“In war, the only law was power. And power knew no civilians—you were either a combatant or a victim.” — Olivia Waite, Hen Fever
Cadiana rarely went without their armour. Part of it was routine; they would find themselves securing a cuisse without asking if they actually needed it. The act of attaching it piece by piece was meditative, ritual. There was community when a cleric or squire assisted with her upper body, each finding their own way to serve Erathis by lending their help to each other.
The other part was trauma; two years couldn’t shake the effects of a war they’d grown up with. Fighting wasn’t just expected from their Order, it was required—and so, the armour.
It was fortunate, then, they were in their armour when the cult of Tiamat descended on Westruun.
First, Cadiana helped the First Bastion—those who weren't already defending—underground. They threw two injured people onto Warpath and fended off draconic beasts as they went, acting as a rearguard. Cady let the head priest do a headcount before pivoting on their heel, making for the exit to the surface.
Lorcan lunged to grab their arm, but instead of stopping Cady, her momentum brought Lorcan stumbling forward. His arms were strong, but his balance wasn't perfect with his re-grown foot. Cady stopped and supported him under the elbow, inviting him to speak.
"You're alright to do this?" he asked. It wasn't a question that Cady was going back out.
Cady wanted to give it some thought for him, but they couldn't hesitate—every second mattered. Even if she wasn't okay, by whatever definition, she would have gone. "Yes.”
"Erathis protect you and guide your maul, Steelsong."
"She will."
—
Outside, blasts of fire, ice, and lightning shaved off chunks of buildings. Poison clouded off blocks, dissolving skin and melting lungs. Civilians who hadn't escaped fast enough were cornered into their homes or drained into the streets, where they were cut down. The cult was needlessly brutal about it, removing entire limbs, heads, or dragging screaming families apart. Were they taking prisoners? What the hell for?
Orla’s words, a reinforcement of Erathis’, resonated in them: protect the city. Protect her city. Westruun had become Cady’s home as much as Emon once was.
Cady charged. They swung with the force of a battering ram, using their maul to slam cultists’ heads off their shoulders or into buildings and launching at them like a bear. Maybe bears didn’t scare dragons, but Cady was at her fiercest in battle—where she couldn’t instill fear, she could kill.
Cady realized why Lorcan had asked. She'd been here before—a hurricane of noise around her, steel on steel and bellowing and the drumbeat of a thousand armoured feet and shields, the snap of bowstrings and bones and crossbow bolts. Fire and spells added to the roar, so loud it made her ears want to go numb. The air was pungent with sweat and the iron bite of blood, so thick she tasted it in the back of her throat.
For a fleeting moment Cady had wondered if they’d freeze, but they were calmer than they’d ever been, Erathis’ steady presence beating in tandem beside their heart.
Once upon a time, Cady might have been on the opposite side, a pawn of a Betrayer God—Bane instead of Tiamat. Warren Drassig and his son were the closest she had ever gotten to one. Warren had fooled her, making her trust he was enacting Erathis’ tenets, but his son unveiled the truth. Cady had turned away just as Bane’s fingers had brushed her shoulder.
Out on the battlefield during the Scattered War, away from the cities, Cady had believed everyone there was a soldier; that when opposing sides met, they were all at least trained in basic combat and were there voluntarily, even if that reason was a reaction. In Westruun, that couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Cadiana arrived at the city’s heart in time to join with some of the Gilded Thorns: Krusk, Kishore, and Bryn. The three and some armed guards had cleaved a path through a knot of cultists trying to stave in the courtyard gates. The Thorns had successfully drawn their attention and were beginning to drive them back.
Cady reeked of sweat, smoke, and blood—some their own, but mostly the cultist’s. They thrust a fist against their chest, closing most of the wounds, and took up a wide stance beside Kishore. Kishore spared him a quick flick of the eyes, then returned her focus to battle.
They smelled a pyrrhic victory. Westruun was wounded, but the cult would come away wounded, too. For every innocent life, Cady wanted to smite down ten of the cultists.
I’m trying to post more frequently and brush up (ayyyyyy) on my painting skills. This is Krusk she’s a half orc ranger that I play every so often! She’s got a dire wolf companion named Dench and he is a good boy.
Day transforming into a giant ape was not. His brother rose from the mare behind him and did an inelegant hop off, but before he hit the water his form expanded and erupted with fur and muscle. He landed in the river with a deep harrumph, spraying them in waves, and their horse and the one next to him immediately threw a fit, tossing their heads under the reigns in his hands.
“Woah, woah, easy, easy,” he said, bringing the lead into one hand and gently stroking up and down her neck. He calmed them down once before from the bulettes, surely—
No. She tore the reigns from his hands and bucked. He managed to keep hold once, clenching his thighs and her hair, but she did it again with more kick and flung him from the saddle. He issued a short yelp before he gasped a breath and broke the water.
Fuck, it was cold. He surfaced and shook his hood and hair out of his face. Day-rilla, with complete and utter ease, scooped up a flailing horse in each hand and waded through the river to the opposite side to meet with Krusk. Krusk still had one beefy green arm wrapped around the ribs of his horse, almost like a side-hug. Day set each mount onto their hooves and they hit the ground running, bolting towards freedom from the chaos they were saddled with. Theren chased after them.
Kishore sprinted across the water past Cihro’s head, barely leaving any ripples in her wake. “Show-off,” he called after her, treading water.
Day returned before Cihro swum far, cupping him out of the water with both hands like he was about to drink. Cihro shivered as air rushed over him, but Day set him on his shoulder and carried him to shore. Cihro huddled closer to his head, grasping at neck fur with one hand and the edge of his cloak with the other. Over the next few minutes he adjusted to the height, Day’s bizarre gait, and tried to warm up with the help of Day’s new, natural coat.
Theren collected their horses and the group returned to traveling speed, Day shambling on four legs after everyone else. Cihro found himself enjoying riding on Day’s shoulder more than horseback and grinned.
It was chaos, sure, but it wasn’t the sort of chaos that made him think they wouldn’t be alive in a minute. This adventuring thing—something he thought he wasn’t cut out for all his life—maybe there was something to it after all.
Cihro kept a rough track of the time and after what he thought was about fifty minutes he slid down Day’s arm, the tree trunk that it was. Day stopped his trot and made an approximation of a confused noise, but within the next few minutes he blinked back into someone Cihro’s race and size.
“You really just let me be an ape for a whole hour?” Day asked once he was in his half-elf body, adjusting his hat. “Without saying anything?”
“Yeah?” Cihro said, shrugging. “You were keeping pace with the horses? You were having fun? Seemed fine to me.”
“Now I know what it’s like to be you for extended periods of time,” Day groused.
Cihro smacked him in the arm with the back of his hand, but his grin never faltered.
He didn’t know how long their peace would last, if he could even call it that, but he cherished every in-between when they weren’t fighting for their lives.
I’m joining a DnD campaign so I got to make a character--here is my Not So Good attempt at drawing him.
He’s Krusk, a Lawful Good Half-Orc wizard.
We haven’t started things yet because we still gotta prep, but my vague idea for him is to just be a Not Too Good wizard who only learned magic out of social necessity and cares about the people he considers his friends.
