From The Corvid's Perspective

[Periphonics 352]

Spoiler

This is a just a POV from my character, please do not meta game!

 

Artists Rendition of the undead Cloudbreaker

 

A POV from Fal’leon Maehr’uhier 

7th of Peter’s Glory, Year 41 BA

 

Spoiler

 

 

Fal’leon hadn’t seen combat in well over 50 years, not true combat, not since a war long since passed, in a kingdom long since fallen. But the threat of Cloudbreaker was enough to rouse the buried soldier within his spirit, the call to protect the Balance with his druidic brethren stirring him to action.

The days leading up to the battle were full of weary collection of gear, procuring potions and items alike, intent on walking away from the battle standing. 

Nevertheless, despite all his preparations, when he placed his owl helmet atop his head and rode out to the ash lain Balian, nerves pressed deep into his chest and threatened to cut his breath. He kept his composure all the while, thankful to have his features concealed. 

When they arrived, greeted with the majesty of Koko Mama’s great form, for a moment he was calmed. Fal’leon stood and readied alongside his brothers and sisters: Nemea, Aerendyl, Malii’evarir, and Theo. Comfort came from the familiar faces, though the nagging pit that he may have to see them fall refused to give way. 

“‘Ow are we feelin’?” He’d ask them, looking at their armoured forms. 

“Excited.” They replied, determination evident. 

And for a moment, he was too. But the sky split with red lightning, and such feelings were quickly stolen. And for another moment, Fal’leon could only think of his children, of how he had to return to them alive. He gripped his glaive, Kermetta’leh Vihai, a little tighter. 

Brother Corvid, graced with a few moments to simply calm his mind, muttered prayer to the warrior Mani, his desperation to see the sun rise the next day calling him to his worship.

“Morea, Ellaurir’Chirran

heya iheihuii Velulaei hiuwera,

kaean’leh ortilrun nae illerae.

kaean’leh Sirame ay’nae’leh lye myumierae.

Oh Morea, llytan, nae’leh ahern kae illera.”

     

“Laran Moccus. Oem heya ordivhiuw ito nae’leh.

lae heya cerun malarehan lomera.

kaean’leh ortilrun nae illerae.

kaean’leh Sirame ay’nae’leh lye myumierae.

Oh Moccus, ordivtilrun, nae’leh ahern kae illera.”

 

The five of them stood atop a  great mesa stone and looked out into the distance, eyes gazing over the canyons in search of the undead beast. 

Fal’leon turned to see if it had come elsewhere, met with an unpleasant sight.
“Shi’. DUCK!" He cried out. 

Behind them stood a brigade of undead, all baring crossbows, all aimed at the unknowing druid squad. 

The Corvid himself ducked down against the rocks, moving his Entling dubbed Evar’ame to stand in front of Malii, to protect his oldest friend from the incoming barrage. A moment too late, she was struck with an arrow, though the following bore into the Entling with a thud.

“Get down here!” Called a voice from below, spoken from the ‘Gator’, Aerendyl.

Fal’leon slid down the rough, red stone, perplexed by the request.

“We’re going to use Koko Mama.”

A look of realization and understanding split his features, and the Corvid offered a single nod.

He turned passive to active connection, figure concealed now by shimmering translucent feathers of black and purple; a monsterous, raven form over his body, whose eyes leaked purple tears. 

With a hand on his shoulder, offered his friends power to keep himself lively, Fal’leon brought his focus to the behemoth Palm and her joyful voice. 

His figure covered in translucent feathers, the sound of shouts and arrows filling his ears, he made his command to her known. 

Creaking filled the cliffs as Koko Mama’s final waltz began.

Her great figure reared back, twisting to the side slowly, at the Corvid’s instruction. She was brought to the limit of her own flexibility and no further, held in place for but a moment. And then he let her go.

The massive tree flung to the side like a great hand swatting dust off a ledge, sending all but one of their antagonists-- Who had been so gleefully boasting about their success in disabling the Palm and its users -- flying rom the cliffs and down into the canyon, presumably to their demise.

“That’ was fun.” He said, despite himself.

Job not yet done, the pair of druids waited for Koko Mama to return to her upright position, her song filled with pride and glee as she was made to sway so vastly.

Once prepared, Corvid returned to his command of the great Palm, bringing her to bend backwards, away from the cliff.

He peered out for a moment, noting the singular Undead remaining, struggling to find hold on the ledge and threatening the only unattuned in the party.

Locating his target, the familiar creak returned to the cliffs. Koko Mama reared back to her fullest extent, nearly bend in half, wound back with the most tension Corvid could offer. And yet again, with lethal intent, he let her go, gesturing forth with his staff from their concealed location.

The sound of the Palm whipping through the air was a scream of wind, the crash of her mighty branches rivaling the cries of Cloudbreaker himself. 

The Undead jumped down from the cliff in an attempt to escape the worlds largest fly swatter, narrowing managing to do so, to Fal’leons dismay. Noting the threat, the two druids jumped down from their place on the ledge and made their way around, back to the combat, flanking the  Undead. 

For a moment, they paused. Aerendyl placed a hand to the younger ‘ame’s shoulder and offered a rare moment of affection and comradery between the two.

“You did well.” He told Fal’leon, a notion that revitalized his determination and confidence.

And so the pair returned to their friends, finding the Undead had become simply dead thanks to a well placed spike trap. Joining them, offering a semblance of relief, were three newcomers. Now they bore reinforcements, an armor clad figure, a woman who’s title he had never come to learn, and a king. 

Their backsides protected, the four present druids began their true task.

Each druid took to their designated, practiced locations, a sense of unity in their divine goal of turning the mighty tree into a slingshot to put all others to shame. 

This time, Fal’leon set his hand atop Gator’s shoulder, pushing his energy into the man while he took aim. It was at that moment that the Arch druid took notice of a troll within the canyon. Forgoing their search of the skies for the fiendish draconic presence, the quartet turned their focus to the ravine’s assailant. 

Red and blue energy swirled to create the coconut, one that dwarfed even the largest cannon ammunition. Whence formed, Koko Mama’s massive form began to take back to her lean, her trunk winding back to all but fold over as it had done before, the druid's auras mingling into a kaleidoscope of colour.

The coconut sailed through the air, its mother singing with glee as she swayed back and forth, towards the troll below.

The party watched on with celebration as it hit its mark, smashing its target into the ground as a hammer would unto a nail. 

Cheers filled the air for only a moment, silenced by a demonic voice known only to pertain to the wicked Cloudbreaker himself.

What followed broke the hearts of the druids. 

The sky above turned a shade darker, a dreadful shadow overcasting the land, bringing forth the promise of devastation in its wake

The dragonic figure had a lapse in control it seemed, cannon fodder having sent it sailing towards the canon in an unconstrained fall. A sickening snap filled the air as it hit her, twisting stomachs at the sound. But it was the sight that befell the group that shattered them. Broken clean, they watched on with unbridled pain and rage, helpless to save their beloved Koko Mama.

The Corvid cried out “KOKO MAMA, NO!”, useless to save her from the crushing weight of a fallen dragon. 

She who dances with Hurricanes, completing her final tango… a waltz with fate. 

[!] Artist rendition of Koko Mama's fallen form

It was only for a moment they remained unmoving, staring with wide eyes at their most precious weapon. But the proximity to Cloudbreaker forced them to their wits, and so Fal’leon followed on as the group trudged up the cliffs and hillsides to the entrance of Balian.

“Druids at the gates!” A voice called out, and they were permitted within, their collective sense of duty outweighing the deep seeded mourning for the time.

And for but a moment, Fal’leon was able to take everything in. The city he’d visited seldom prior had become a war front, covered in ballistas and canons alike, walls clad in descendants all sharing purpose. 

A familiar, terrible cry filled the air all over again, cutting the moments breath short. 

Metal on stone followed, armored men and women running to man their respective weaponry. And thus, the druidic party made way to the center tree, mingling their abilities yet again, causing it to take shape into a ballista itself. 

A barrage flew towards the skeletal dragon as it drew nearer, striking it numerously. Two volleys were able to lodge into the figure before it returned the gesture tenfold. 

The heat was tremendous, and Fal’leon couldn’t help but think about how he could be cooked within his plating as his eyes were forced to watch stone turn to liquid. He dove behind cover, watching in horror as the courtyard was turned to all but ash. He was frozen, a sick memory in the forefront of his mind, one that had been granted to him nearly half a century prior by the Voidal Hollow of Ando Alur, a premonition of a fiery demise. 

His ears rang, silencing the screams and cries of his allies. He had burnt alive once, without perishing. Everything was quiet, time felt stilled and the mali'ame couldn't tear his eyes from the beast.

Perhaps the promise of it ending would suffice in comfort, as the dragons maw opened yet again.

[!] A painting of Cloudbreaker's breach

“Lets go!” The voice of Theo broke through the ringing, stirring the Raven to return to the moment at hand. 

On shaky legs, Fal’leon joined his companions behind a second layer of walls. 

“There may still be people up there!” Called a voice from nearby. A familiar notion, one he himself had felt many years ago. A fools duty.

“Dunnae play ‘ero! We ‘ave tae go.” He replied, joined by Redtail in the sentiment.

And so, those that remained standing began to run, fleeing into the heart of the city.  They were met with the rear guard, focus trained on a group of undead. 

Fire and Corvid watched on for but a minute before they were pulled from their mesmerized state by Redtail. Together, the squad of Koko Mama converged away from the combat, whose sounds of terror lulled to a distant clamor.

“We cannae jus’ abandon them all, can we?”

“I’m just here for the dragon, who cares if some descendants die?”

As much as he hated to admit it, Fal'leon couldn't help but agree. He had forgone his duty to the people of the world long ago. Without their grand catapult, they were unarmed. 

 

Horse hooves bore into the dead ground as the five retreated from combat, their task forced to an early completion by the devastating demise of the beloved Koko Mama.

But five soon became two, and when he looked back, he and Theo were alone. They rode to their home, the Mother Grove, without so much as hearing the gate of other horses around them.

They were met with none of their party. 

Fal’leon waited at the gates for what could have only been 20 minutes, but time was a cruel mistress, and fooled him into believing it had been hours. Hope came with Timberwolf, but when the women failed to follow, dread overcame the three. They waited… And waited… And then the two returned. 

 

Relieved and worn, Fal’leon brought himself to his home, removing his armour and returning to his furs. He was unscratched, unharmed. The guilt of their failure to strike down Cloudbreaker weighed heavy in his chest. 

"Did you have fun?" His guide asked, and in their moment of privacy, Corvid answered truthfully. A truth he wouldn't admit to another soul, not while knowing the result. "I did."

And then he found himself alone, sat in his home with no company but his own mind. Daunting tremors of the earth couldn’t bring him to rise much further than the couch. For all he knew, they had lost. Balian had fallen to the undead. He fell asleep with this notion, and dreamed of his vision of blaze and death he had attempted to forget.