Abnormal bone growth, particularly around the forehead. Scelera dark. Blood dark, almost pitch black.
These abnormalities point to a situation commonly known as Witchblood, a condition caused when an unborn animal is exposed to the residual effects of a rift into the realm of demons. This condition is one you will see a considerable amount of after the Harbinger Incursions. This particular specimen was brought in by the Sunvaar, and despite its small size was capable of putting up a considerable fight.
Now. The dissection.
-Professor Heins Devoco, Keinra Academy, 1564
Stinjul, The Jewel of the West. The Sapphire City. Built hundreds of years ago by human slaves who had fled from the Shining Cities to the relative safety of the lands controlled by the Dragon Emperor, the Great Liberator.
As a gondola cut through the canals that moved through Stinjul like veins, the buzzing of coastal insects filled the air. The man at the front of the craft was holding the pole carefully, glancing around nervously, slapping a mosquito off his face as the boat got closer to the line of ships docked off the Old Town neighborhoods.
“Zelith, are you sure you’ve got this?” the boy said. His curly red hair was almost entirely covered a large wide-brimmed straw hat, but anybody underneath could see he was sweating like a waterfall.
“I’ve got this.”
Sitting in the boat, Zelith Vachon was glaring at the boats nearby. Now at nineteen years, the small nubs she’d had at birth had grown into a set of four horns, two rising up from her forehead as the other two curled around behind her pointed ears. Unlike her counterpart, she was dressed entirely in dark cloth, not bothering to hide her face or horns.
The boy nodded, still looking nervous as they got closer to one of the ships. The old wood groaned and shifted in the surf, remarkably less well-maintained compared to the other ships that sat nearby.
“In and out. Keep watch,” Zelith said simply, looking over the twenty feet to the ship as she breathed in, tracing her hands through the air. The air around her grew chill, her breath visible in the summer air as dots of glowing blue swirled into shape where her fingers danced. In the night sky above, the tapestry of stars overhead seemed to almost mirror the symbols, Zelith glancing up towards one, adjusting her hand movements.
The Masked Dragon. The Singing Angel. Adjust for wood thickness. Offset heat. Twenty feet from my location.
As the symbols began to blaze in the air, the chill got worse, ice beginning to form on the boat as Zelith’s blue eyes blazed with energy, flickering bits of blue flame manifesting around her horns like they were candles.
With a final flick of the wrist, Zelith felt a horrible rush of energy, the freezing cold enveloping her as her body unraveled. It was only a moment, a flash of light to anybody outside, but Zelith watched for agonizing moments as her limbs unraveled like a frayed shirt torn at the seam.
There was no pain, because the spread was starting at the nerves themselves. As her hands were almost gone, everything went black, her eyes gone.
Darkness. Complete void. The disparate parts of Zelith Vachon’s mind whipped through space, unable to form a thought. Gone.
With a rush that felt like a bonfire consuming her mind, sensation rushed back as Zelith’s body rapidly condensed, threads of being put back exactly as they had been. Thoughts rushed through her screaming mind as she looked around, heart racing frantically after its short glimpse of non-existence.
The inside of the ship.
“Again.”
The interior of the lower deck was lit entirely by dimly flickering lanterns, illuminating an area of laid of sand and pushed back crates, some dark splotches of blood visible. The tall, imposing form of a man in mottled garb filled much of the space, his head almost touching the ceiling. A few bruises could be seen around his mouth, only partially hidden by his greying stubble.
“Pup, I said aga-”
From one of the darker corners of the deck, a bottle hurled out of the darkness, the man almost lazily slapping it out of the air as something rushed up towards him.
There was a flash of blue from the edge of the sand, illuminating the hunched over, nearly bipedal form of Grey, her fingers extended into claws as she lunged out towards the Old Bear’s arm. As the claws grazed the flesh, the old man snarled, swinging an arm out to knock the younger woman to the side.
“Still too predictable,” he grumbled as Grey hit the side of a crate with a heavy thud. “You can’t just rush in, pup.”
Grey spat a small splatter of blood on the wood, struggling to her feet.
“Why not? It’s all that dumbass Kev does,” she snarled. Illuminated in the light of the lanterns, Grey, now a young adult, was now considerably taller, wearing dark leather armor and hunting trophies, her arms covered in pale tattoos. Her hair was tied back, parts glowing the same blue as the marks on her face and her irises.
“Kevyn isn’t my kid,” the old man snapped back. “He can get himself killed all he wants. You need to be better.”
With that, he cracked his neck, looking at Grey.
“Again.”
As she shifted, clearly still winded, the old man began to sway. Frowning, his sight grew blurred as Grey moved forward, catching his arm as he lazily tried to swing it.
As she pulled his arm up, a small dagger, barely noticeable to somebody as large and imposing as the Old Bear, was stuck in the underside of his forearm.
“…Clever girl,” he muttered. “Just…don’t get hit next time.”
“That’s when I did it,” Grey said simply, pulling out a set of bandages. “Strategy.”
As the wound was bandaged, the old bear chuckled.
“The fuck did you coat that thing in?”
Before Grey could answer, the lanterns dimmed around them, a pulse of cold filling the room as the Old Bear immediately frowned, hand shooting towards the mace on his belt.
“Mage,” he said. “Shit.”
As he struggled to stand, grimacing, Grey was already rushing towards the stairs. As she looked into the darkness of the lower hold, her eyes narrowed, her fangs visible as she grinned.
A scent.
Strike The Horizon 