions then, or perhaps, twenty five words worth of questions.

"Land, Sea, Air?"

There's a tingle in the air near to Cryosanthuia. Magic. Something is happening. It's taking a moment, but its present.

Oh that kind of prepare! The whitescale sweeps her books into her bag and steps back from the impending magic. Her left hand loops through a series of gestures and then her eyes begin to glow. She will watch the arcane currents forming.

A moment later there's a 'snap' in the air of discharged energy and a black-winged egalrin arrives in a crouch. They blink their eyes at Cryosanthia once and then ...

... and then pitch forward into the earth, beak-first, passing out.

"Scales!" She swoops to catch him, too late, as the egalrin pegs into the ground. Carefully she lifts the bird up, looking for obvious injuries, glancing for signs of pursuit in the form of more magic forming.

"Okay, let's get you to someone who can cast a healing spell." It's past-due for putting one in her spell storing ring.

She glances at the blackwing's leg, on the unlikely chance there's a message tube attached, then moves away.

They don't appear to be injured, in any event. Perhaps they're merely drained for some reason?

It's hard to say.

In any event, they don't appear to be rousing just yet. In fact, they're breathing very slowly and their heart is the same.

GAME: Cryosanthia rolls heal: (9)+2: 11

Cryosanthia carries the unexpected arrival carefully, racking her memory and examining the bird. Has she met this one before, do they bear recognizable insignia, weapons? What was their name. They didn't share a whole lot of names during the diplomatic encounter. Mostly titles.

She can't remember those easily either, too many months of thinking like a nestling.

"Hold on. This one will get you to safety, get attention." The whitescale has minimal medical supplies at the best of times, and certainly not today. She glances back, then around, wary of pursuit, her paranoia building.

It doesn't *look* familiar, in any event. Hard to say for sure. There's only so many differences one can see between giant black bird men of varying sizes. He doesn't seem interested in rousing yet, despite the efforts to do so, but he doesn't seem to be in any danger either.

Perhaps something about the trip drained him so?

"Cryo, you can fly." She tells herself. The things she forgets sometimes when she's distracted. Wings emerge from her back, and holding the egalrin carefully she takes flight. She's heard the Children of the Skies recover better in the air.

It probably takes more than this.

"Can you hear this one? You will be okay. You are safe." She makes encouraging noises as she thinks over how this could have happened. The Raven Lord's theology was different, there spells might be also. The teleport might have taken a toll. She tries to remember earlier versions of the spells, side effects they might have had.

It's unlikely this was caused by the teleport itself, unless they were fueling it with their life force somehow. A very unlikely prospect. Several in short succession could have worn them out in this fashion.

The signs aren't the same as being drained by a wight, or similar undead, even though they appear quite frail. It seems the egalrin will remain unconscious for now, but will recover in time.

There's no response.

It looks like Cryosanthia may be having to babysit a representative of the raven lords while they recover. Nothing could possibly go wrong with this.

Absolutely nothing could possibly go wrong.

Cryo considers the exigencies. Her nest is already under threat from Asumit's machinations, Heth's and Taara's, to say nothing of the impending doom represented by Grauthis. As well, there's her secret chest, hidden in her rope trick, attached to the one floating in the ethereal plane and containing the Shard of Animus. Surely adding a foreign man, from a warlike culture, won't increase the danger to her Nestlings.

The Nesting Grounds are the most protected spot in Mictlan, full of very reactionary mothers and Egg-Watches, almost all of them deadly warriors. Xochi and Braelnoir will have someone to talk to.

The whitescale flies, her large leathery wings beating slowly as she arcs between the trees, the egalrin clutched to her chest, borne along carefully. "This one welcomes you to Mictlan. This one will watch over you until you recover. You are being taken to a sacred, delicate place and must be on your best behaviour."

She exhales, her breath visible as a trail, "This one will tell you again, when you are awaken enough to hear." Silently, the white-scaled sith'makar glides on, mentally re-arranging the Nesting Grounds and preparing the arguments for her guest.