The Disjointed Tales Of Renryre Island

16-1: Dead Girl's Crater

The wind battered Cedwyck with the heavy rain and mud kicked up in the storm. With every passing moment the ground grew softer and more hazardous. He fought viciously against the sinking desert sand, clawing desperately for purchase as it dragged him ever deeper.

Blinded by impenetrable sheets of rain, and deafened by incessant thunder, he struggled with all his strength to survive an onslaught powerful enough to subdue a god.

"Irikhart!" he shouted, but not even he could hear his voice against the storm.

Weakening, he felt the desert begin in earnest to drag him beneath the volatile sands, a futile battle already lost. His strength failed with his surrender, and the mud swallowed him, his face passing beneath the surface as he held onto his last breath.

It felt as if he was floating, sailing through the heavens on a home-made concoction of exotic herbs. He gazed up at the stars, restlessly wandering through the skies. He saw one in particular that stood out, that shone bright against the faded sky. Irikhart, god of fools, high above, watching over him.

A hand clenched tight around his wrist, and pulled him up with god-like strength. His face burst through the surface of the swirling mud bath, and in his clouded vision he saw a figure, strong and powerful before him.

"Irikhart," he yelled. "You have saved me!"

As the rain pounded against his face his vision momentarily cleared, and he saw the figure's mouth moving, inches away from his face. He couldn't hear the words, just the panic woven deep within. He focused on the figure, and saw it was not Irikhart, but the acolyte that gripped his arm.

Cedwyck clawed desperately as he realised they were both sinking beneath the mud, grabbing onto the acolyte's shoulders, and pulling himself from the savage desert. With his last strength, he lifted himself higher out of the greedy sand, putting his full weight on the acolyte. He saw the desperation grow in the man's eyes as the mud swallowed his ears. Cedwyck managed to lift his knee clear, and planted it on the acolyte's chest, raising himself well above the turmoil.

He felt hands gripping frantically at his legs as he lost sight of the man, but their strength soon failed, and the old druid kept himself high enough to breathe, having found something solid to stand on beneath the dirt.

As quickly as the violent thunderstorm had hit, a burning hot sandstorm crashed into him from the side. He squirmed against the vicious bites of the desert sands whipping against him, his arms clenched tight around his head as the ground soon dried below him. Ripping his legs from the cracking desert, he rolled over and kept his face low.

Coughing up sand and trying to clear his eyes, Cedwyck became aware of the commotion around him as the winds died down. He remembered that he wasn't alone, wasn't the only one to get caught in the storm.

Vague figures materialised in the settling dust, but his ears were ringing, and he could barely hear anything at all. He stood slowly, trying to gather his thoughts and his wits. And that's when he saw her. The demon-goddess herself, in all her beauty, standing right before him as real as his own hand that groped desperately at the air before him.

"Lytette?" he croaked, his voice not yet recovered. "Is it really you? In the flesh?"

She smiled the sweetest of smiles as she greeted him. Time stilled as he began his approach, oblivious to the events that had transpired, ignorant of the people surrounding him...

"You?" demanded a surprised voice beside him.

Cedwyck followed it to find Abbikson standing there, a surprised, if slightly aggressive expression on his face. A sudden moment of recognition flashed passed him as he realised why he had recognised Abbikson before.