Hunt for the Bone Dust Dune

Ioeth

“What do you mean, ‘that mouth breather’? Who—” Ioeth trailed off as they stepped forward to join Mochrie by the window, frowning as they stared outside. The two figures that were approaching with determined steps were quite familiar; one tall, with a flutter of moths trailing behind them, the other one rather short, with his tell-tale coat swishing behind him.

“Oh. Mothbreather.” Harrow and Enn. What were they doing here, now? Their face scrunched into a grimace, and they exhaled through their teeth, muttering something unflattering as they went over to unlock the door, cracking it open just enough to beckon the pair inside.

“Quickly—come on—” they stepped aside to let the two pass by, then closed it quickly behind them, turning the key with some force as they locked it again. 

“Why are you here? We’re closed.” The two were obviously geared up for something—Harrow carried a large pack, with their bow case tied securely to it; under the red coat, Enn seemed to have discarded his usual finery for something a little more practical. In fact, looking from Enn and Harrow to Mochrie and themselves… they let out a slow exhale, shoulders sagging slightly.  

“Let me guess… It's the monster. Still, why are you here and not on the road?” (212)

Enn

Initially, he had no plans to join Harrow in this endeavour, but the more he thought about it the harder it was to shake the thought that he had to. Sending Harrow off alone didn't feel right for one, and perhaps he owed at least this to them. There were other benefits to being at a monster scene, like the aftermath, and with those thoughts he ended up preparing overnight for himself to join the fray as well, leaving Sangre Mar in Osin's hands.

But a lot of this depended on assumptions. He wouldn't let that show outwardly, walking towards Ioeth's shop with his usual confidence.

Enn too carried a backpack, and wore a far more white outfit under his coat than his usual get-up. Before he could open his mouth, Ioeth had gathered himself and Harrow inside, them and their companion Also looking like they were about to leave.

"Good guess. I'm here to ask your assistance to get there." Enn answered, briefly glancing at Mochrie as well. Seemed Ioeth already had one companion picked out. "My main concern is for Harrow to get there. I should be able to copy your magic for it, in case multiple people like this is a problem." Which, he didn't actually know how strong Ioeth was. With a lot of people he could pinpoint it exactly, but the shadow mage far outranked him.

"Getting on the road takes far too long. Can't imagine that was your plan either." Enn continued, eyes wandering between Ioeth and Mochrie. (254)

Ioeth

“Assistance to get there,” Ioeth repeated, voice flat. “Do I look like some kind of travel service?” They could see what he was getting at, though, and it was… actually a pretty good plan. Bringing one person with them into the void they could do, easily, but three… maybe on a shorter distance, but not all the way to the Whispering Sea.

“...Fine.” They rubbed their forehead, exhaled, gave Harrow a terse nod, then looked from Enn to Mochrie. “I think you two haven’t met. Mochrie, this is Enn, who kindly let me use this space.” Their claws made a vague gesture to the room around them. “Enn, this is Mochrie, my friend, who also helps out in the shop.”

They paused, eyes narrowing in thought. “I think you will need to copy my magic, at least for yourself and  possibly for Harrow. I can’t bring all of us together at once.” (152)

Mochrie

Mochrie had been eyeing 'Enn' with suspicion since the man had entered the shop.

Mochrie, of course, had been destined to be short; there was no question to it. Then, following his predetermined fate, he'd been born with an issue that had gradually prevented his height from even reaching its original predestined potential. Here, in front of him, stood a man who somehow managed to be even shorter than that.

Almost never did Mochrie experience a circumstance in which he was taller than another man, save for his own father. It was jarring, and complimented by slick blond hair, some sort of crazy gilded scar or tattoo, and striking white garments that must have cost a fortune, it created an air of authority Mochrie couldn't decide was warranted or not. All of it, however, did make for someone objectively interesting, and Mochrie found himself almost enthralled, exceptionally curious to who this person really was.

Kindly let me use this space. Mochrie was snapped out of his calculations and his mouth fell open, gears turning in his head.

Copy my magic. "Okay, okay, hold on, stop." He waved a hand in front of himself with a dry chuckle, moved himself in to enter the conversation a bit more. "Does this mean we're all sticking together? When we get there? 'Cause we're all gonna need a way back."

He peered past Enn toward the other guest. "Also, hi Harrow." He made a gesture, pointing from his eyes to theirs. (247)

Harrow

Dressed in looser clothing than usual and carrying a large pack (which Owl was sitting on top of), Harrow looked all set for a long, hot trip. They also looked like they hadn’t slept - because of course they hadn’t. They’d been up all night packing and running last-minute errands.

A jewelry shop wasn’t exactly what they had expected— and they hadn’t expected to be ushered in by Io and Mochrie either.

They stayed silent as the two other mages discussed-bickered over?- travel details. Gave a solemn nod back at Io though.

A hint of a smile appeared on the mage’s face as Mochrie gestured at them. “Hi,” said Harrow, and a big moth landed on top of Mochrie’s head, fanning its eye-spotted wings slowly. Giving a cursory glance at his clothes, they frowned. Practical for Faline, but heatstroke waiting to happen in the marsh, they thought. But Harrow moved on to business quickly; they could tell him later.

“I suppose. I can make my own way back if needed,” they added, adjusting their pack a little. “I just need to get there.” There was a sense of urgency in their tone as though, if this conversation took too long, they’d step right back outside and walk to the marsh if they had to. Maybe they’d be more appealing if they showed they wouldn’t be a burden on the other’s resources? “I have enough water for myself, for two days. Enn has his own.” Which they thought they might end up carrying too after a while. (255)

Enn

Enn didn't reply to Ioeth's quip of being a travel service with words, but he did make a nonchalant shrug. Maybe? Perhaps?

He gave Mochrie a nod of acknowledgement upon his introduction, realizing the other man had been staring at him. If this had to do with his height, the trip wouldn't be off to a good start. Introductions also made him realize Harrow already knew these two, and Enn was the odd one out. He'd kind of expected (and hoped?) it'd be Mochrie.

"Suppose we don't need to stick together after the transportation, if that were to be undesired. But if you are already such good friends," a pointed look at the little group, but especially at the moth on Mochrie's head?? "perhaps a group would make more leeway against a monster anyway." And, Harrow's magic had no use for him to copy when it came to fighting. Ioeth would be far more practical in that regard.

"I'm less concerned with the way back as well." Enn confirmed with Harrow's statement. He DID take a risk with that, without Swan by his side, and there being far more people who would like him dead outside of Faline. The idea of not doing something out of fear was not something he'd ever answer to.

"I've seen some of your magic before Ioeth, and in theory I know how this should work.. But I've also never done it before." The best time to admit to the friend relying on you you had no fucking clue what you were doing. "I'm going to need some pointers to make this as smooth as possible." (271)

Ioeth

It was easy to pick up on Harrow’s sense of urgency. Ioeth shared it; an uneasy restlessness they could feel in their bones. They watched the moth land on Mochrie’s head with a quizzical gaze but without comment.

“If we need to,” Ioeth said, biting their lip, then they shrugged. This was already a far shot from what they imagined, when they first heard of the monster, but maybe Enn was right—the more the better. Pooling their resources may be handy as well… Harrow, at least, seemed used to the Whispering Sea’s peculiar landscape.

“Anyway, let’s discuss that when we get there.” They gestured towards the back room of the shop. “Follow me. I’ll show you, Enn. I think it’s best if we all keep as close together as possible—Mochrie, you hold onto me, and Harrow, hold onto Enn.”

Having four people, with large packs and some gear, in the small workshop room was a bit of a squeeze. But it was darker here, and that would make it easier. They were quiet for a moment, collecting their thoughts, pursing their lips. “Enn,” they started slowly, holding out a claw for him to take. “Hold onto me as well—I will help… steer. Or whatever you want to call it. If you provide the power, I’ll take care of the details.” Ioeth looked around at all of them, met their eyes; something serious—and maybe apologetic—in their expression. They held out a hand to Mochrie and took a deep breath.

“Whatever you do—don’t let go. Under no circumstance.”

Closing their eyes, they called forth their magic. The corners of the room darkened, the light from the doorway diminishing; slowly, a shadow darker than any other appeared in front of them. Grasping the others, Ioeth took a step forward, feeling the almost slippery coolness engulf them as they stepped inside it. The blackness was cloying, but they no longer felt like they would drown in it.

Travelling somewhere sight unseen was always a challenge, and as it was past noon, there would be few shadows in that bare landscape to emerge from. Ioeth cast out their thought, seeking; they couldn’t have explained it, if asked, but they could somehow feel the way out of the Abyss—somewhere in the Whispering Sea. Where, exactly, they would end up, Ioeth had no idea—only that it would be a shaded place. (394)

Enn

The closer they got to the moment they were actually doing this, the more his anxiety started playing up. He actually didn't like this, not at all, and even if his last time copying Ioeth's magic had gone just fine, he still remembered their first interaction.

This felt like it was going to be closer to that experience.

Enn offered his hand to Harrow as Ioeth instructed, moving closer to the other pair as the shadow mage gathered them up for this transportation feat.

He did take note of getting offered a claw to hold instead of a hand. He also took note of himself even thinking about the difference. Weirdo. So he grabbed the claw, listening closely to Ioeth’s instructions. They came down to 'hold on', which sounded easy enough, and he knew it wouldn't be.

Harrow's hand was warm in his, and he turned to look at them. Whatever worries he had, he was sure they were tenfold for them. He didn't repeat Ioeth's command of not letting go, but his eyes said as much. With a squeeze he confirmed he wouldn't let go either.

His magic, his blood had been adapting to Ioeth's magic, and as they stepped into the darkness, so did he and Harrow. It felt like stepping into a liquid that wasn't wet, maybe even as if stepping into a solid, cold wall. Enn repressed his initial panic of not being able to breathe, knowing this would come, and focussed on his magic tangling with the shadow mage's. Possibly squeezing the bones in Harrow's hand.

Ioeth was searching, and he decided not to look anywhere they weren't. Even if he found a shaded area before Ioeth, he wasn't risking splitting off.

Even with the place they emerged from being in the shade, the temperature shift was like getting hit in the stomach by a professional wrestler, and Enn instantly keeled over. His knees hit the floor before he could catch himself, feeling as if he needed to throw up all the shadow he'd just ingested as if it had ingrained into his lungs. It was just a feeling, but inside was so cold while outside was stupid hot.

Yeah that wasn't fun. (368)

Mochrie

Mochrie had taken Ioeth's hand firmly, but he already felt weak. Anxiety bubbling in his stomach, apprehension digging claws into the back of his neck, a chill coursing up from below. He looked at them, held tight. 

And then they were gone. 

He was alone, feeling nothing, seeing nothing but dark and cold; panic lanced through his heart like a lightning strike and he almost lost his grip. In the nothing he could sense a presence and, assuming it was Ioeth, he held on for dear life. Weight and momentum were lost to him, the feeling of air entering his lungs non-existent, the only sound his own heart drumming in his ears, not so much as able to see himself in the freezing void of the Abyss. 

It was over. Gravity launched itself back into his system, pounding through his bones, tearing at every muscle as he made contact with reality; he gagged, lungs finally able to take in that air, all of it pouring in at once. The frigid cold of purgatory was sliced through with the burning heat of the Whispering Sea, and in an instant, he went limp, ears ringing, vision turning a blurred white at its edges, and he feebly gripped at the arm propping him up. He could feel again, see again, but only barely; the drastic shift in temperature had flipped a switch in the base of his skull, and he crumpled. (238)

Harrow

Enn’s previous explanation of Io’s magic had not included many details about exactly what shadow travel involved. Perhaps he didn’t know. “Stay close, don’t let go. Got it.” Harrow frowned at him, but let him hold their hand anyways. They squeezed his hand back ever so slightly. 

Ioeth started working their magic, and then— everything was gone. Having half-drowned once in their life already, Harrow was in no rush to try it again. Unfortunately for them, shadow-travel felt very similar. Freezing darkness poured over them the second the group stepped into the void, seeping into their nose, and mouth, and lungs- Harrow clung to Enn’s arm, panicking.   

And then they all resurfaced on the other side, warmth rushing back in. Harrow wobbled and almost fell- really fell when Enn keeled over and dragged them with him. But at least they could breathe again. The mage coughed and gagged and sputtered, new moths quickly replacing those lost to distance and the void. (161)

Ioeth

They were used to this by now. The Abyss no longer filled them with terror, merely a quiet uneasyness, a silent what if that usually could be banished by a few deep breaths. The endless darkness, the faint glimmer of stars; some part of them drew comfort from it even as they had to focus on their destination.

When Mochrie’s grasp slackened for a moment, they gripped tighter, pulling him closer; they could sense Enn as well, Harrow only faintly—but they all seemed to be there, holding on—and then, after what could have been a few moments or a lifetime, they pushed through, emerging.

They barely spent a glance towards their surroundings, but they seemed to have arrived inside some kind of building; the walls were made of bunched reeds, as was the roof, but it was patchy and obviously weathered. It was dark, but holes in the roof let in a few stray rays of light, making the dust in the air glitter.

The change was disorienting. From still coolness to sudden, dry heat; from total darkness to what seemed to Ioeth like blinding light. They had to scrunch their eyes shut, the brightness almost painful—but before they had time to adjust, they could feel Mochrie sag against their side, and without thinking they clutched at him. They could feel Enn let go of their claw, and a thud made them turn; the other two had toppled as well.

Blinking, with the light still stinging and making their sinuses itch, they carefully lowered Mochrie to the ground, crouching beside him and untangling their claws. Quiet terror seared through them, and they touched his forehead fingers cool against his clammy skin. ”Mochrie?”

His eyelids fluttered, but he seemed quite out of it otherwise; with a soft curse they let him go, hastily pulling a blanket out of their pack, spreading it and then with some effort shifting him onto the fabric. They looked up at Enn and Harrow. ”How are you two doing?”

The silence between their words was filled with a strange, faint thrum from outside, a rumble of distant winds crossing the plains. (355)

Enn

Briefly he had thought himself back on the side of a raging river, soaking wet, having dragged Harrow out of the waters. Instead he was burning up on the outside, frozen on the inside. It felt like forever until he had his breathing steady again, until he felt his temperatures were evening out even a little.

But he could do without experiencing that again. The trip back taking weeks was a more tempting prospect. He realized he'd pulled Harrow down with him, and muttered an apology first.

"Alive." Enn replied to Ioeth, wiping the gathered drool from his lip. His eyes finally turned to look at Ioeth and the passed out Mochrie, a frown appearing on his face.

"Is he alright?" Concern? Doubtful, but maybe a change in plans if he wasn't good to keep going. Harrow seemed to be doing better than him, but looked none the less disheveled. He offered his hand to pull them up as he found his footing and and relaxed as much as the situation allowed.

Enn could tell they'd succeeded in the endeavour. This had to be the Whispering Sea, some abandoned hut, the hot sun beating down on its roof. There was a smell in the air he couldn't place, something dry and something dead. But most concerning was the sound of something enormous outside, something approaching fast. So he turned to stick his head out of the side of the hut, a hole in the wall functioning as a window.

Ah.

"You uh, we may hm, be in the path—I think? Harrow? What do you see?" (266)

Harrow

They were surrounded by the familiar earthy scent of dry reeds. It took a minute for the moth mage to put themself together and catch their breath, on their hands and knees in the dust. “Fine.” Harrow glared at both of them, still a little wheezy. “A little warning would be nice next time.” They ignored Enn’s offered hand, getting to their feet on their own with a little grunt. They stood there and readjusted their pack, refusing to rub at their achey back despite wanting to.

Harrow’s gaze quickly fell on Mochrie, who seemed to have passed out right on arrival. Had the trip through the suffocating void been too much for him? He couldn’t have gotten heatstroke that fast. They frowned, mentally shoving down a flurry of worries, and took a step closer. “Is he out?”

At Enn’s prompting they sent a few moths fluttering up through the gaps in the ceiling. Their gaze went a little vacant, and they frowned. “One heck of a dust storm. That’s gotta be it—I don’t know if—“ They cut the connection, looking back at Enn and Io, then to Mochrie. “We can’t outrun that thing, especially if he can’t walk. It might notice us if we try anyways.“ Actually, could it notice them? What if they just hunkered down here and hoped the monster veered off elsewhere? (227)

Ioeth

They looked down at Mochrie again, the spark of worry in their eyes going a lot deeper than it seemed. “I don’t know.” There was no sign of their shadow magic, which had been their biggest concern—that it had done something to Mochrie during the time in the void, or was hurting him somehow—but his skin was pale, though otherwise normal. When they touched his arm, his head lolled to the side, and he mouthed something unintelligible.

Harrow’s conclusion made them frown. “A dust storm…?” That had to be the monster—dust storms were more common in the north, but rare in the marshes; here they were more likely to come across thunder.

Ioeth got to their feet, brushing dust off their hands, then they paused, frowning, and brought their hand closer to get a better look. The dust didn’t feel like sand; it was both grittier and finer, and it definitely didn’t smell like sand. It had an odour of something old and long dead.

“I think it has passed over here once already,” they said slowly, letting their gaze sweep over the ramshackle hut. It looked ragged and wind-torn even from the inside, and the coarse fabric hanging over the opening was tattered. They pushed it away, squinted into the even brighter outside. 

It was—or perhaps had been—a village. A handful of reed buildings, some quite elaborate, others not much more than a shack or temporary shelter. Most looked rather beat-up, with parts missing or destroyed, some piled up with the strange dust. It was situated on a wide sand ridge, slightly higher than the surrounding reed-beds and open water. A few overturned and trashed canoes were spread across the muddy slope towards the shore.

For a moment, they were taken back to the small, sleepy village of their youth; a village much like this one once had been. The details weren’t right, but it felt hauntingly, intimately familiar. They could imagine the old Gäelle sitting in the shade of a braided reed-mat, could almost smell the fish hanging to dry… 

They swallowed, blinked, and had to force themselves to unclench their fists. (359)