Hunt for the Bone Dust Dune

A few hours later

Mochrie

"Ow." Mochrie held his forehead, sucking air through his teeth. "Fuck."

Bleary-eyed, he glanced around, the throbbing ache of smacking his head as he woke an apt representation of how his day was going.

In the sodden hut, a small fire burned, chewing away at a criss-crossed pile of dry reeds dug into the natural floor. The roof was half-caved, little bits of sandy material pattering through it, snapped up and converted into embers as they fell. There was something acrid in the air, a sore and aching scent that smelled about as nice as Mochrie felt.

He looked down, found himself sitting on a rumpled blanket, and, quite unfortunately, a little bit too close to a canoe tilted against the wall, which he had just gotten exceptionally familiar with moments before. The hut was small, a bit snug, and that dusty sand piled in every odd corner.

He swallowed dryly, peering out the circular window cut into the nearest wall; the sky was near-black, save for the glittering storm lingering in the distance. It was only as he gazed outside that he noted the cool night air, a drastic relief compared to the temperature they'd arrived in; the only warmth came from the fire. The open flats held little insulation for retaining heat once the sun had passed.

He glanced around, tilting his head to get a better look outside. Ioeth hovered in the doorway, arms crossed, speaking with the others in low tones. He turned back to himself, looked at his belongings.

He wouldn't be much help carrying anything, and would need to hide from the sun; his fingertips graced the hilts of his daggers, and he felt a rolling shame climb up onto his tongue, clinging there. He tried to swallow it back, but he knew he'd hardly be any help. All he could do was be there for Ioeth, assist the others if they were hurt.

He rose up, dusted himself off, and rubbed his head with a sigh. [333]

Enn

Harrow ignoring him had hurt more than he'd ever admit to anyone, even himself. He felt the wave of anger embrace his chest, swallowing down the unnecessary comments it made in his head. If Harrow wanted to stay mad with him, that was their right. But he didn't think he deserved it. That was what his feeling came down to.

More now than before did he feel like the odd one out, a spare wheel not part of the vehicle. He should've stayed back, and if the thought of just grabbing the opportunity and bringing himself home didn't come with knowing he'd have to step back into the void, he might've done just that.

But he was here now. And there was no use in dwelling on anything, nor on answering to his anger. So he didn't, and opted to stay silent and listen.

What Io said made sense. The dust felt off, and he was quite sure if anyone combined it with harsh winds it'd be literal sandpaper. He briefly considered his eyes having tricked him, and the sandstorm wasn't coming at them, but leaving them.

He wasn't right nor wrong. The group decided to stay where they were, hunker down and avoid the beast for as long as Mochrie was down. It was hard to see what it truly was, was there something of a being in the middle of the dust cloud? Only when it veered and came too close for comfort did he get a better look. There were things floating in it, and from a distance it looked like huge boulders, or… Skulls? He helped Ioeth with creating a large shadow wall on the side of the hut the creature passed closest to, and it worked to protect them from the extra dust flying up.

As things calmed down, a fire was made, and he eventually found himself smoking next to Ioeth. If there would be any benefit to come from this trip, it likely wouldn't be making up with Harrow, but the shadow-mage was an ally he would like to keep around. They held quiet conversation about Enn's grievances, and Ioeth's too, before it devolved and left Enn reeling. They would WHAT?? AND WITH WHO ?? WH- But instead of speaking he choked on the smoke of his cigar, face as red as the inside of his coat, eyes on Ioeth's back as they moved to take care of the fire and pretend they weren't the cause of him briefly suffocating.

Enn wasn't sure if the trip just got worse or better.

He'd gone back into the hut to avoid further conversation, seeing Mochrie had come to again. "Good to have you back, Mochrie. How's your head?" Poor guy must be sore as hell. At least he didn't also have to compete with the heat, the temperature significantly lower now the sun was down. (479)

Harrow

Harrow was aware that Enn may not have deserved such rude treatment. Were they being stubborn and unreasonable? Yes. Were they going to stop now? Probably not. Being confined in a small hut all together and standing by uselessly while Enn and Io shielded them all from the storm didn’t help soothe their mood at all.

Filled with nervous energy and too antsy to stay put for long, after the coast was clear Harrow had soon left the two other mages by the fire, instead venturing out into the village. They poked around, looking for people firstly- had the residents evacuated before the storm reached them? The sight of beat-up canoes at the shore wasn’t encouraging but there seemed to be nobody here besides the four of them. Much like Io, Harrow’s thoughts were focused on another village. More of a town really, but still; how well could they fare against such a monster? Was it heading in that direction right now, off on the horizon? Harrow wished they could do something to stop it, but they were here, and the monster storm was out there somewhere. So they busied themself with practicalities; fuel for the fire, a canoe in decent shape, food. Reeds were plentiful and Harrow didn’t want to burn the few wooden objects that were here. There was one undamaged canoe in the house they had sheltered in, and Harrow found another in a different building. That left food. They had some they had brought, but it seemed better to gather fresh stuff when they had the opportunity rather than using up their supplies.

A while later Harrow had retrieved their bow and waded in down by the shore below the hut, pants rolled up to their knees. Moths skimmed just above the surface, and Harrow could hear the breeze rustling the reeds and the rippling of the water, see hazy shapes moving below. Watching a fish through the moth’s eyes instead of their own, they raised their bow, aimed, and fired. Splash! One fish dinner.

The next couple shots were misses, and they reeled in the fish-less arrow (it had a string tied to it) each time. Intent on catching enough for everyone, they were still at it by the time Mochrie woke up. (378)

Mochrie

Mochrie tried not to glower at Enn's question. "It's fine." It wasn't. It felt like someone had knocked his skull with a hammer.

He crouched down by the fire pit, leaning back to rest a bit against the wall, wriggled into the sand to carve out a seat. He gestured to the opposite side of the fire with one hand, as if a chair sat waiting, and dragged the other down his face with a muffled sigh.

"So you're a mage," he began, "obviously." There wasn't much information to be hidden with that gilded tattoo. "I'm impressed with you bringing yourself and Harrow along. I'm assuming you can, you know-- copy?" He whirled a hand, loosely imitating the way Ioeth might draw a shadow. "Or just amplify?" (127)

Enn

He'd asked the question, and Mochrie had answered. With that, Enn's politeness would've been fulfilled and he could move on.

Instead he watched a little baffled as Mochrie suggested he needed to be interviewed. As if he was back in his own office, but put on the other side of the desk.

That wasn't Enn's position.

The mage held back his expression, in the same second contemplating he'd made enough enemies within one trip, and complying to the suggestion. Should've had an actual seat, this was going to mess up his white coat.

As Mochrie spoke, Enn's eyebrows briefly went up. "Astute, yes. You didn't consider I just have the same magic as Ioeth?" Enn paused, long aware he'd spoken to Ioeth before they travelled the void as if he was figuring out their magic. "I copy. In a way I amplify, depending on the other mages strength. But I'm the one using it." Enn clarified, swatting some dust from his coat's sleeve. "Any reason for your interest?" (168)

Mochrie

"Well, I've known a lot of mages," he answered, tilting his head and splaying a few fingers, "and I haven't met two with quite the same powers; even when they're similar, they're never exactly the same. And-- when I say a lot, I do actually mean a lot." He bobbed his head a little as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Namarast."

He then met Enn's eye in a nearly sidelong glance. "Never seen something like yours. I can't imagine what you've been able to do with it." He was itching for a story, praying he'd pluck the right chord and get Enn to spin out a song. Whether or not he ended up liking the man, he most certainly already liked the attitude. (125)

Enn

Enn nodded, quickly contemplating what he wanted to reply.

"I trained in Namarast for that exact purpose; meet a lot of mages, try all sorts of magic." Not at all because he'd been a dirty secret his family wanted to get rid of. "What would a non-mage be doing in Namarast?" There were plenty there. But he wanted to know Mochrie's reason.

Or he was just trying to reflect the questioning back onto him. Restate his position as the interviewer.

"There's a few like me, but I'll admit it's rare." Downplaying his own abilities made the surprise bigger. And by now it.. Kind of sounded like Mochrie was just curious. And not fishing for information to sell. Wouldn't bring Enn's guard down though.

"It's not so hard to imagine. What any other mage can do, I can do too, but only in their vicinity. Sometimes I can do more than the original mage. It was useful in Namarast to help train people." Namarast wasn't his fondest memory. But it seemed a shared one. (173)

Mochrie

Duplicating magic at Namarast. Mochrie scoffed, shook his head a little; there were so many gathered there, so many mages, so much magic. The question of whether or not Enn could choose to duplicate-- or if it was a constant presence, something he could always sense, always feel-- pooled in Mochrie's head, dripped down onto his tongue, but he held it back. There was something clinical about how Enn spoke of his abilities, almost as if he separated them from himself. Maybe it was a question for another time.

"I'm a librarian. Or, well." Mochrie scratched at a cheekbone as he let out a hesitant, if not somewhat sarcastic, hum. "Or, I was. I write. And sometimes steal things." He switched from scratching into shrugging with the hand, palm up, before he moved it to his lip, getting a bit lost in thought. "Steal books," he corrected, "or other magical items." He raised a playful eyebrow at Enn. "Not that you'd tell on me?" (164)

Enn

Without Mochrie voicing it, Enn wouldn't start, but he would be right. It'd been a horrible few months when he lacked that control.

"Writing, huh." At first glance, he hadn't thought that of Mochrie. But that was the fun of getting to know people better, they tended to surprise you. At the other man's playful jest, Enn actually cracked a small smile. "No need to worry about that. Stealing resources from those unwilling to share is something I appreciate. And I know how stingy the Order is." Why even HAVE so much knowledge if the people who needed it couldn't access it? No wonder monsters ran rampant.

"What do you write about?" Now he was just curious. (117)

Mochrie

Ah, so Enn shared the same principles when it came to restricted knowledge, then. Mochrie nearly smiled to himself, pleased with the result of his question-asking. There was a chance he might like Enn.

"I write academic articles, sometimes, if it's needed, or utterly horrendous romantic fiction for authors who pay me to do it for them," he said, tone hiding none of his opinion. "If I could write what I want, it would largely be thriller or mystery, I think. Clever but often downtrodden protagonists just trying to scrape by when nothing makes sense." (95)

Enn

Enn scoffed at his tone of voice while delivering the line 'utterly horrendous romantic fiction', almost a laugh. "That's very fair, suppose there's worse things to do for money." He didn't often take the time to sit down and read, and when he did it didn't tend to be romantic fiction. Nothing against the craft, though. "I know I lack the imagination for that." Writing, in general. But perhaps ESPECIALLY anything romance related.

"Hm, sounds like many a non-mage in a mage-filled environment." The man mused, leaning back a little. He was mostly thinking about poor Osin. "Let's all come back unscathed from this," a general wave at wherever the heck they were, "so you can write what you actually want. It'd be great if everyone could do as their inspiration demands instead of needing to listen to a market." Enn grumbled on. (143)

Ioeth

Ioeth had initially wanted to fight the dust monster head on, as soon as it had approached, but with Mochrie still unconscious, the group had decided to wait. The brief brush with it, and the chance to do something useful, had sapped most of their jittery, restless energy. They could see the situation a bit more clearly now, and found a new sense of focus; despite the anxiety still lodged in their chest, they felt more relaxed.

The conversation with Enn had helped as well; it had been a welcome distraction, and now Harrow’s behaviour—and current flurry of activity—made a bit more sense. And while maybe Ioeth’s last comment hadn’t been strictly necessary… but it was quite fun to see the normally very unflappable Enn flustered and sputtering. 

Smirking at his retreat, they checked the fire before stepping outside the ring of light, and slowly made their way to the edge of the village, looking out over the marshes. The distant whine of the windstorm was still out there, but it was mostly too dark to see now; it was a moonless, clear night, only stars glittering above.

They stood for a while, breathing in the familiar smells. Salt, dry reeds, mud and water; above it all, a clear crispness of the night. With a final look towards the sky above, they turned, walking back to the fire, following the murmur of Enn and Mochrie’s low voices.

“Coming back unscathed sounds like a plan,” they said dryly, folding down into a crosslegged seat between the two. “The monster is out there, somewhere, but I didn’t see it,” they continued, then gestured for them to continue talking, not meaning to interrupt. (280)

Mochrie

"Unfortunately I think I'm already very scathed," Mochrie bit, taking in a breath through his teeth, and rubbing at his forehead again. He turned to Ioeth, now that they'd finally joined the conversation. "Thanks for the blanket." He wasn't sure what else to say; it wasn't often he went from one extreme temperature to another, but he was certain it had hit him harder than the others. He tried not to let it bother him, not to let the idea that his presence was a detriment nest in his head. It was near impossible, but he could stifle it, at least for now.

"Inspiration, markets, sure," Mochrie responded finally, "all very interesting." He drew one knee up at an angle, looped his wrists around it, leaned his head back to rest against the wall. His gaze flitted from Ioeth's face to Enn's. "Will I be informed of what you do, and how you really know each other? Or is that a mystery I'll have to uncover?" (166)

Enn

Enn's head turned to look at Ioeth entering, trying to forget what they'd been bullying him with earlier, and instead listening to what they said. "I think Harrow went to get some food, but we should try to hunt it down while the temperature is lower. Even just locating it is enough, if we can stay ahead of it we can at least get people out of it's way." He enjoyed having some kind of plan, but so far that just hadn't been in the books.

The man's attention shifted back to Mochrie when he spoke up, their initial conversation seemingly dropped. "I don't see why it would have to be a mystery, but I don't know what Ioeth has told you. I provide Ioeth with the space for their shop and forge, and we know each other from Namarast. I was a few years ahead of them back then." The truth, yes, but also swallowing some details. If the shadow mage hadn't told Mochrie, there might be reasons for that silence. (172)

Ioeth

Ioeth returned the look, the ghost of a smile playing in the corner of their mouth. It faded quickly when he spoke of the monster, and they nodded slowly, shifting their weight and pursing their lips. “Probably a good idea. We should head out when Harrow returns, I think.”

A shrug. “Basically what Enn said.” They paused, eyes narrowing slightly as they stared into the fire, a thoughtful look on their face. “We share some similar opinions about the Order… and how to deal with them and their witchfinders. Enn has a lot more resources at his disposal than I do, but my talents are useful, in return.” They hadn’t managed to keep Mochrie from joining them on a monster hunt; it wouldn’t do any good to conceal their dealings with Enn from him either. (135)

Harrow

Finally they had gotten enough for everyone. Harrow waded out of the water, trying to kick the mud off their feet in the process. Oh well. They headed back to the hut, preceded by a few moths- one landed on Mochrie’s head again, while the others were drawn towards the fire.

“Can someone give me a hand with these?” Harrow stood in the doorway, cutting quite a figure; bow strapped to their back, barefoot and a bit muddy and holding three decently-sized fish. Their gaze fell on Mochrie. “Hey, you’re up. Welcome back.”

Whoever volunteered would be requested to bring a waterskin and assist Harrow with cleaning and preparing the fish. And after taking some time to clean themself up, Harrow went and dug through their pack to find spices, a pan, and some other cooking implements. Various other items had to be taken out in order to reach the pan; bundled clothes, some camping gear, a few objects padded with crumpled newspaper. Among the supplies removed there was also, inexplicably, a novelty tea kettle. Floral patterned with little blue birds among the leafy branches and flowers. Harrow said nothing about its presence among the camping gear and just continued preparing dinner. (202)

Mochrie

Mochrie opened his mouth to say something snarky to Harrow when a moth flew straight for him; he hissed and flapped a hand, squinting and turning his head away, until he eventually gave up, and the pink-and-yellow drop of fuzz settled in his hair, stretching its wings.

He tried to ignore it by watching Harrow and Ioeth prepare the fish just outside the door. Harrow slit the bellies open with a knife; rather than clean hands, Ioeth gutted them with black talons, then disposed of the offal by tossing it into the water, where they were immediately snapped up by salamanders and frogs. It made something in Mochrie's stomach crawl, and he tried not to think about it too hard.

Harrow cooked them over the fire with a handful of spices he'd offered up from his pack— he thanked Grace and all else that was holy that he'd brought them, and that bit of bread.

First he watched Harrow, then imitated, flipping open the fish and pinching the spine at the head, swiftly lifting it out, all in one big piece, all the countless little ribs attached. Like Harrow, he then tossed the bones into the fire to be rid of them. He was left with a slim but flaky filet, tasting largely of salt and earth, a rough flavor beneath the herbs; the scent of thyme cut through that coarse fishiness, softened the edge, added the deep floral taste it so desperately needed. He held out a crumb of bread and watched the moth flutter down into his palm, its little legs gauging the bread as if sizing it up before eating it.

Half of him felt rejuvenated by the meal, an energy returned he had otherwise lost; the other half of him simply felt sluggish, any energy given already being burned away to digest it. He sat idly for a moment, moth in hand, as the others began to gather their things, seemingly ready to get on the move. (331)

Enn

Their talk got interrupted by Harrow’s return, and Enn didn’t mind that. Figuring out what someone did and didn’t know without accidentally saying too much or too little, not his favourite game. Ioeth could deal with that. He was relieved to watch Ioeth get up to help Harrow; certainly wasn’t planning on getting his clothes to smell of fish. Fighting a monster and possibly bleeding all over them was another matter.

He rather retreated and watched the ongoings a minute, the moth on Mochrie’s head and the odd teapot Harrow had brought. He was looking at it for a while before finally biting.

“Any.. Backstory, on that little thing?” He waved at the teapot. Maybe that’d cheer up Harrow some.

His gloves came off when it was time to eat, still not risking any fish smell on his clothes, red tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. It was good to eat and recharge a little, cleared up his mood as well. Helped him think clearer.

“So, I was wondering,” Enn spoke up again as they were gathering their items, “how did you three meet? Feel like I missed a story there.” Just honest curiosity. (195)

Ioeth

When Harrow returned, Ioeth offered to clean and gut the fish; it was easily done, and when they stood by the water’s edge, having thrown the guts to whatever nightly wildlife there was, they thought of all the times they had done the same as a child. Catching fish, cleaning them, handing them over to old Gäelle who would have prepared the evening meal… They exhaled, turned back towards the hut and the fire and their present company.

They never returned to Semel. After everything that happened at Namarast, they could not imagine bringing their own fear and sorrows back to the peaceful village of their childhood. And if they were honest with themselves—they would not have been welcomed warmly. Magic was mostly unknown, regarded with suspicion. 

And yet. Part of their heart was still there, among the tall grasses and the salty marshes, still watching the silver-streak fishes in the shallows, still resting in the shade of a braided reed-mat.

The fish was nice, though Ioeth didn’t feel much like eating. Mochrie’s insistence on bringing half their spice rack definitely paid off, and they knew they needed the food, but it sat uneasily in their belly afterwards when they started to collect their things, repacking a few items.

As they rolled up the blanket, they turned to Enn and his question. “We two,” they started, glancing at Mochrie, “met by chance in a dark forest.” They smiled briefly at the thought of their and Mochrie’s wild adventure. “We got chased by stick monsters and had to take shelter on a small island out in a lake.” They shook their head. “It was a whole thing. Definitely a story. And Harrow…” they trailed off, gesturing at the other mage to continue. (291)

Harrow

Io and Mochrie’s help was much appreciated, though they kept silent about it. And cooking helped soothe some of the flurry of worries in Harrow’s head. The repetition, the concentration needed to make sure the fish didn’t burn, the aroma of the spices Mochrie had brought - by the time dinner was served they’d been pretty effectively distracted. They half-smiled as they watched Mochrie attempting to feed one of the moths.

Enn’s question was another distraction, though it reminded them of what they were worrying about. “It’s supposed to make a bird call when the water boils,” Harrow shrugged weakly, explaining nothing whatsoever about its presence. But they’d add, “It’s a bribe,” if pressed. And that was all; they soon stuffed the thing (carefully) back into their pack after they’d washed and put the pan back.

Harrow’s eyebrows raised as Io gave a brief rundown of the circumstances of meeting Mochrie. Stick monsters?? They’d have to ask about that sometime. “Our meeting wasn’t quite so… eventful? I paid a visit to Mochrie to get some help with my uh… book problem. Ioeth happened to be visiting at the same time. We had dinner. Nothing as exciting as stick monsters.” Harrow had told Enn some of what they had been up to lately; some general facts of their imprisonment at Namarast, and coming away from it with a valuable book. They had not talked about Agathias. Harrow glanced at Io and Mochrie discreetly as they packed their things away. The look seemed to imply that they should keep quiet about that particular topic as well, possibly with an or else attached. (269)

Ioeth

The conversation trailed off awkwardly as the sound of a rising wind grew louder. “Time to go,” Ioeth murmured, tying the knot on their pack. It didn’t take long for the group to gather up their things and put out the fire before they all stepped outside. Mist was rising above the marshes, but the sky was clear.

Somewhere in front of them, against the starlit sky, a shape loomed; slowly growing in size, accompanied by a rumble of winds and a smell of dust and dry bone. Ioeth gathered their magic, almost without thinking about it. 

Time to see what they all could do against the monster. (108)

—fin—