Wings of Destruction and Duty

15.2 || Orion

Warning: There is some gore and implied violence within this chapter. Please do skip it if you want!

As the three of them stood in bewildered silence, Orion began to make out the sound of tired braying. One look at Romril's wide eyes and Orion began to worry. With such a surly attitude, Romril didn't seem like the sort of person to frighten easily.

Romril motioned for them to stop before turning to Laurel and mouthing something. To Orion, he only glowered and uttered a sharp command not to do anything stupid. Then he scrambled down the slope, sword in hand, leaving Laurel and Orion to tend to their worries on their own.

"What?" Orion tried to smile when he noticed Laurel staring at him. "I haven't had the chance to do anything stupid today."

"That's not why I was looking at you. It's ah...nevermind." Laurel waved him off just as a loud shout rang out through the air. Their heads snapped up and they spun towards the direction of Romril's shout. But as they turned, Orion frowned and pointed towards the charred tree before them.

"Wasn't this behind us?"

Laurel paused, then shook her head and pulled him down the hill towards the thicket that, moments ago, swallowed Romril up. Orion trailed behind, stumbling with every step. An acidic tang had begun to coat the back of his throat, and with every step, he became increasingly more aware of a strange ringing. Like the bells of a city temple, it chimed relentlessly in his head.

"Laurel, I really don't think I can run for any longer." He gasped for breath and struggled to push past the cold marching up his legs. They wove quickly between cloistered trees, making sure to duck far from their grasping roots and clawed branches.

Then all words were lost when Orion's eye fell upon Romril and his catch. The elf was doubled over, gagging loudly behind a scarlet tree. His silvered sword lay forgotten beside him. Twigs lay in neat concentric circles around the hidden clearing, some of them glimmered, while others oozed a disturbingly lumpy liquid.

But worst of all, was the carcass.

Warped beyond belief, it took Orion a few moments to realise it was supposed to be a young buck. Wounded, halved and with most of its organs discoloured or in the wrong areas, it shuddered menacingly in the middle of all the chaos. Purple pus, or blood, dripped freely from the lacerations marring it's proud form. But the forest floor surrounding it was clean and free of anger that reigned freely in the clearing.

Laurel whimpered, stumbled and then moved to duck behind Orion. They gazed at Romril huddled across the clearing, he only shook his head. Orion was surprised, and a little relieved to see remorse clouding his face. Perhaps, Romril did have a heart.

He found himself pulled by a force he could not explain, like the Robin, the thread of connection thrummed with a life fresh with fear. He stood mesmerised by the swirl of purple mist around the buck. Then his gaze landed on the buck's shoulders and his heart sank.  There between its shoulder blades lay a single bloodied blade. Orion quickly recognized it as the one Romril always strapped to his boot. The elves had always respected the Gods chosen order, and even the Dilid, with all their pride, did not dare to stray far from the path of nature.

And it was this perversion that horrified the elves before him. A buck without half a skull was strange enough. But antlers that curved careless towards the ground before rising to gouge an eye was appalling.

The buck, bleary eyed with pain, rose. It moaned and squirmed to get closer to the child before him. Then it released a final plea into the air before collapsing onto its knees. Where was the power that had once created, guided and soothed him? It waited for the familiar flash of violet, it sensed the magic wavering in the air.