Almarra - Icistila - 2

Icistila awoke to a sound she was not familiar to: a soft rustling that came from where she left her weaponry. She sat up slowly and quietly, focusing her eyes into the dimmed light of the cave. A figure emerged in her field of view – it looked nothing like the animals that often drifted into her cave, although only the bears and wolves would wander inside.

The figure was squatting on two hind legs, grasping around her things with two arms. It was small – Icistila figured about five or six feet, although hard to tell in the dark – and had long black hair that prevented any view of it's face from behind. It appeared to be wearing clothes, but the hair blocked the view of that as well.

Icistila attempted to rise silently, but a minor rustle caused the figure to freeze. It stood up and looked back at her, and Icistila now saw a pair of dark, violet eyes staring back at her in fear. It was young – the lack of wrinkling and tightness on the skin told of this – but there was something in it's eyes that spoke of magic.

For her part, Icistila made very little movements, mirroring the creature's posture as best as possible. The young thing started looking around the cave, searching for an exit. It's eyes fell upon the small alcove that lead to the sealed chambers, although it couldn't possibly have realized what exactly was down there if it thought this was an escape route.

The next minute happened all at once – the thing moved it's hands, summoning some sort of fog that shrouded the cavern floor. Icistila began to move, realizing that the creature had chosen to hightail it. A clawing and scratching told her that the creature could not get the doors open, so she took her time in moving through the dense, shadowy fog. Finally, she stood above the creature, although it kept pulling at the rope knob and attempting to pull the door free. After a minute, it gave up and fell backwards, landing at Icistila's feet. It turned it's head upward, meeting her eyes, then backed up and slid against the doorframe.

Icistila had seen this look before – young animals of all kinds would adopt a defensive stance that spoke of desperation when in complete fear of something greater. As the fog cleared, the creature realized that Icistila stood several feet taller and blocked it's only means of escape.

The creature opened it's mouth and began to cry, speaking a strange tongue. Icistila was taken aback by this – the only things that spoke where her and the birds in the early morning, and she had long ago tuned out these voices. This creature, however, spoke a voice that was, at times, musical and at others, dissonant. She couldn't help but focus on the shifting pitches, the variable volumes that emerged from beginning to end, the flowerly tone that had permeated the sound. It was almost intoxicating, in a way.

Finally, the creature had shut up, staring at her in absolute torment. Then, Icistila turned around and walked over to the pile that the creature had been shuffling through – it had been fiddling with her crossbow and daggers, as well as going through her dried rations. Icistila brushed away implement after implement, before coming across a large crystal that appeared similar to the mana crystals that lined the walls. Icistila tapped the crystal, as a small spark lept from it's surface and connected to her fingertips. Satisfied, she walked back to the alcove – luckily, the creature wasn't very bright, as it had begun soiling itself once she emerged with the crystal.

Icistila held the crystal to the creature, who tried backing even farther into the cavern walls. Icistila frowned, before raising a hand to the terrified thing. It watched her make a motion that she hoped it would understand – touch, speak, hear. The creature looked at her hand, then at the crystal again.

Icistila spoke, startling the thing. “Little abomination, the device will hear you, so speak.”

Something in the creature shifted, as it stared at her face when these words met it. It looked at the crystal again, searching it for answers to unknown questions. Only a faint shimmer of the intense energy that lay inside the crystal answered it.

The creature spoke and a small gust of wind flew from it's mouth, catching the bizarre words, and surrounded the gem in Icistila's hands. It pulsed, before letting loose a soft wave of air that resembled a voice to Icistila's ears. “Please.”

Icistila heard the voice, so soft and distant, and looked down at the crystal. “I-I am sorry...” The voice repeated this twice, though the tone was nothing like the sweet sound she heard emerge from the creature. She held the crystal to her mouth, and spoke. “I am the guardian of this cavern, tiny being. Leave.”

The wind's repeated the process, and soon the creature's eyes and ears perked up at the sound of the translated voice leaving the crystal. Suddenly, with renewed vigor, it began to rapidly speak it's strange, flowerly sounds.

The voices hit her all at once:

“I-I apologize! I had no knowledge, I-I am sorry!”

“The greater man told me to take item from danger place!”

“I did not intend to upset the giant!”

Icistila's ears perked up, and she held up a hand that silenced the creature immediately. She spoke into the stone, “The giant? What is this one you call 'giant'?”

The creature received the message and looked confused, then apologetic. “A-ah, it is my blunder! I did not mean to call this one the rude name!”

Icistila motioned for silence again. “No apologies. What is this one you call, 'the giant'?”

The creature tried not to meet her gaze, avoiding it like one avoids the gristle on a fried steak. Icistila's gaze bore fruit, however, as it finally turned and spoke. “The people of the village speak of the giant... the one who lives deep in the forest land and is the last of the Namdu tribe.”

A sudden chill in Icistila's veins arose, and she spoke without hesitation. “Last?! Last of Namdu?!”

The creature retreated behind it's forelegs, bracing for an attack, as it cried. “Namdu! Yes, last! No more!”

Icistila caught herself. Namdu? Who are the Namdu? Why do I care?

Suddenly, a distant memory returned to her, almost like a flash of inspiration. Namdu. Her people. Her. Long ago.

Icistila found herself crying, though she couldn't fathom why or how. All she knew was a deep sadness – assuming that was the emotion - soon embedded itself into her heart. Another memory, one she had long forgotten to the passage of time.

A pain in her arm told her she had been clenching the crystal hard enough to make her bleed. She released the hold and looked to the creature again. “You. Abomination. You are?”

The creature looked confused. “I am?”

Icistila nodded.

It spoke, but the word did not translate properly. She assumed it wasn't a noun, but a name. “Marin”.

Icistila nodded at the name. “What creature are you?”

Marin looked confused for a second, before speaking. “I-I am hew men.”

The word meant nothing to Icistila. “What is 'hew-men'?”

Marin pointed at herself, before realizing that the answer would not suffice. A minute passed as she thought of a response, before settling on something. “Ancient name, Lalamolan?”

The name triggered a memory of a people – small, walking creatures that resembled miniature Namdu, always tribalistic and territorial. Icistila began to peace it together – the Lalamolan were these, a species known as the Hewmen. Possibly, while she slept and lived away from the world, the Hewmen outlived the Namdu.

Finally, the Hewman known as Marin relaxed slightly, assured that Icistila would not kill it. More questions and answers followed as the day grew long – according to the Hewman, Marin was a young magician (“a source or rare”, as the translation placed it) who, alongside their master, began some form of magic study near the forest where Siuma's cave dwelled. Marin was asked by the “greater man” of the village they had stayed in to go deep in the forest and search for some form of magic item, as the land around Siuma's cave had become a forbidden area for non-magic using Hewmen.

“All of village did not know Namdu was still alive. Only child story, very young.” Marin shuddered. “Story spoke of giant who stood ground over ancient grave. Namdu vanish, story became legend. People forget.”

Icistila listened, thinking of the ages that had gone by. All that time, guarding the creature in the cavern. Days and nights passed in a blur, seasons changed endlessly, prey and predator slaughtered and born. Over time, the feeling of time seemed to disappear for her.

Icistila spoke. “How long has this village been there?”

Marin heard her words. “Outside, people speak of many stars passing. Thousands?”

The number entered her ears and Icistila soon felt an unimaginable weight upon her that seemed to have always been there – the weight of aeons, of years gone by.

Icistila spoke, trying to ignore the discomfort. “Is there others? Vordraci? Shiyavar? Tautemah?”

The names seemed to speak to Marin. “Vordraci, called Vordric.” The other two seemed to concern her slightly. “Shiyavar, demon. And the last, Tautem, very little in land of Nuss.”

So the Nussan still linger, as well, Icistila thought. The image of the Nussan, with their short, stubby frames, appeared in her head, and the thought brought a chuckle to her lips. She turned her her head to the cavern entrance – and realized that the sun had gone down, so late it had become.

Marin noticed this as well. “Night. Master wants me to return.”

Icistila turned to her, and realized that a unique problem presented itself to her. This one, Marin, now knows that Icistila, a Namdu, is alive and well and guards a cave in this specific forest. However, a voice in the back of her head, speaking in a tone that betrayed a firm command, relayed a single message to her:

No one is allowed to remember this tomb and what lies here.

Almarra - Icistila - 1

She awoke to the rumbling of the caverns, as bats flew above her in an attempt to escape to safer nests. Loose stones, knocked free by unfortunate creatures, fell near her pillows, sending out a cacophony that shook her awake completely. One stone even smacked into her nearby suit. Sitting up in her straw bed, Icistila stretched her arms and back, feeling relief at every pop and snap. Taking a minute to look over her skin, as discolored from mana as it was, she rose from her bed and began her day.

Of course, she began by bathing in the underground spring, spending what felt like an hour scrubbing and rinsing and washing in the eternally warm water. Then came the armor polishing – oiling down the pauldrons, re-stitching the latches, hammering out dents, and every little thing in between. Weapon sharpening and re-forging, arrow fastening, wrapping torches, all sorts of menial tasks that were important, but had long lost any real sense of urgency for her. She had time to think, but all the thoughts had been thought of long ago, when she had first adopted the routine. Icistila has had time to think, to think of things she had thought of, to forget, to think of what she's forgotten, and everything in between.

She spoke to herself. Constantly. Soon enough, she found she was not very good at starting or continuing conversations, but it was alright, as her conversations never went too long and tended to stay within her intellectual range. If anyone else had heard her during these moments, they'd have thought her mad – and they would be quite correct and incorrect. Icistila had gone mad ages ago, then contemplated sanity and found the whole thing quite ridiculous. So now, she just never thinks anymore. To hear herself say it, “it solves so many problems”. Of course, no one ever heard her say it.

Finally, as the first part of her day finished in record time – she made sure to keep track of that – Icistila suited herself up, took hold of her crossbow and dagger, and made for the mouth of the cave she called home. The craggy steps had long ago been worn to a smooth finish by her constant movement, allowing her easy purchase as she moved.

The light of the sun barely penetrated this deeply into the unnamed and unknown forest that Icistila knew. Shadows of leaves created a canopy of dark that she had long ago learned to navigate cleanly. In this dark, small creatures fluttered about, ignorant of a woman who long ago had become a part of the forest. The leaves cracked underneath her boot, and soon, the rustling of the forest floor began as Icistila began her hunt.

A doe here, a squirrel there, and soon, Icistila had collected herself a week's worth of rations – two, if it was salted and dried correctly. Once the carcasses were skinned and the meat properly prepared, she began eating in silence, as she has done so for centuries before.

The meal finally finished, she washed up again. She gathered more of her bolts and adjusted her gauntlets, as now the second part of her day began – the more important bit, she felt, since it was the only thing she kept getting up for anymore. Deep in her cavern, below the area she reserved for bathing, lay a stone door, carved long ago by a person she doesn't remember anymore. Moving through the door, she was now in a passage that continued deep into the earth, almost as if it was a dungeon that was built into the land's crust. Originally, she would take a torch along for this, but after treading this path for countless years, the dark held no more dangers for her. Honestly, the dark felt more inviting, as she could always imagine tiling or other such furnishing along the walls, instead of the same boring bedrock that has always been there.

The passage emptied into another cavern, this one lit with an ominous cyan glow via the shards of concentrated mana that had jutted from the bedrock long ago. Here and there, an infused insect would slither or scurry, crossing the rocks with ease in-between Icistila's steps. A larger door, one fit for some ancient evil or a mystic tomb, lay at the bottom of this chamber, with many symbols written across it. Icistila forgot what the language was, but she did remember that every single symbol meant something to the effect of “bind”, “banish”, “seal”, and everything to that effect. Next to the nearly twenty-foot tall door was a smaller door frame that Icistila had accommodated for her own personal use, complete with a rope pull and the door and frame cleanly carved out of each other.

Behind both these doors was Icistila's reason for a legacy of solitiude: a massive chamber, reaching into an endless abyss that even Icistila had never found the end of – not for lack of trying, either. In this abyss, however, was something more important: a terrible dragon, of enormous size and stature. It's scales were a violent red and purple, it's eyes hummed with an orange glow that bespoke terrible strength, and it commanded jaws and claws that were possibly sharper than even steel.

This dragon, great as it was, turned it's eyes to her. Long ago, she was afraid, almost hesitant to even enter the room. Today, however, the dragon's claw had swollen slightly from a lodged stone, and she was the only living being within miles that could sort out this sordid business.

With a dagger in her hand, she waved at the dragon, who growled in acknowledgment as it placed it's swollen claw on the ground. A shudder echoed through the room, but Icistila ignored it, as she began scanning the hand. Finding the growth, she felt around the scales of the beast, before her hand came across a stalagmite that had lodged itself into the creature's hand one day. With great strength, she thrust the dagger in the claw, holding on as the dragon groaned with pain before steeling itself for the next part. She cut deeply, slowly pushing the stone out as she sliced the rim of the wound open. 

Finally, the stone slipped out of her grasp and out of the dragon's arm, crashing into pebbles upon the chamber floor. Blood trailed past it, leaking out of the sordid wound.

The dragon let out a sigh of relief, before caressing the wound with it's free hand. Icistila dropped to the floor, composing herself and cleaning the blood of her dagger. She barely had time to react before the dragon nuzzled it's snout into her back, leaving snot and vapor on her.

Icistila sighed. “You need to stop stretching your arm in that direction, Siuma.” She wiped the snot off her reddish hair. “There's too many sharp ones in that area.”

Siuma growled, before it roared in agreement – or what Icistila had thought was agreement, as she had long ago given up trying to read it's expressions. It held it's injured hand out for Icistila, as the girl took a small balm out of her pouch and tended to the bleeding area.

An hour of treatment had passed in silence. No more words were said, as Icistila had long ran out of things to say and Siuma could not speak. Soon, she left the chamber, traveling back through the corridors, until she finally arrived in the bathing center of her cavern.

Another bath later, Icistila searched beneath a small pile of leather and hide clothing for something, before giving up and tearing a piece of paper from a book that someone long ago had given her. With a quill, she began writing another entry of a journal that she had no idea how many volumes she lost. The writing continued, even though she barely wrote much other than the events of the day. Finally, she threw the implements aside, and laid on the hide covering of her straw bed, waiting for sleep to take her away again. Soon enough, yet another day of guarding the accursed dragon came to an end.