Serora 803: O Wandering Wind

By the light of the hybrid’s torch, they can make out some things of interest, although most has been worn away by time and sand and the general inhospitable conditions of the Sear.

What Tamaras drags out for the Mullah to inspect are a number of stone tablets, which remain mostly legible.

“These will take some time to interpret fully, I’m afraid – some of the writing is very worn”, the Mullah says after studying the tablets for a while: “But they seem to contain an old tale about the love between Alya and Ignacio in the time before the war. I will read you what I can.”

The Mullah raises her voice by using her blessing of Hyper Voice, allowing all to hear her: “Wind and Fire twirled together, and so She stoked the flame. Out of the flame came the wyvern--- “A gift for mine children and me” --- and out of the kindles came a dragon, small and nimble --- The Wind whispered at the ashes, sweet and gentle, and from the whisper rose a Phoenix.
Now it was Her turn. She weaved a storm in the skies, and out from the sand and ash came the terrible Sandhawk --- “A worthy adversary for me and mine” --- Playful He took a bolt of light, and stroke the Hawk with it --- From the sore rose a Thunderbird, feathers crackling --- When all was said and done, she weaved the ash and the thunder and fire and wind, and so was borne the Zesla, holiest of all.”

She looks a bit puzzled after reading, but doesn’t say anything else.


The earth rumbles once more.

The rubble cleared away, light can once again shine on this ancient… Storeroom, you think. It really doesn’t look that different from any old storeroom in Osulas, with shelves carved into stone and plenty of space for items. There are even metal hoops and remnants of wood where barrels had once been, their contents long since turned to dust.

You find two things of interest – a series of fairly well preserved stone tablets, and the fragile remains of… A weapon?
For a warrior, a weapon is of course most interesting. It is badly damaged by time – rust and wear have done their duty. It resembles a crossbow, but is much bigger, yet still small enough to be moved by a single equine. Loaded in is a single bolt, and when you try to take the item out of its spot on the shelf, the bolt makes a soft bop and reveals a number of serrated blades in a quick twirl. Opened, it is a bladed hook, and the other end of the bolt makes you think that something used to be connected there.
Perhaps a rope?

This particular weapon might be too worn to see use, but it is still packed away safely so that it might be studied further. The Mullah then takes the tablets, and reads them in silence.

“Fascinating”, they say: “Our lore has always told that we have lived the same since the God’s War, but this… Oh this is something else. It’s an account of a Fury who lived long ago, describing their way of life before the War; it sounds like it was written very shortly after the War ended.”
Puzzled, they look at Tamaras, before summarizing the tablet: “The Fury tells of a beautiful land with lush river valleys and plenty of good grazing for herds and fertile land for orchards and farmyards. The pegasi would live on the high plateaus and hills in the political capital of Osulas, where the Wings led them – but descend down to earth around God’s Landing, atop which Alya lived.”

“Her noble knights were known as the Furies – the best of her dear creations, who ruled over others. It was a land of warriors, and Alya would take her knights skyward to hunt Thunderbird and Sandhawk in grand displays of skill. Music was akin to worship, and all of Serora was at peace”, the Mullah tells. Then they tuck the tablets away with the rest of the findings, asking the Furies that they are sure they saw nothing else.


Finally, she walks over to Torbek. The sand blows hard, but the uncovered pieces of architecture tell that this was not always the case.
Torbek is standing in what must have once been some kind of small temple or shrine. Carvings of Alya and zeslas decorate the now more uncovered pillar, some of them with a bit of gold-leaf still in the impressions.
But what makes the Mullah gasp is the mosaic that covers the floor of the shrine, for it is this place.
Those same hills, this same little shrine, but in their glory.
And oh, is it glorious.

The mosaic, although worn, clearly depicts the exact site you are currently at. The land is green and covered in grass, with orchards and farmlands. Vines run up the sides of the steep hills, and buildings and training equipment are scattered about as young pegasi play under the watchful eye of an adult. What looks to be a small stream runs through the scenery, creating a setting most idyllic.
The small shrine you stand in right now is depicted as a small marble building, with a statue of Alya atop of it, supported by four marble pillars.
It is beautiful.

What could have happened to it?

The earth rumbles again.
The wind is changing.

The wind is blowing harshly. Nothing new in the Sear, but, even as Predwin speaks, it turns.
And then it turns again.

Something is wrong.

There is a new rumble, harder and harsher this time. You feel a strange, foreign surge of energy beneath your feet. It’s familiar but carries a sense of wrongness with it.

“I think we should leave”, the Mullah calls, taking wing after a final, reverent look at the mosaic.

Rumble.

The sand behind you dips.

Rumble.

The winds turn again, more violently. It feels like a sandstorm is coming and coming right now.
It’s something Sedo has not seen in years.
And perhaps hoped to never see again.

Rumble.

The sand dips further. The winds die down and the desert lies still.
Too still.

A horrifying, guttural screech.
Two great leather wings raise from the spot where the sand was disturbed. Grey and striped with white, they spread white open. The wingspan must be 80 feet – the creature is over twice the size of a common Thunderbird.

It raises its head. Sand falls out of its mouth and from the creases of its body. Pulling itself out from the sand completely, it towers above you. There are perhaps a hundred yards between you and it.
It blinks at you, and opens its mouth, showing a set of sharp teeth as it screams at you, screams with the howling rage of a sandstorm.

The first Sandhawk seen in Sedo for a near millennia.
And you are in its sights.

The sandhawk swoops right past Torbek and Tamaras. It is big and dangerous, and a fast flier, but not agile – the small pegasi are not able to hurt or scare it, but they can avoid it.
Still, it is a mere standstill. Getting away is the difficult part.

Zenith, extending her Sixth Sense to the bird, can feel it’s Anger. Confusion. Rage. And the seething frustration of a meal that keeps avoiding it.
It’s hungry.
Very hungry.
So hungry that it almost makes Zenith hungry, too.

Again, it swoops. Now it almost catches Torbek and gets a snap of electricity on the muzzle.
It isn’t hurt, but it is now even more pissed.
The Sandhawk chooses to abandon the difficult prey, and instead gives in to its primal instincts – if something is running away, it is prey.

Creating a torrent of wind beneath itself, the creature swoops after the escaping party, setting it sights on the Mullah weighed down by your findings, and Zenith, who it can tell is struggling.
Teeth clack in anticipation of a good meal.

As the hawk turns to take another wide swoop at any one of you – you know its bound to catch someone one of these times, its been so close – it suddenly stops dead, as if running into an invisible wall.
It screams in anger, looking around it to see who dares to disturb its hunt.

You look around, too.
The sun shines, but there are two moons in the sky.

The hawk loops around and goes at you again, only to hit something in the air another time.
This time you see it. The soft vibrations of a force field, a shimmering blue barely visible against the sky.
The sun shines brighter.
The creature shrieks and screeches.
Zenith feels that it is suddenly terrified.

The winds pick up. They grab you, ever so gently, but only you. The Sandhawk is not carried by the favorable wind. You’ve never flown so quickly all your life – it is as if a second pair of wings is carrying each and every one of you out of the Sear.
In the sands the winds carry, you can ever so briefly see the shape of a great pegasus with four wings.
The moons shine bright.

The wind lets you go. You are outside the Sear, but you can still hear the creature shriek.
No.
Creatures.

The Sultan must hear about this.
He must hear about this now.