Forests and Shadows [COMPLETED]

[Prydania]

Arbia yawned as she lay across a particularly strong branch. She was utterly at peace as the faint chill of the autumn set in. The golden brown of the falling leaves only added to her feeling of laziness. Her limbs and tail drooped over the edge of the branch as she felt herself drift away to the sight of slowly falling leaves.

She closed her violet eyes, feeling herself on the cusp of sleep…

“Arbi!”

“Fuck,” she muttered, whining loudly. She just wanted to sleep. Why wouldn’t he let her sleep?

“Arbi!”

“What?” she called back, as she leapt up and crouched on the tree branch as her twin brother Cail approached. And they were identical. They wore their hair the same way, long, down to their backs, and each had violet eyes. For Arbia this wasn’t so strange. Most Arkians had black eyes, but enough females had violet eyes that it wasn’t particularly noteworthy. Cail though…he was her twin. Which meant he had violet eyes too. Which was VERY rare for a male.

“Did you find anything?” he asked, calling up to her.

Arbia yawned and shook her head.
“Come on, Cail. You see anything around? All the big game’s started to hibernate.”

“Cluaran and I found some rabbits and fawn,” Cail called back up. Cluaran, as if on que, appeared out of the golden brown forest. Arbia smiled and leapt down from the tree branch, forcing Cluaran to catch her.

“Hey!” she said with a smile. Cluaran smiled back and kissed her as Cail rolled his eyes.

“She’s slacking,” Cail remarked as Cluaran set Arbia down.

“That true?” Cluaran asked, chuckling.

“Pfft,” she replied, arching her back to stretch and locking her fingers together behind her head as she walked with her boyfriend and brother. The three of them were wearing almost identical clothing. Brown bear hide pelts with rope belts that went to just above their knees, left their arms bare, and leather boots. Cluaran wore his hair shorter, with a piece or twine to put it in a ponytail, the only addition that set him apart from the twins. Each wore a dyed red strip of cloth on their right arm, a symbol of their rank as young warriors.

“You’re going to have to get some kills in, or else dad will be angry,” Cail said as he sighed. Arbia shot her brother a glance. Cluaran, sensing a chance to needle Cail, smirked.

“You need to loosen up, Cail. Learn to live a little!”
“Yeah, well my dad’s the chief, and he’s not gonna be happy she’s not pulling her weight!”

“Well I’m pack leader,” Cluaran shot back. He smiled. He liked Cail. But he liked needling him when he got too serious. Arbia couldn’t help but laugh. The three of them were assigned as a pack of hunters and warriors. Cail, as the son of the Chief, expected to be leader, but Cluaran beat him in combat to get the role.

Cail rolled his eyes and shook his head, and Arbia turned around to walk backwards, alongside her brother.

“You want me to do my part hunting, bro? Ok!” She turned again and ran ahead and looked around. She closed her eyes and tried to block everything out. Block Cail out, Cluaran out, the wind and cold of fall out…she just focused on her heartbeat…and she felt a warmth. An inner warmth…and then she breathed deep as she projected outward. And then…and then…she pivoted and blasted fire from her palms at a tree, the flames glowing with golden energy as they consumed the tree. Her brother and boyfriend looked on…and then a few roasted birds dropped from the branches. She grabbed them by their feet and held them up smiling.

“All done!”

Cluaran smiled and put his arm around her as Cail shrugged as he walked alongside them.
“I still don’t know how you do that. Always knowing where game is, like that.”

“It just comes naturally,” she said as they came back to their base camp. The roasted fawns and rabbits Cluaran and Cail had found were already strung up.

“String up the birds,” Cluaran ordered. Arbia nodded, getting to work. The more magically inclined would be waiting for the meat, ready to prepare it and preserve it for the winter months. Hopefully the larger packs pulled their weight.

Cluaran and Cail carried the branches that the meats were tied to as Arbia did her job, scouting ahead. Unlike the tree she nearly fell asleep in, this time she leapt from branch to branch, looking out for any problems between themselves and their village. They weren’t particularly deep in the forests or far away, but bandits were always a threat. And besides, easy path or not, Arbia needed to learn how to scout a simple path home before she was entrusted with more advanced expeditions. When she was certain that the path ahead was clear she leapt back and dropped down next to the other two.

“All clear ahead,” she said, leaning against Cluaran as he carried his part of the meats, the trio entering the village. They expected to see a bustling scene. Maybe the young kids running around, warriors and hunters drinking and sharing stories, the magically inclined tending to meats already brought back but…what they saw was very different. The village’s population was all gathered in the centre of town. Usually rowdy children were respectfully kneeling by their parents. This was serious.

“What’s going on?” Cluaran asked when the man who was leading the village gathering, wearing much the same getup as everyone save for a necklace of bones to signify his chief status, turned.

“You’re back,” he said gravely.

Cluaran and Cail lowered their bounty and knelt, along with Arbia.

“Chief,” Cluaran said.

“Father,” Cail and Arbia both said in unison.

“Go with the rest of the warriors,” the Chief said with a low growl.
“Everyone needs to hear this. The Warchief has called. The clans have been ordered to come together.”

Arbia’s eyes went wide, and looked at Cluaran nervously. He returned the glance. Even Cail, who tended to take things too seriously, looked uncertain. The Arkian clans hadn’t been called together in some time. Before any of them were even born.

They, in a very real sense, had no idea what would come next.

 

[Prydania]

Arbia, Cail, and Cluaran joined the rest of the warriors. The village was organized by class. The warriors sat closest to the Chief and elders, behind them the crafters, and behind them the homemakers. Children knelt by their parents as the Chief, Unean, set about addressing all of them.
"Our Warchief summons all the Chiefs to Speur Valley," he said as fire from the communal fire pit flickered light too and from as the sun set.
Cail looked at Cluaran raised an eyebrow.
"It's not spring..." he said cautiously, though Cluaran just shot him a "be quiet" sort of look. Arbia knew better than her brother to interrupt their father but her brother was right. The clans all met in Speur Valley every spring for a massive celebration. To be called there now was... well it was interesting. But so was the Warchief exercising his authority. Piobar of the East was Warchief and nominally head of the Arkian nation but he had no authority over any other tribe unless they had to come together.
"As far as I know," Unean continued, "our lands have not been invaded. The Ux Martivar still cower before us and refuse to cross into our lands. This can only mean one thing. The Lord Salroth calls."

A still, eerie hush fell over the village. The Arkians had come under the sway of Salroth generations ago. And in return for their service the Dark Lord had granted them their lands, fertile forests to hunt and live in.

And it had been at least a few generations since Salroth had last called the Arkians to war. Arbia and Cail were only nineteen... it had never happened in their lives. And they were fairly certain their father had never seen it either. Regardless... it was understood by all that Salroth could call, and they must answer. Short of an invasion from the outside, it was the only thing that could compel the Warchief to call them all together.

"We will not leave everyone undefended," Unean continued.
"I will leave the older warriors to guard the village and hunt. But all others will join me in travelling to Speur Valley and meeting with all other clans. Where we will await our orders from the Prophet of Salroth."

The clan was once again silent. The crickets started to chirp. Cail went to speak, but for a brief moment his words were lost in his throat. And in that moment Arbia spoke up.

"When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow," their father replied.
"Eat, be merry, and sleep... we leave before first light.

The clan began to disperse, though before any of them could go anywhere Unean looked at his children.
"Cail, Arbia, with me."

Cluaran embraced Arbia and kissed her before she went off with her brother who just shot her a look. She tried to ignore it. He was pissy that she had asked their father before he could. Made him look weak. But she didn't care. It didn't matter and her brother's insecurities weren't important. They followed their father into their hut.

"You two are going to war then?" Seilg, their mother asked.
"They are, with me," Unean replied. The two siblings just nodded as their mother came up to them. She looked them over. She was the only member of their family who wasn't a warrior, but she was their mother. And that commanded as much, if not more, respect.
She placed her palm on Cail's cheek, and pressed her thumb to the ridge of his nose.

"Make yours proud," she said. Cail just nodded, unsure how to feel. He'd always wanted a chance to prove himself in battle but Salroth? This was... it felt... beyond him. Was he ready? Ready for the war parties of legend?

Seilg then placed her palm on Arbia's cheek and pressed her thumb along the ridge of her nose.
"Make yours proud," she repeated.
"I will," Arbia replied.
"Me too," Cail answered, trying to steady himself.
Unean came up and kissed his wife from behind.
"They'll do all of us proud, I'm sure. But I need to speak to them, before we send them off."
"I just want to look at them, one last time. Lest I don't see them again."

"If you don't, they'll have honoured their ancestors," Unean replied.

"But you two. You will be by my side when we meet in the valley. As my children you will be close to the Prophet of Salroth. You will prostrate yourselves. Understood? All of the Chieftains' children will do the same. The Prophet may take kindly to you if you show deference. But understand this is not a place for you to let your pride get in the way. Show utter humility."

"If the Prophet of Salroth challenges me I'll show him what a true Arkian warrior is like," Arbia said, only to feet her father drive his fist into her gut. She cried out and her body tensed, before she collapsed. Cail, looked down. For once his intimidation before his father paid off. Arbia coughed and heaved, winded temporarily. Selig just watched on. Smirking. Her daughter was feisty, but didn't know when to shut her mouth.

Arbia looked up at her father, growling as she forced herself to stand but Unean rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"I'd usually be proud of your determination, but you need to understand. This isn't a chance for you to prove your worth, you will show your humility before our master's Prophet. And you will save the anger you feel doing so for our enemies. Do you understand, girl?"

Arbia stopped growling and nodded.
"I do father."

"Good."

"Who does Salroth want us to wage war on?" Cail asked.

"Who knows?" Unean said shaking his head.
"It's not for us to know. Only to show our strength on the battlefield."

"Yes father," Cail replied before shooting Arbia a smirk. Arbia growled back and shook her head.

"Good. Now go. Join your mates. Just be ready by the morning."

"Yes father," they said in unison.

"I'm going to enjoy my wife, it may be the last time I see her," Unean added, motioning their children out of the hut.

They left their parents in private as Cail chuckled, ruffling his sister's hair.
"You showed father!"

Arbia slapped his hand away and growled at him again.
"Oh shut up, at least I had the pride to..." Cail pushed her back and Arbia was about to summon a golden ball of fire magic when Cluaran grabbed her wrist.

"Come on, let's not see two of my warriors kill each other before we meet the Prophet."

Arbia leaned into her mate, and shot Cail a smirk, who smirked back at her.
"Better to dance then fight I guess. Tonight at least."

The small group of young warriors who had gathered around them began to disperse with Cail going off with some friends while Cluaran wrapped an arm around Arbia and led her to sit by the communal hearth as dinner, drink and dance had begun to break out.

"You look hurt," Cluran remarked as they sat. "Did Cail get the better of ya?"

"No, father."

"Oh he wasn't having your attitude?"

"Shut up," Arbia replied, before kissing her mate deep. Cluaran kissed back. Tomorrow... well... it would be the start of something no Arkian had done for generations. Everything would change. And they knew it. So they were determined to enjoy what was left of the world they knew was fading.

 

[Prydania]

Warning
While the below confirms to TNP RP's PG-13 standards it does involve topics of a sexual nature. If such things offend or otherwise bother you please skip this post.
Thank you.

Arbia and Cluaran's tails entangled lovingly by the fire as she leaned into him. Though her stomach still hurt from her father's punch. She was angry. Both at him for doing it and because she knew he was right to.

"You'll need that pain, carry it into battle," Cluaran said as they leaned against logs and watched the fire... and their peers... dance.

"Look at you, talkin' like a seasoned warrior. You've just been huntin' game like the rest of us," she said teasingly, kissing his cheek. Cluaran smirked and shrugged.
"I'm our troop's leader. I... I need to be that way."

"Did you ever think you'd actually go into battle? Like when you were confirmed as a warrior?"

"Of course."

"Under Salroth's banner?"

"...no. You?"

"You know the answer to that," she muttered.
"No one did."

"But it'll be glorious," Cluaran said with a smile.

"You sound like my brother."

"Cail's a bit dense but he's right. We fought under Salroth's banners once and broke the southern empire! Think of it! We'd ravage them again! We might even be granted new lands by Salroth if we fight brutally enough."

"Is that your plan? Collect enough human heads and Salroth will give you an' me a valley all to ourselves?" she said as she snuggled close to him before swinging her leg over him, mounting his waste and pressing her hands against his tunic. He smirked and caressed her hands. No one seemed to care. The dancing going on around them was just as, if not more, provocative.

"Maybe," Cluaran said as he fidgeted his waist. He was feeling his arousal stir, and the bloodlust... the battlelust... it added to that. But Arbia knew better.

"You're assuming we're gonna live," she whispered in his ear.
"We're just fodder..."

"If we were just fodder there'd be none of us left," Cluaran replied, but it was Arbia's turn to smirk.

"Maybe the humans of the thirteen realms are just really bad at killing."

"Either way, we'll just have to spill enough blood to earn Salroth's attention."

"Or enjoy each other like neither of us will be alive in three days."

"Why not both?" Cluaran chuckled as Arbia arched her back some and pushed her hands against his tunic. He gripped her wrist, pulling her up as he himself stood. Arkian senses of modesty were far more primitive then humans, but even they wouldn't appreciate a public mating. Instead Cluaran scooped Arbia up as she put on a show of "struggle" only for him to toss her over his shoulder. She laughed, the sounds of the celebration around the fire fading as Cluaran took her back to his hut, setting her down. No one had paid them much mind as they separated themselves from the festivities, and now they had the evening to themselves....

What did that mean?

They had been "mates" for a few years, but had never consummated the relationship. The reason was simple. They were both warriors. Young warriors. They had to train. They had to practice combat, practice hunting, practice scouting. Arbia had passed the warrior trials but couldn't let herself get bogged down with pregnancy like the women who chose to be village keepers. So while they were not afraid to enjoy each other, they had never actually consummated what they had. But tonight...

Arbia kicked off her bear skin boots and tugged at the rope belt around her waste.

"We could be dead in three days."

"I know," Cluaran replied.
"We will either die, or be victorious. Either way..."

"Either way... I die on the battlefield or we win long before the baby comes to term..."

Cluaran ripped her tunic off, and Arbia returned the favour, yanking his belt away and pulling his off as well. Their hearts raced, undressed and looking at each other, the moon shining through the hole in the middle of the roof, the dim light of the communal hearth. Cluaran was stiff, and both of their hearts were racing. They each stared at each other for a moment before he pushed her down against the furs that lined the floor of the hut. They took each other, tails intertwining, as the drums and singing of their village in the distance filled the air...

 

[Prydania]

Arbia, Cail, and Cluaran marched with the rest of their tribe's warrior host through the forests on the way to Speur Valley. They had been marching all day, made worse by the fact that they were wearing battle armour over their animal skin tunics and boots. Spiked metal adorned their shoulders, their waists, wrists, and feet. All of them carrying brutal weaponry across their backs. Cail, a sword like their father Unean. Cluaran wore a powerful mace, and Arbia wore two smaller blades crossed across her back. But the whole force wielded some instrument of destruction or other. They all wore their tails around their waists like belts, as was common for Arkians going into battle.

Though never one for military discipline- an Arkian force would never be confused for an ordered military- they marched through the thick woodlands of their homeland with dogged enthusiasm. None of them had said much for a few hours at least, as they marched. The younger ones among them were still getting used to wearing the metal armour.

And Arbia grunted softly, marching with her tribe when.... she sensed something.

"Peirsil!" she called out.

"Our cousin?" Cail muttered as everyone looked around confused, but Arbia took off.

"Where are you going?" Unean called out but Arbia just stopped and let out a war cry, as loud as she could muster. Soon a similar cry echoed through the forest and a similarly dressed Arkian emerged. He grinned and turned over his shoulder.

"Father! I found them!"

"Stop!" Unean ordered his troops as his daughter embraced her cousin- his nephew. And soon Cail and Clauran had clasped hands. His wife's native tribe. They must be close by.

"Peirsil!" Unean called out.

"Uncle!" Persil called out! Soon another troop of Arkians emerged from the thick forests. It was indeed Unean's brother-in-law's tribe, Spogan's tribe.
"Unean!"

"Spogan!"
The two chiefs embraced.

"It's good to see you, brother," Unean chuckled as Spogan looked over Arbia and Cail.

"My niece and nephew, both warriors. That does me proud."

Cail tried to look stoic while Arbia just crossed her fingers behind her head and smiled, stretching a bit.
"How could you tell I was coming?" Peirsil asked.
"I was sure I spotted you before you noticed!"

"I just figured it out," Arbia said.
"Could sense it."

"Ahh still doing that trick," Peirsil chuckled, though Spogan raised an eyebrow at Unean.

"So you've told the Warchief? About that?"

"Aye," Unean replied.
Spogan nodded. He liked his niece and nephew. While serving Salroth was an honour it was always... uncertain... when his Prophet took an interest in anyone in particular. But once they knew they wanted to focus on you... it was best not to fight it.

"She'll be fine," Unean replied.
"She's a strong girl."

"Fine how?" Arbia asked and Unean just motioned her to come to where he was standing before he climbed up a tree to stand on a branch and address the large horde of Arkians, two tribe's worth of warriors, and hollered.

"WE ARE HERE! TOGETHER AS KIN! LET US MARCH TO THE VALLEY TOGETHER!"
The two clans cried out in shared pride as warriors embraced each other.

"Lead us, brother," Unean said as he hoped down to the ground, addressing Spogan.
"I need to speak to my daughter. Cail! March with your uncle and cousin. Cluaran, lead the younger warriors in song!"
Cluaran shot Arbia an uncertain look, though she just shrugged, still with her hands behind her head.
"What's up, father?"

Unean had taken her aside as the massive troop of warriors began marching and singing.
"When the Warchief called us to arms, he included a message for me. The Prophet of Salroth wishes to speak to you."

"What?" Arbia let her arms drop to her sides as she fidgeted in armour and raised an eyebrow.
"Why? What does he want with me?"

"Salroth has agents everywhere. Some say the trees themselves speak to him. And he has heard. Of you."

"Of me."

"Your gift daughter. Your ability to sense life. Sense a soul, without seeing it."

"I'm just good at hunting."

"Has it ever occurred to you that you've ALWAYS been better at hunting? Then even I? At a young age?"

"I just thought I was that good!" she beamed proudly. Unean laughed and ruffled her hair, and in her own pride she growled and tried to shake her father's hand off her head but he took in in good stride.
"You are... because you have a gift. I know not what the Prophet of Salroth, or Salroth himself, wants from you. But you show deference. Salroth and his right hand are the only creatures we show humility to, but that exception is well earned."

Arbia, who remembered her father's fist to her gut the previous night, nodded.
"I understand father."

"Good. Go be with your mate, brother, and cousin."
Arbia nodded and made her way back to Cluaran's side as she watched her father go meet with her uncle.
"What was that about?"

"Nothing," Arbia said softly.
"Nothing."

---

Arbia had spent every spring in Speur Valley. The annual festival saw the valley full of torches, bonfires, and banners.
But the same place now looked... ominous. The seven hills that poked from the valley's central plain, usually where the Warchief and Chieftains would meet, was empty. Save for an ominous, dark cloaked figure. Arkian warriors from every tribe emerged from the forests around the valley but the dark figure alone seemed to hold them at bay.
Even the sky itself looked dangerous. It seemed like a blazing inferno was burning behind thick grey clouds. And suddenly...

"WARCHIEF. APPROACH!"
The voice was loud. Hollow sounding, yet booming. And it came from that dark figure, that cloak that seemed to hide no face, and yet it never seemed to yell. But among the horde of Arkians stepped one with wild hair down to his mid back. His clothing and armour no different from any of the others, only that on his left shoulder guard, just over his peck, was welded an additional plate of armour displaying the Arkian emblem. Piobar, Chieft of the far eastern tribe, and Warchief of all Arkians. A young warrior, younger than Cail and Arbia, stood by his side- his son and heir Gobhar.
The Warchief and his son entered the valley alone, as the Arkian warriors watched on. From their vantage point Arbia and her tribe could see the Warchief approach the Prophet. He bowed his head respectfully and Gobhar dropped to his knees and prostrated himself. It was a shock to see. The Warchief was a mostly ceremonial position but still one that commanded respect. To see the Warchief show deference and his heir show submission left a mark on all who saw it.
Arbia tried desperately to figure out what was being said but they were too far away. But soon after...
"APPROACH SERVANTS OF SALROTH"
That voice echoed in everyone's head.
"APPROACH AND KNEEL. CHIEFTAINS, BRING YOUR OFFSPRING."
"Be careful," Cluaran said softly, as he and Arbia began to make their way into the valley with the rest of the Arkians. Arbia nodded, grabbing his hand for a moment and squeezed, before letting go and making her way to her brother's side as they followed their father. Persil too was there with his father, as were the sons and daughters of every Arkian chieftain. The Warchief stood. The Chieftains all dropped to one knee. And their children all followed Gobhar's example and prostrated themselves.
Arbia felt her blood boil. She was an Arkian warrior. A Chieftain's daughter too. She. Did. Not. Bow.
But here... here she did. She had no choice. Even as he pride rebelled against her and raged inside of her at this show of weakness... the same sense that let her sense souls in the dark... sensed the "soul" of this Prophet. Tall. Cloaked. Moving like a phantom rather than anything living. And what she sensed terrified her. So she pressed her head to the ground, and hoped that whatever it was, it was pleased by her show of humility.
"Unean of the Western Hills..." the Prophet spoke.
"Prophet, of my Lord," Unean replied, staying kneeling on one knee.
"Your Warchief has confirmed to me, what Salroth's whispers tell him. That your child bears a gift of tracking. Of uncanny instinct to sense souls."

Unean stayed stoic though he breathed deep. He was terrified. He had heard stories of Salroth all his life. But if only his prophet could impose himself with this much dread, what must Salroth himself be like? Still, he nodded.
"Yes, Prophet. The Warchief, and Lord Salroth's whispers, speak the truth."

"You have twins, do you not?"

"I do, yes."

"One male, one female?"

"Yes."

"Interesting," the Prophet said as it circled the kneeling Arkian Chieftain.
"And it's the female who has this talent? Not the male?"

"Arbia, yes. Cail is a strong warrior in his own right though," Unean replied. He wasn't asked about his son... but the dread that this creature poured into him... he felt like he needed to insist on his son's value.
"As I'm sure he is," the Prophet said unconcerned.
"But it is... fateful... that it is your daughter that has this skill."

Unean cocked his head a bit. He knew that his daughter was of interest but... he didn't know why?

"Bring her."

Unean remained kneeling, but called out to his daughter.
"Arbia! Come! The Prophet calls!"

Arbia was suddenly stricken with fear. As she knelt, head pressed to the ground, arms out before her, she realized she'd have to get up... but... if her father had said it was ok...she stood. And trembled as she looked up. She began to walk towards the Prophet when he reached out with a black, wispy hand and suddenly Arbia felt herself pulled! And suddenly he had her, his frail hand gripping her throat! And despite the weak, skeletal hand, she sensed she couldn't break free if she tried. Unean's heart was pounding too, seeing his daughter grabbed, but the Warchief shot him a look to stay put.

"Daughter of Unean," the Prophet said looking over Arbia.
"Daughter of Unean, yes..." he released his grip of her throat and grabbed her by her hair, turning her head as he examined her.
"Salroth's whispers, your Warchief, and your father all tell me what you are capable of. It would be a shame..." he grabbed her long mane by the roots and pulled back, looking into her violet eyes.
"...if you were to tell me they were all mistaken."

Arbia's heart was racing. Every muscle in her body was taut with nerves... she didn't need to worry about growling or snarling at the Prophet. As he held her by her hair she was utterly terrified. Suddenly it dawned on her how pointless her father's warnings were. She never would have dared challenge this creature.

"They're not...wrong... I can sense souls. I don't know how... I just can..."

"Do you sense mine?"

"I sense... something."

Arbia only saw blackness in the Prophet's cloak, but she could swear it was smirking. He released his grip on her hair.
"Arbia...the Arkian horde will enter Salroth's domain and meet with the rest of Salroth's forces. From there they will board ships and launch for the shores of the cursed Thirteen Realms. But you will not be among them."

"I'm a warrior," she said defiantly, feeling just a kernel of bravery.

"You are, yes, but Salroth himself has use for your talents."

"Does he wish for me to hunt him a deer?"

The Prophet chuckled, and leaned in.

"A human girl, of your age, lives in the Thirteen Realms. Born of peasantry. Lord Salroth wishes for her dead. While your kin rendezvous with the rest of our forces you will head south. Alone. You will enter their accursed lands and you will find this girl. And slaughter her ahead of our invasion."

"You just wish for me to find a girl? A peasant?" Arbia looked confused.

"Lord Salroth cares not for your inquiries Arkian, only that you accomplish your task. If you do, your clan will be rewarded handsomely."

Arbia nodded... looking over at her father and then back at the Prophet.
"I need to know who I am tracking. I don't think there's only one girl in the Thirteen Realms who this peasant could be."

"Indeed you do."
The Prophet grabbed her face and Arbia's eyes went wide.... and then... it was ethereal. She found herself whisked away... and she was... somewhere. A human farmstead perhaps? She snarled... she found the way humans cultivated land to be so cowardly... but suddenly she felt a presence. As if she were standing right next to to her.... and then...

Arbia gasped as the Prophet let go.

"Did you sense her essence?"

"I... did...."

"Then you leave for the south by tomorrow. And accomplish this task before set off to invade the Thirteen Realms."

"I have a brother... and my mate. They could help..."

"No. The humans will know we are on the move if Arkians are detected. One Arkian may remain in the shadows. But more then one will cause suspicion. Now prepare yourself. To set out for your task."

"Prophet..."

Arbia looked over her shoulder at her father.

"Your father speaks, little Arkian. What does he have to say?"

"I request... please. I request that we bless her. In the way of our people before she departs."

"It matters not to me," the Prophet replies.
"The Arkians will leave for Salroth's realm in the morning. She that she leaves before then."

"Thank you, Prophet."

The Prophet of Salroth turned his attention from them to address the Arkians directly.

"RISE ARKIANS! SALROTH CALLS! AND HE IS PLEASED YOU ANSWER. MAKE CAMP HERE FOR TOMORROW WE MARCH TO SHATTENREICH!"

The assembled horde cheered and let out wild warcries as Cluaran and Arbia looked at each other, uncertain about what will come.

---

"You, chosen to serve Salroth? Alone? How can I possibly live up to that?" Cail said, wrapping his arm around his sister as he gulped down a mug of bitter beer as the celebration finally began to settle down.

"You'll just have to slaughter so many enemies you manage to eclipse my success," Arbia smirked. She wore a red mark on her forehead, the Arkian emblem painted on as she was blessed, in the hopes of a successful endeavour.

"You're sure you don't want us to come with?" Cluaran asked.

"The Prophet of Salorth said only I was supposed to go."

"You seem very obedient towards the Prophet. What happened to the Arbia that was all fire and brimstone?"

"You didn't get close to that thing," Cail said in defence of his sister.
"You could feel Salroth's power emanating from him. You wouldn't defy him either."

Arbia sighed, looking down as the three of them sat on a log on the southern edge of the valley.

"I'm going to kill the human bitch," Arbia said.
"And I'll have her head mounted on a pole by the time you lead our warriors into her village. I'm sure of it. And we'll be together again."

She stood and wiped the mark from her forehead with a piece of white cloth, and tied it around her head.

"I should go..."

"You can wait until morning you know," Cluaran said softly.

"I need to go," Arbia replied.
"I have a task... and I have a task. I need to go do it. End this threat to our Lord now, quick. So we can be together again.

Cluaran and Cail both stood with her and Arbia hugged her brother first.
"Be well. And make ours proud."

"You too sis."

They squeezed each other before Arbia looked up at Cluaran, smiling. It was cruel that fate would tear them apart so soon after coming together but...Arkians knew battle was challenging. All things worth doing were. And this was no different. Clauran went to say something and Arbia went to her tiptoes and grabbed him, kissing him on the lips. He kissed her back as their tails moved from the belted position to loose, to entwined.

"Ugh," Cail rolled his eyes.

Arbia broke the kiss and smirked at her brother.

"Find me where I kill the human girl," Arbia said softly.
"We'll burn down every memory of her, and make a home on her lands."

"Gods, you're so sexy when you talk like that," Cluaran grinned. Arbia smirked, kissed him once more, grabbed her swords and sheathed them across her back, and took off. She smiled as her heart broke, knowing she may be looking at her brother and her mate for the last time. But duty called as she headed south...

 

[Prydania]

TO BE CONTINUED IN...

The Girl of the Sun