Netherbane: Returns, Part V

The Burden of Command.

“Six hundred seventy-two barrels of fresh water. Thirty-eight pounds of lactoris plant bulbs left over from Yaonviss. Eighty-four bundles of yorrow root. One hundred seventeen flanks of Malkgornian og’hork. Fifty-se—”

“Stop.” The eredar winced and pinched the bridge of her nose, the word snapped with more force than she intended. Her hoof skidded in the sandy dirt as she turned to face the hunched form of the Broken at her side, sighing. She forced her voice to be gentler. “I don’t need to know the precise counts, Akina. Summarize for me: when does the island run out of food and water?”

Ducking her head a bit, the shrunken woman—once one of Vasedra’s own, proud people and now a misshapen, fel-twisted degenerate—rolled her scroll of notes farther along and answered, “The water will last for four months, Blessed Captain. The meat for three weeks. But we’ll run out of grains in sixteen days.”

Sedra nodded and turned back to their walk down the rolling hill, her steps crunching in a fast cadence. “Better.” 

The void knight ignored the way the devotee Quartermaster brightened at the tiny praise and instead just let her eyes sweep over the bustle of people around them as she continued, “I want you to notify me when any single food stock dwindles below ten days’ worth and the water supply below twenty. And be sure you’re factoring in the…” They paused as a pair of robed cultists lugged a pile of wooden planks across their path. Beyond the workers, another trio of road-weary travelers trudged up the path to the mottled ‘tower’. “... the influx of people. We’ll have a problem if your estimates drift off because there are more mouths to feed.”

“Of course, my la-... um… Captain. Erork is keeping careful records of every Faithful who comes to the fold, and my estimates are updated daily. I will not fail to keep your devoted well fed, shod and clothed.”

The eredar turned her face away to hide the grimace she couldn’t quite contain. “I’ve told you to call me Vasedra.”

“You have, Blessed One,” Akinalavera agreed, rolling her records back into a neat cylinder and tucking them into one of the many open-topped tubes secured to her belt. “You have, but I cannot. It is not what my faith and my heart demand. I have told you this an equal number of times.”

Vasedra sighed and flopped a hand toward her companion. “Yes, fine. You’re dismissed.”

Turning back to the worn path, she resumed her determined trudge down the slope, black gaze drinking in the ordered chaos all around her. The small isle had once been quiet and forgotten, simply a pile of dirt and red-brown rock in the broad, vast ocean that had become the resting place of a crashed, shattered Legion warship. The Soul Cleaver’s grave and her home. One island among hundreds yet to be charted, isolated and safe. 

Now, however, the place was anything but forgotten and never quiet. Five separate construction sites dotted the gentle slopes leading down from the ‘tower’ settled at its highest point and a camp of patchwork tents and lean-tos sprawled across the western field. People of all shapes, sizes and races wandered everywhere: haulers moving supplies from the beach to the tarp-covered depot, students sitting in a rapt circle, handlers leading skittering, bulbous a’qir from the corral to the fishing huts, and just… so many more. Too many more. A flock of refugees and devotees had invaded her shores, and they were overwhelming. Intimidating.

Vasedra hated it and wanted her quiet refuge back. 

Except… she also didn’t. They were loud and wild, busy and demanding, yet something deep down inside her felt like this was right. Like she was made to accept these people and her place within their cult’s worship. Like they, as much as Ary and Raeisley and her once-self’s friends in the Netherbane, were hers to protect. Connections, an entire web full of them. It frightened her, how easy she found it to believe she could be this “Breath” the invaders named her and revered her as. Except that was insane; she was only Vasedra.

Not for the first time, Sedra cursed Ary for running away from the mess as fast as her fleshy, soft little feet could take her and wished her friend were by her side to ground her. To remind her what was real and what was too much of a dream. And to shield her from their adulation. Their stares. Their terrifying faith.

“Blessed One!” a man gasped, shattering her reverie. He stopped to bow low and press his hands over his eyes, and Sedra reflected once more on what an incredibly impractical obeisance it seemed to be. “Guiding whispers upon you.”

“And you,” she mumbled, giving him an imperious look and a nod. 

The human moved quickly, unblinding himself to gape up at her. Her fanatics seldom required more than a glance at her stygian eyes and a moment to fall into their swirling depths to be satisfied, and an embarrassed Vasedra was more than happy to offer them nothing else.

Even their recent months trapped together on the distant market world of Yaonviss had failed to get her accustomed to the means of these cultists’ worship. The titles, the honorifics, and the myriad little ways the people around her bowed to her—to her! a broken, chained, ruined amalgam of a man’ari abomination—discomforted her. Though she’d been thrust into the midst of them, the eredar had stubbornly resisted as much of it as she could.

Sedra sighed as she watched the robed stranger back away, awestruck and muttering to himself. Their faith. Why shouldn’t she resist it? Hers had failed her so many times over the eons that it was only good sense to fight to stay distant from it any more. 

Malfias. 

The name was an unwanted ripple from the depths of her, a reminder of the one belief that remained. Twisted and misshapen and confused as it was, faith in the eredar Sovereign of the Outer Gates still hummed deep in her scarred being, singing a discordant note with the revulsion that rested right beside it. The memories of a demon flesh-shaper that had spent lifetimes revering Malfias with much the same fervor as these Thornbound Rose cultists clashed with those of a ruined draenei who hated him with equal zeal. Sedra’s lip curled in a little grimace. That ‘faith’ left her both drawn to the eredar Lord and repulsed by him, and though he professed to make no claim on her as she was now, the former Shadowed Sun Lord still plagued her in the oddest little moments.

“Like now,” the void knight growled under her breath, reaching up to brush a hand along the metal filigree that encased her horns and hid their scars. She gripped the little upward-tilting tip in a tight, frustrated fist. “Stop that!”

“Stop w-what, milady Breath?” The tauren who stuttered a few feet away from her looked stricken, freezing under his piled load of insect-silk fishing nets. “If I’ve offended you, I will cut off wh-”

“No.” Vasedra didn’t even want to know what he’d remove, so she grit her teeth and forced her thunderous look to soften and her hand to relax back to her side. “No. I was only talking to—... nevermind. Just be on your way. There’s work to do.”

Scrambling, the large creature gave a hasty, awkward bow and hurried off. 

“I dunnae think ye reassured him much, lass.” The chortle that threaded through the words radiated warmth as much as the short, stocky body they came from, and Sedra turned to smirk at a familiar dwarf as he waddled up, thick arms full of a pile of purple-black metal rods. 

“If tomorrow brings that man wandering around without some limb or feature, I want you to bear witness that I definitely did not tell him to do it, Brennigan.”

The hill dwarf grinned, letting her claim some of his burden and fall in beside him. They trudged together toward a stone forge standing alone on its rocky outcropping, tools and arms and armor crowded around it. They were unshielded from the sun but carefully arrayed in organized stands. 

“Oh, aye, Cap'n, I can attest tae that for ye. But also I noticed ye were'na tellin' him not tae do it, neither.”

Sedra made a sour face, wandering over to deposit the rods in a crate with more of the same. “It's not enough that I'm careful to not encourage self-mutilation? Must I explicitly forbid them from maiming themselves, now?” 

“Aye,” he answered, chuckling once more. “That’d help.”

The void knight groaned. 

“Ye have yet tae understand… nay, tae accept within ye the depths o’ our devotion, mi’lass.”

“To me.” Her words dripped with an incredulity that proved the man right. “And to Raeisley.”

Brennigan nodded and dumped the rest of the metal into the crate as well, pulling free just two of them to carry over to the forge. 

“Aye. Tae ye both an’ what ye’ve done for us, an’ tae what ye will do. Ye an’ yer lady consort sowed the seeds a’this all the way back in me own Highlands home when ye saved the Child an’ defended the Avatar’s conclave. Gadraxion knew ye, then. An’ named ye. An’ he gave ye the keepin’ of a livin’ scion o’the Twilight dragons. When ye bound yourselves tae them both, yer breath blew threw more minds than ye knew.”

The eredar shook her head, leaning an elbow on an empty armor stand and watching as he fired the furnace with the power of the wind elemental that lingered mindlessly at its side. “That was merely…” 

But she trailed off, uncertain. Merely what? Not fate, for she was no more interested in being a slave to that particular master than Raeisley was. But recalling those hours in the Highlands, delirious with power and feeling out-of-control, she had no other label for the strange certainties that had guided her to a beautiful little egg and a cavern full of desperate people who’d needed protecting.

Lamely, she switched tacts and just grumbled, “None of you know what I will do.”

That earned her a more robust laugh, the pale-skinned little man leaning down close to the red-hot coals. Heat never bothered the Wildhammer one bit, even when she could see his ruddy mustache hairs singeing. It was yet another trait among many that made him a valuable asset as their blacksmith.

“Och, me Blessed Cap’n, maybe that’s so. But we believe. An’ that’d be why they call it faith.”  

The word was impossible to escape. 

Vasedra frowned slightly, glancing beyond the forge to the beach and the ocean. The early afternoon sun sparkled off the clear waters, leaving a glimmering trail all the way to the dark silhouette of the distant Val’sharah coast. The ancient forests of the druids' homeland made the horizon as ragged as her discomfort and served to remind her of her purpose.

“New topic,” she sighed, folding her arms across her chest.

He smirked, green eyes dyed red by the forge’s light while he fed crucibles into its mouth. “Aye, then. Tae business. Seen the way ye keep eyein’ the druid forests, I have. Ye’ll be wantin’ tae know if we’re ready tae defend in case o’attack.”

The eredar turned to face him, straightening. “Correct. How many armaments have you been able to make with the ingots of voidsteel the geomancers have summoned for you?” Her black eyes fell to the crate of metal. 

Brennigan didn’t mince words. “Not nearly enough, lass. ‘Tis goin’ tae take time tae arm an’ armor them. Ye cannae rush these things.”

“Perhaps,” she huffed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “But as these fools keep drifting in from the cove outside of Bradensbrook, the town is going to notice. And that means so will the druids. It isn’t a matter of if, but when.”

“Mm.” He shrugged, glancing up at her. “Sure an’ that’s true, but dinnae ye underestimate the Thornbound Rose. We o’ the many branches o’ the Cult o’ Twilight been fightin’ the world for our beliefs for generations, mi’lass. An’ yer Rose be callin’ all the best remnants o’ the cult. Arms or nae, we willnae fail ye.”

“Faith doesn’t save one from a blade through the heart, Brennigan.” Sedra rubbed at the spot over her chest where her breastplate hid a single, puckered scar. “We need weapons and warriors for that. Do what you can. Recruit more apprentices and be sure that Erork is screening for those who come with some smithing skill you can develop.”

“Aye,” the bald dwarf acknowledged, waving a calloused hand in her general direction while he perused his pegs of tools. “Ye can count on me tae see to it. Whispers guide ye, Cap’n.”

Sedra knew a dismissal when she received one, especially one done so much in her own style and with the air of an artist at their work. She turned back to the path, worry driving her thoughts to reach automatically for the warriors she already had, the demons laboring each in their own way around the island, their presence among the whispers in her head an odd sort of comfort. Her original crew. The most manageable one. Small and (arguably) loyal and (usually) obedient. The five of them were hers for completely different reasons than the cult, and yet somehow they all seemed to fit together like they belonged. Like they’d been given to her to take their intended places in all this chaos.

“It’s not fate,” Vasedra growled under her breath, this time successfully talking to no one but herself. It didn’t manage to make the words any more reassuring. 

The sound of her steps transitioned from pebbled path to murmuring grass and finally to the scritching shush of the beach, and soon the void knight stood with hands on hips, watching her teacher etch away at a soft stone tablet with a sharpened stylus. 

Raeisley worked lounging on a hammock strung between two spires of twisted obsidian, her hooves crossed at the ankle and her layered blue robe draped artfully along her legs and hocks. Her burgundy hair was pulled high on the back of her head in a puffed bun that hid its natural curl and showed off the pretty ornament that caught it in metal loops and draped chains. Beside her, a young void elf held a vivid, pink drink in a frost-dusted glass while lovely, insane Maya stood beside him and raised a palm leaf as proof against the sun. 

“You look almost studious, ‘priestess’,” Sedra greeted, smirking slightly as her gaze raked her teacher’s form.

“Silent fervor and hostage tongues,” Raeisley answered, her mein cool and controlled. In sight of the others, she was never less than fully dedicated to her role: High Priestess of the Children of the Thornbound Rose and the Siren whose voice focused and guided the Breath. She barely glanced up, continuing her work while her sharp writing tool glowed where it touched the tablet.  

“I’m crafting a sermon and a new ritual.” The symbols multiplied beneath her hand for a few more seconds before the blue mage finished whatever thought she was on and paused to click her tongue. Vigilant, her acolyte held her refreshment out, perfectly positioned for a dainty sip.

“Taste and describe,” the eredar ordered, looking up at Vasedra. “It'll be instrumental on the morrow.”

“Your drink?” The void knight stepped closer and held out her hand. “If you wish. What is it?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, accepting the young devotee’s crucial role as drink-handler and letting him take the glass from Raeisley and pass it to her. Vasedra barely managed not to roll her eyes, hiding the temptation behind a gulp of the colorful beverage.

The other woman squinted and gestured toward a particular section of shoreline across the wide channel. “Thy means to provide succor to the weary flock. Borne for rite by thine faithful from the shore.” She listed the ingredients one finger at a time. “Fruit of passion, decay-bound ginger and rarity-in-respite, boon and pleasure me provide, a splinter of Goldenthorn.”

After a brief pause, Raeisley chuckled softly. “Minus the boon for this glass.”

Vasedra blinked for a moment and then hid her chagrin by making a show of wiping excess from the corners of her lips. She knew the blue mage’s favorite narcotic, Goldenthorn, very well. 

“Ah. It’s… very sweet. I’m sure the flock will find its combination of flavors… intoxicating.”

The look the void knight settled on her teacher’s lounging form held questions, and she jutted her horns back at the mottled green and white walls of the upright warship that stood as a tower at the top of the hill. “I’m tired. I’d like to discuss a few matters with you in private before I sleep.”

“Tired or restless? The tide brings dark sensation on fleeting memories. Regardless, thine consort is thee and complies. Does craving tempt thou? We shan't deny further. Maya.” 

Raeisley handed the tablet and stylus to her acolyte, and the nightborne threw the large leaf over her shoulder with a little giggle in order to accept them. When her elvish devotee had helped her down, she turned to Sedra with the cool poise of a queen, revealing no hint of the spunky party girl her student sometimes knew her to be.  Similarly, she neither took the void knight’s arm nor hovered too close when they both turned to walk away, staying one step behind with her hands clasped, palm over palm, in front of her. Appearances.

Sedra contained her frown, wishing for a brief, futile moment that everything could return to the way it had been six months ago, that everything could be simpler. A small crew of untrustworthy demons and a wrecked warship. A friend and a pair of adopted felpups. An insane, enigmatic teacher who spent more time sassing and teasing her than anything else and never, ever respected her personal space. A life scheduled around ship repairs and lessons on a power she’d never wanted but swore to learn to control. Visits to Ad—

The eredar sliced that line of thought before it could stab her and shook her head, forcing herself to stare up at the Soul Cleaver tower ahead of them and shove away any longing for a time that had already fallen into decay. What she wanted didn’t matter. The dream within the nightmare tumbled into place more and more with each passing moment, and there was no point in looking backward. Or wishing for what was gone. Or who.

“Tired,” the void knight sighed, her shoulders rounding. “I’m simply tired. And we need to talk about the threat of Val’sharah.”

“Then thine rest shall be my duty, thou burden be mine to rest upon the bosom of eternity. Allow me to provide relief; as silt sifts water, I shall be thine sieve,” came the staid answer. She glanced back, but could read nothing through her teacher's cool mask.

“Of course,” Vasedra muttered, crunching up the path to their new home, her priestess in her shadow and her people all around her. “I rely on you, Raeisley.”