I really shouldn’t have offered to help, but I felt this Void-touched is something I need to see. I have my suspicions of what it might be, especially as it appeared after the Void fog left.
I fly low through the series of silos and warehouses. The albanics said the creature should be in the area. They spotted it a few times, but the townsfolk have been too wary to approach. Considering how quickly they were to slap a title of divine messenger on me, I’m not putting any confidence in the fearful descriptors of the being. For all I trust these people’s judgement, the creature might be a wild dog or something.
Wary as I am of these albanics, I turn to watch them poking their heads over their makeshift barricade. Constructed of broken furniture and miscellaneous scrap, I doubt the short wall could stop anything they couldn’t fight off themselves.
I should probably be annoyed that they are willing to let me go, yet don’t take a step out themselves. They are quick to risk my life while they cower where they think it’s safe. But if anything, I’m relieved. They couldn’t do anything to me if they tried, but I still prefer not to have them following me.
The first sight that there is something here that might be a bit stronger than a mangy wild dog is the hole in the wall of the grain silo below. The lack of damage in this part of town makes it stand out.
I fly closer, careful of anything that might jump out at me. My caution is for nought as the silo is empty. A thin carpet of grain litters the ground both inside and surrounding the silo.
A crash echoes through the deserted area. I regain height and glide toward the noise. It’s not long before I come across what looks like a normal albanic, if more filthy than I’ve ever seen. The albanic, a woman, is hunched over and tears into a barrel with vigour.
As I circle above, I notice she’s skin and bone. The ragged and torn clothes barely cling to her emaciated form. Rotten vegetables fall around her as she gorges on the contents of the barrel. Her arms continue to shove handfuls into her face.
I land on the branch of a tree behind the albanic. I thought I was quiet, but obviously not enough; she turns to me the moment my talons grasp the wood. The creature that locks eyes with me is anything but one of the albanic. Despite the similar hair and body, there is no way that face and chest could be from the same race.
The creature’s mouth nearly splits her head in half it is so wide. A fat tongue hangs between razor-sharp teeth. The most horrific part is that her chest is torn open, like her rib-cage was pulled apart as if they were a set of doors. Crushed paste of half digested vegetables mixed with a black substance pours out of the disgusting chest cavity.
There is no intelligence in her eyes. No comprehension of the pain she should feel. Only an insatiable hunger. Eyes filled with gluttony that judge whether I’m worth eating.
She turns back to the barrel before her, completely ignoring me. I guess she doesn’t think fire will taste too good. Wait, can she even comprehend what fire is? No, that doesn’t matter. What matters is I’ve found the Void-touched.
It’s hard to look at the woman as she continues to stuff food down her throat. Not only because the sight is quite gruesome, but the idea I could have become like this. This is what happens to someone that doesn’t focus their psyche when the hooks of the Void Fog change you. I can’t pretend this creature is anything else. I can tell just by looking.
The Fog twisted any sentience away from her when it tore her open, looking for her strongest desire. The more I think about it, the more sad her situation must have been. Her scarily skinny body, her unending hunger, and even the changes to her mouth. She must have been starving before her changes, hunger being the desire the Void Fog latched onto.
If I had to guess, the changes made to her didn’t include this tear in her torso. No. After the Fog had its way with her, she was left with such intense cravings that she tore her own chest open with the amount she consumed.
I can’t help but picture myself in a similar position had I not known to focus my mind, to tie my thoughts together. I really owe that giant ursu a lot.
Time passes as I struggle to figure out what to do. The pity I hold for the former albanic stops me from just leaving, but I’m unsure of what I can do to help her. With the damage to her chest, I can’t imagine she’ll live for long. Actually, I’m surprised she’s still moving.
The moment she tries to eat the gruel that fell out of her own cavity is the moment I resolve myself. I can’t let her continue like this. It’s cruel.
My body morphs back to normal before I incinerate her body. She hardly reacts as her body burns away, simply continuing to gorge until her body simply doesn’t let her anymore.
Like the other creatures within the Void Fog, her body is filled to the brim with energy, but there is no pleasure in consuming it. She isn’t a soldier, nor has she done anything to deserve such a fate. Like myself and the other áed, she was brought into this without a say.
When nothing of her remains, I retake my falcon form and fly north again. As I fly over the heads of the albanics crowding the barricade, I can’t help but be frustrated by their actions. Or lack thereof. The Void-touched woman was in a pitiful state, but there was hardly much for them to fear. If they were courageous enough to approach her, they might have ended her suffering sooner.
I don’t talk to them again, not in the mood to humour their misunderstanding. They’ll have to find the courage to check the area themselves.
So I set my sights on the northern states, ready to find my friends. I kind of expected it, but there was nothing in the area to clue me to their presence. I’ll have to trust that they went the same way we initially agreed on.
The border between Zadok and Joiak is a rocky expanse littered with canyons, valleys, and not a touch of arable land for leagues. Traversal through this geography must be a nightmare. The only path between the countries winds back and forth so often I wouldn’t be surprised if one had to walk four times the distance I need to fly.
Have I mentioned how happy I am I can fly?
There is a surprising amount of contrast between the northern and southern borders of Zadok. Down south near New Vetus, there is an incredibly dense population and defences spanning the entire border. The north… lacks all of that. Villages are common enough in the countryside until the rocky valleys start, but from there all life peters out.
I don’t spot a single defensive fortification along the northern areas I pass. It’s rather odd. I guess they don’t expect any attacks from Joiak. Or, more likely, they are just petrified of an ursu invasion. Not that I can imagine the ursu being ready for any attack like that in the near future.
Eventually, I come across signs of life again. Albanics walk the path below with their pholos laden with supplies. Roadside buildings gradually appear, nothing more than traveller’s rests, yet enough to signal that I’m close to Joiak.
As I close in on the first city of the nation, doubts infiltrate my thoughts. What if they never made it here? What if they got stuck in Zadok? Will I even be able to find them if they are in the city before me?
The city itself is hugged by the walls of a canyon, buildings crowd the limited space. They might be anywhere in the thousands of structures, or maybe they’ve already moved on. There is no way to know.
People waiting for entry flood the dirt road leading to the gates of the city. I guess my friends and I aren’t the only ones wanting to get out of Zadok.
I fly back until I find a crevice in the rock out of sight and quickly change forms. I considered flying straight into the city, but the people at the front gate processing the arrivals are the most likely people to have seen my friends.
With a glance over my form, I realise I forgot to find new clothes while I was passing through Zadok. The ones I have are in shreds, but at least I can wrap myself in the ursu coat. I’ll have to find something more presentable in the city. Hopefully, they’ll have a way for me to earn it without gid. Money is annoying when you don’t have any.
Worst case, theft has always worked.
As I approach the queue before the gate, a few albanics cast curious glances towards me, but refrain from approaching. I’m controlling my form so flames aren’t visible, but I haven’t doused my hair in filth so the blue strands are apparent to any who look. To people of only white and shades of grey, I’m sure even that is odd.
I’m not about to hide what I am anymore, but if they can’t tell by my appearance, then that’s on them.
It took well over an hour before it was finally my turn to be led through. I follow a woman wearing a similar uniform to the guards in Zadok, but without the adorning weapons. She leaves her grey hair on open display, which leaves many of the crowd staring, obviously not used to the visage. I’m taken through an almost identical process to what I experienced when first entering Zadok, garnering at most a raised eyebrow when she asked about my race.
When she is done asking all her questions, I jump in to ask about my friends before she can run off to the next person to be processed.
“There’s been a lot come through since the Zadok Kingdom’s failed invasion. A surprising amount of high purity, too. There are many groups that match what you describe, so I can’t say definitively where they might be now.” The woman says, to my disappointment. “Though if they were struggling for gid when they arrived, your best bet is the worker’s association.”
It’s not assured, but at least I have something to go on now. After thanking the woman, I rush down the street and ask the first person I see where the association is.
Soon, I walk through the large open doors of the worker’s association, grateful that they remain open behind me and are one of many entrances left unblocked. The place is busy. Five albanics sit behind desks attending to the many people queuing before them.
Great, another waiting game. I just want to find them already and these interruptions are slowing me down. I complain and moan within my mind, but line up anyway. The stress that the doors might close at any moment has me checking behind myself repeatedly.
As I look around, I’m quick to notice that I’m not the only non-albanic waiting. In the line to my left is an odd lanky looking being. Its short round and headless torso is held above the heads of the surrounding albanics by six long, flexible limbs protruding from its sides.
I’m not the only one staring, either. It’s such an odd shape for a creature and its limbs move with a fluidity that suggests a lack of bones. The being approaches the counter and speaks to the lady behind the counter. His voice is obviously male, but he has a strange floaty speech pattern.
A cough snaps me back to the lady before me and I realise I’m at the front of the line and the woman before me is waiting expectantly. I step forward and try to pretend like I’m not embarrassed about being caught staring, but the raised edge of the woman’s mouth makes me doubt my success.
“Hi. Did you see a group of teenagers come here a few weeks ago? Two girls and three boys, two of them twins.”
“Friends of yours?” she asks. I nod and she flicks through the book before her. “What are their names?”
“Ash, Leslie, Kerry, and the twins are Demi and Medi.”
She takes a moment to turn the pages. “Ah, here we are. Hired by Mr. Marshall’s Textile Mill. They left for Valtin sixteen days ago.”
They were here? They were actually here!
“Where is Valtin?” I ask, almost bouncing on my toes.
“It’s four days’ travel. Take the northern city exit and follow the road west. Good luck finding them.”
I thank the woman and rush out of the building. It’s so relieving to hear they got out safely. I had refused the possibility that the Fog had grasped them, but now that I know they reached Joiak, it is a weight off my mind.
In my excitement, I almost morph into a falcon right there and then, disregarding all those around. Almost; I still need to get replacement clothes, then I can go reunite with my friends.
I hope they are being treated well by Mr Marshall.
I really shouldn’t have offered to help, but I felt this Void-touched is something I need to see. I have my suspicions of what it might be, especially as it appeared after the Void fog left.
I fly low through the series of silos and warehouses. The albanics said the creature should be in the area. They spotted it a few times, but the townsfolk have been too wary to approach. Considering how quickly they were to slap a title of divine messenger on me, I’m not putting any confidence in the fearful descriptors of the being. For all I trust these people’s judgement, the creature might be a wild dog or something.
Wary as I am of these albanics, I turn to watch them poking their heads over their makeshift barricade. Constructed of broken furniture and miscellaneous scrap, I doubt the short wall could stop anything they couldn’t fight off themselves.
I should probably be annoyed that they are willing to let me go, yet don’t take a step out themselves. They are quick to risk my life while they cower where they think it’s safe. But if anything, I’m relieved. They couldn’t do anything to me if they tried, but I still prefer not to have them following me.
The first sight that there is something here that might be a bit stronger than a mangy wild dog is the hole in the wall of the grain silo below. The lack of damage in this part of town makes it stand out.
I fly closer, careful of anything that might jump out at me. My caution is for nought as the silo is empty. A thin carpet of grain litters the ground both inside and surrounding the silo.
A crash echoes through the deserted area. I regain height and glide toward the noise. It’s not long before I come across what looks like a normal albanic, if more filthy than I’ve ever seen. The albanic, a woman, is hunched over and tears into a barrel with vigour.
As I circle above, I notice she’s skin and bone. The ragged and torn clothes barely cling to her emaciated form. Rotten vegetables fall around her as she gorges on the contents of the barrel. Her arms continue to shove handfuls into her face.
I land on the branch of a tree behind the albanic. I thought I was quiet, but obviously not enough; she turns to me the moment my talons grasp the wood. The creature that locks eyes with me is anything but one of the albanic. Despite the similar hair and body, there is no way that face and chest could be from the same race.
The creature’s mouth nearly splits her head in half it is so wide. A fat tongue hangs between razor-sharp teeth. The most horrific part is that her chest is torn open, like her rib-cage was pulled apart as if they were a set of doors. Crushed paste of half digested vegetables mixed with a black substance pours out of the disgusting chest cavity.
There is no intelligence in her eyes. No comprehension of the pain she should feel. Only an insatiable hunger. Eyes filled with gluttony that judge whether I’m worth eating.
She turns back to the barrel before her, completely ignoring me. I guess she doesn’t think fire will taste too good. Wait, can she even comprehend what fire is? No, that doesn’t matter. What matters is I’ve found the Void-touched.
It’s hard to look at the woman as she continues to stuff food down her throat. Not only because the sight is quite gruesome, but the idea I could have become like this. This is what happens to someone that doesn’t focus their psyche when the hooks of the Void Fog change you. I can’t pretend this creature is anything else. I can tell just by looking.
The Fog twisted any sentience away from her when it tore her open, looking for her strongest desire. The more I think about it, the more sad her situation must have been. Her scarily skinny body, her unending hunger, and even the changes to her mouth. She must have been starving before her changes, hunger being the desire the Void Fog latched onto.
If I had to guess, the changes made to her didn’t include this tear in her torso. No. After the Fog had its way with her, she was left with such intense cravings that she tore her own chest open with the amount she consumed.
I can’t help but picture myself in a similar position had I not known to focus my mind, to tie my thoughts together. I really owe that giant ursu a lot.
Time passes as I struggle to figure out what to do. The pity I hold for the former albanic stops me from just leaving, but I’m unsure of what I can do to help her. With the damage to her chest, I can’t imagine she’ll live for long. Actually, I’m surprised she’s still moving.
The moment she tries to eat the gruel that fell out of her own cavity is the moment I resolve myself. I can’t let her continue like this. It’s cruel.
My body morphs back to normal before I incinerate her body. She hardly reacts as her body burns away, simply continuing to gorge until her body simply doesn’t let her anymore.
Like the other creatures within the Void Fog, her body is filled to the brim with energy, but there is no pleasure in consuming it. She isn’t a soldier, nor has she done anything to deserve such a fate. Like myself and the other áed, she was brought into this without a say.
When nothing of her remains, I retake my falcon form and fly north again. As I fly over the heads of the albanics crowding the barricade, I can’t help but be frustrated by their actions. Or lack thereof. The Void-touched woman was in a pitiful state, but there was hardly much for them to fear. If they were courageous enough to approach her, they might have ended her suffering sooner.
I don’t talk to them again, not in the mood to humour their misunderstanding. They’ll have to find the courage to check the area themselves.
So I set my sights on the northern states, ready to find my friends. I kind of expected it, but there was nothing in the area to clue me to their presence. I’ll have to trust that they went the same way we initially agreed on.
The border between Zadok and Joiak is a rocky expanse littered with canyons, valleys, and not a touch of arable land for leagues. Traversal through this geography must be a nightmare. The only path between the countries winds back and forth so often I wouldn’t be surprised if one had to walk four times the distance I need to fly.
Have I mentioned how happy I am I can fly?
There is a surprising amount of contrast between the northern and southern borders of Zadok. Down south near New Vetus, there is an incredibly dense population and defences spanning the entire border. The north… lacks all of that. Villages are common enough in the countryside until the rocky valleys start, but from there all life peters out.
I don’t spot a single defensive fortification along the northern areas I pass. It’s rather odd. I guess they don’t expect any attacks from Joiak. Or, more likely, they are just petrified of an ursu invasion. Not that I can imagine the ursu being ready for any attack like that in the near future.
Eventually, I come across signs of life again. Albanics walk the path below with their pholos laden with supplies. Roadside buildings gradually appear, nothing more than traveller’s rests, yet enough to signal that I’m close to Joiak.
As I close in on the first city of the nation, doubts infiltrate my thoughts. What if they never made it here? What if they got stuck in Zadok? Will I even be able to find them if they are in the city before me?
The city itself is hugged by the walls of a canyon, buildings crowd the limited space. They might be anywhere in the thousands of structures, or maybe they’ve already moved on. There is no way to know.
People waiting for entry flood the dirt road leading to the gates of the city. I guess my friends and I aren’t the only ones wanting to get out of Zadok.
I fly back until I find a crevice in the rock out of sight and quickly change forms. I considered flying straight into the city, but the people at the front gate processing the arrivals are the most likely people to have seen my friends.
With a glance over my form, I realise I forgot to find new clothes while I was passing through Zadok. The ones I have are in shreds, but at least I can wrap myself in the ursu coat. I’ll have to find something more presentable in the city. Hopefully, they’ll have a way for me to earn it without gid. Money is annoying when you don’t have any.
Worst case, theft has always worked.
As I approach the queue before the gate, a few albanics cast curious glances towards me, but refrain from approaching. I’m controlling my form so flames aren’t visible, but I haven’t doused my hair in filth so the blue strands are apparent to any who look. To people of only white and shades of grey, I’m sure even that is odd.
I’m not about to hide what I am anymore, but if they can’t tell by my appearance, then that’s on them.
It took well over an hour before it was finally my turn to be led through. I follow a woman wearing a similar uniform to the guards in Zadok, but without the adorning weapons. She leaves her grey hair on open display, which leaves many of the crowd staring, obviously not used to the visage. I’m taken through an almost identical process to what I experienced when first entering Zadok, garnering at most a raised eyebrow when she asked about my race.
When she is done asking all her questions, I jump in to ask about my friends before she can run off to the next person to be processed.
“There’s been a lot come through since the Zadok Kingdom’s failed invasion. A surprising amount of high purity, too. There are many groups that match what you describe, so I can’t say definitively where they might be now.” The woman says, to my disappointment. “Though if they were struggling for gid when they arrived, your best bet is the worker’s association.”
It’s not assured, but at least I have something to go on now. After thanking the woman, I rush down the street and ask the first person I see where the association is.
Soon, I walk through the large open doors of the worker’s association, grateful that they remain open behind me and are one of many entrances left unblocked. The place is busy. Five albanics sit behind desks attending to the many people queuing before them.
Great, another waiting game. I just want to find them already and these interruptions are slowing me down. I complain and moan within my mind, but line up anyway. The stress that the doors might close at any moment has me checking behind myself repeatedly.
As I look around, I’m quick to notice that I’m not the only non-albanic waiting. In the line to my left is an odd lanky looking being. Its short round and headless torso is held above the heads of the surrounding albanics by six long, flexible limbs protruding from its sides.
I’m not the only one staring, either. It’s such an odd shape for a creature and its limbs move with a fluidity that suggests a lack of bones. The being approaches the counter and speaks to the lady behind the counter. His voice is obviously male, but he has a strange floaty speech pattern.
A cough snaps me back to the lady before me and I realise I’m at the front of the line and the woman before me is waiting expectantly. I step forward and try to pretend like I’m not embarrassed about being caught staring, but the raised edge of the woman’s mouth makes me doubt my success.
“Hi. Did you see a group of teenagers come here a few weeks ago? Two girls and three boys, two of them twins.”
“Friends of yours?” she asks. I nod and she flicks through the book before her. “What are their names?”
“Ash, Leslie, Kerry, and the twins are Demi and Medi.”
She takes a moment to turn the pages. “Ah, here we are. Hired by Mr. Marshall’s Textile Mill. They left for Valtin sixteen days ago.”
They were here? They were actually here!
“Where is Valtin?” I ask, almost bouncing on my toes.
“It’s four days’ travel. Take the northern city exit and follow the road west. Good luck finding them.”
I thank the woman and rush out of the building. It’s so relieving to hear they got out safely. I had refused the possibility that the Fog had grasped them, but now that I know they reached Joiak, it is a weight off my mind.
In my excitement, I almost morph into a falcon right there and then, disregarding all those around. Almost; I still need to get replacement clothes, then I can go reunite with my friends.
I hope they are being treated well by Mr Marshall.
