Wildfire Riders

Tra'eul dolaroei eeh taalkith deadkeeper.

I am the Deadkeeper's dreamer.

Dolaroei elu'rakiseth Omen.

I dream with Omen.

Lakreesh, umpala. Fala ehh dolaroei.

Sacrifice, within dreams.

---

The altar was a feat of dedication and insanity. It began as a flat slab of stone that had been stained many times over to the point where the original color was indistinguishable. Scratch marks littered what surface was visible, painting runes and images of animals long since extinct. Furs draped over every inch of the top, messy with wax and feathers and blood. Statues of monsters and gods stood like watchful titans at each corner, facing inward, looming over a bound and wriggling fox. It squealed and tried to kick its way free, tail and head thrashing. Small black eyes darted around, unable to see surroundings in the flickering candlelight. The tiny creature knew only frantic fear. It smelled like death and blood on this stone.

"I bring you a fine catch, and a fine sacrifice. The animal of wit, of sly cunning. Caught within its own den and here to spill its blood."

The fox squealed again, back arching as it tried to kick its back feet. It wanted to bite, to leap and bite and run and flee and hide.

"I call to the gods who watch the warriors. The gods who watch those willing to fight. The gods who protect those who protect."

Front paws, bound together, scratched upward and under the chin. The fox managed to catch a claw on the ropes around its mouth, trying to tear.

"Ursoc, lend your strength to my loves ones who are up north. Ursol, give them the wisdom to pierce the darkness of Icecrown."

The fox fell still to avoid its escape attempts from being seen. Candle wax was dripped on two of the statues. Bears. The fox knew what bears were.

"Ogoun, God of War! Let the carnage reign! Let it feed the Loa and its many gods! I beg your power!"

More noises joined the shouts, the fox could hear ringing, chanting. There was a lot of movement, and the fox focused again on the bindings.

"Omen, taste the blood of the human's traitor prince, and know what he has wrought! Let him and his minions burn and perish, as they should! Guard those who seek to retake the cycle of nature! I give you the blood of the sly, to invoke wit and cunning for those who are not to die in this fight!"

The ropes never came loose for the Fox.

Bellesta twisted the blade within the animal's neck, hissing as it cried out its final breath. She then sliced it down the stomach, opening the innards and letting warm red wash over her hands and the altar. Her body shook with adrenaline, rattling the many decorations that adorned her flesh. She twisted the knife within her hand, towards her palm, slicing across and letting her blood mix with that of the fox.

"And I give part of myself, to protect and guard he who is a part of me." She growled, clenching her fist and holding it so the blood dripped out over the dead fox. Fingers then dove down, digging under skin and pulling the animal apart, bit by bit. Innards were placed in bowls, messy bones and sinew torn from meat to be laid out before one of the detailed god-carvings. She licked the blood from her hands as her body rumbled with a purr. She feasted on her share of the sacrifice and distributed the fox to the gods she had invoked the ear up. The spine was given toOgoun, to symbolize the center of the body and the current in which energy traveled. The limbs were presented to Ursoc, the parts in which energy was directed through. The heart, lungs, and brain were placed before Ursol as symbols of the wisdom centers of the body, and where emotions reside. Last, the eyes and skull were given to Omen to give him the sight of a trickster and the gateway to bring the Fox to the Gate and beyond.

"I give not for myself, but for you." Bellesta said, addressing no single god on the altar in particular.

Light began to sneak into the cavern, covering the altar and dispelling the illusion of dark the candlelight provided. Bellesta inhaled deep, taking within the smell of blood and exhaling it back out in quiet reverence of the light.

"Elune blesses this offering." She spoke to the gods before her. A sudden shadow flickered over the altar, the candle fire danced and swayed.

"And for Lord Palandone-" Started a voice.

"You dare intrude upon my ritual!?"
Bellesta reacted suddenly, twisting and swinging her ritual blade out in a wide sweep. Her arm was caught on a hand and in the same movement, the figure brought a long and jagged blade up through her side. She lurched forward onto the man as he crouched low and twisted the blade in Bellesta's stomach. His pointed face broke into a grin, guiding her head over his shoulder so he could whisper into her ear. Blood spilled past her lips onto him as she choked on her words.

"For Lord Palandone, I spill the blood of the mother. I take the blood of the Fox, and I finish what has been started."

It was a satyr. She tried to lift her arms to fight, tried to change forms to crush him. Bellesta gasped for air as stiffness spread through her and her vision unfocused. How had he snuck in? How did she not smell him?

Something large darkened up the cave entrance as everything went hazy, and an arrow flew.

"Why did you bring her here!?"

"She is dying. She needs help."

"No, why did you bring her here!?"

"You're the only one who can deal with trauma like this this late. She's bleeding out!"

"Fine. Put her on the fucking table. I need more cloth, and water, and get those fucking ... whatever the hell that is off of her!"

---
Bellesta didn't dream. Sometimes she heard voices, but she never dreamed.

When she woke, she didn't move. The pain in her side was the only sign she needed to know she was alive. It was a dull ache that went up from below her ribs to her lungs. Breathing was hard and her body felt restricted. She opened one eye, letting it roll around in the socket to get a hazy veiw of her surroundings. The canvas above meant she was in a tent. Light dappled through seams, and so she knew it was day. The light was filtered through green, and there was lichen clinging to the wooden frame. There were bird chirping and a stream nearby, she could both hear and smell them. Overwhelmingly though, there was a scent of medical supplies, blood and washed linen mixed with a dusty smell that could almost be tasted.

Tauren. She was in Kylee's tent.

"I know you're awake." Spoke the offending tauren from a stool across the room. Kylee turned in her seat, crossing her hooves, meaty hands folded on her knee as she stared down her snout. Bellesta could only barely make her out.

"That solves the question of where I am." Bellesta quipped, then hissed. Talking was less comfortable than she had hoped.

"You'll rupture your lung should you speak too much, which is lucky for me." Kylee said, tone full of malice. "Because I know you won't shut up."

"How well you anticipate my weaknesses." Bellesta grit her teeth. "How did I get here?"

"A furblog had been tracking the satyr who attacked you. He said you were being sacrificed to an altar with a number of gods, and that there had been a fox already killed. It was yesterday." Kylee wasn't smiling, but she was showing teeth. "Funny. I think had he not been so worried about the demon having killed you, he may have noticed what a fucked up bitch you are."

Bellesta grunted. "Slaith."

"Is cared for." Kylee leaned back in her seat. "And if I had my way he'd stay where he is, but you've never made things so easy. Now tell me how the fuck you got stabbed and put in my care. And talk fast."

Bellesta focused both eyes, glancing best she could at Kylee. "I was snuck up on. It was a satyr. He..." She stopped trying to focus and closed her eyes. "He smelled like arcane and perfume. Sandalwood perfume..."
She sorted through her memories. That scent was familiar... something stuck out. It wasn't a scent on the satyr itself, but perhaps on someone he spent a lot of time around. It was similar to a memory that came hazy at first before crashing down like a hard rain. The pieces filled bit by bit, and Bellesta's eyes went wide.
"The same way the forest smelled when Selecia was killed."

Kylee jolted up from her chair, crossing the room and placing her hands on the edges of the table Bellesta lay on. She stared down. "What?"

"He smelled the way the forest did when my daughter died." Bell growled pointedly. Kylee tensed, expression flaring into something much angrier.

Kylee had been the second one to sign adoption papers and set up Selecia in Moonglade. Bellesta had been unable to dedicate her full time to raising a child, and so she had let the burden be shared by the Tauren woman. At this moment, Kylee kept her reaction to Bellesta's selfish words carefully contained, leaning down to murmur by her ear.

"I should kill you for saying such." She picked up a medical knife from the table beside. "And no one would know. They would think you died from your injuries."

"If you intended to kill me." Bellesta turned her head finally, opening her eyes. "You would have done it already. So why did you patch me up, instead of letting me perish?"

"Because when I kill you, you will be standing, and facing me. Not in a hospital bed." Kylee leaned up, toying with the knife.

Bellesta's only reaction was to smirk with the most terrible smugness she could muster. "Well I think I'll stay in bed for a bit, then. Do close the tent curtain. I'd like some sleep."

She was satisfied. She was content. The injuries no longer mattered. She had a lead she'd not had for near two years.

She had a name.

Lord Palandone.

Moonglade and all its inhabitants moved with the seasons. When the trees were in bloom and spring was near, energy ran high and Nighthaven was a bustle of movement and sound. Summer it was a steady hum of activity, fall it was a time of gathering and closing in, and winter it was silent until Spring brought everyone out again. Bellesta had become accustomed to the cycle after years of living across the lake from the cluster of buildings and found the familiar pre-spring rise soothing during her short recovery. Kylee had kept visits to a minimum, only speaking to Bellesta when she absolutely needed to. Both preferred it this way.

On the third day, Bellesta swung her legs down and let her toes touch grass for the first time, emerging from the bed to stretch and sniff the morning air. She had been caught by the satyr in ritual garb, more decoration and beads than actual clothing. Her decorative shawl and bracelets gone, she moved with only a light sarong around her waist out of the tent. With Kylee occupied elsewhere in the Glade, Bellesta began to walk lightly down the stone path that circled the lake. She didn't suppose she would bother to return to the Tauren woman's care. Her wound was closed and well enough to allow her to shift forms, though she was painted black and blue from where she had been stabbed up to her ribs.

The smells and sounds and earth of the Glade were comforting. She had last walked them alone before the battle at Wrathgate, when she and Feliche lived in the hills that separated the lake from Winterspring. Life here was simple, quiet, safe.

Her feet reached the water, wading though the bank and to the edge before reaching where she could sit with the water at her neck. Her hair spread out around her, floating on the surface while her clothing flowed around her waist. She relaxed her muscles, one by one, hands folded together in her lap. Her eyes closed and breathing became slow and deep, in time with her heartbeat. First she became aware of the wind that directed the branches of the trees, causing them to sway and dance. Then the sounds of the world around her filled her ears. Birds chattered and returned to their nests for the oncoming spring while the thundering hoofbeats of stags trickled back into the Glade. She would feel the moving of the water, the push and pull the moon; Elune, governed. It gave a pale, full reflection even during the day within Moonglade, showing how sacred this place was.

"Dolaroei elu'rakiseth Omen." Bellesta spoke. And then she drifted away.

---

The dreamscape stretched out around Bellesta, giving ground to her thoughts. Trees and grass and animals spread out before her, still like statues. Vines and moss climbed the branches and trunks before hanging down in ropes and threads. There was no name for this place, for it was not a place. They were not trees or animals, but memories of them. Images of things seen before.

"Twin Deadkeeper, Lord of the Gate, I beg an audience." She cried out, arms outstretched in a diplomatic gesture. "Please. I beg your words."

The words that replied shook the not-trees and caused the not-animals to shatter and melt.

"You have ignored me, Dreamer. You have not come to the lake for too long. What makes you think I shall give you an inch of my precious time?"

"Please!" Bellesta cried out again, dropping to her knees with her hands and forehead pressed to the ground. "I have done nothing but revere you my lord, He who Watches the Dead. I have been barred from this place, I would have come sooner. She will not bar me from my duty when you rise."

"She!? A singular creature has barred you? Are you weak, Dreamer!? Have I been deceived into believing you were strong enough to bear the weight of your duty when in fact you are nothing but a pathetic coward?"

The world thundered with footsteps, and soon the monster stood above Bellesta, salivating and snarling from two hungry mouths. She could not see him, eyes still trained to the ground while wide open.
"No, my lord! I beg your forgiveness for my absence. I beg your council and your wisdom and your love."

"And what have you done to deserve such, Dreamer? What have you done to atone... to make your absence in the lake less cowardly?"

Bellesta was meweling pathetically at the feet of the monster before her, having to steel herself to lift her head. He was at least fifteen feet at the shoulder, eyes ablaze and fixed on her. His body was leaned forward, looming over the woman between his paws.

"Omen." Bellesta begged. "I have given you the blood and flesh of many. I have sought the destruction of your hated enemies in your name. I have spilled the blood of the Stag, the Boar, the Owl, and the Fox in your name, to grant you their strength come the festival. I will be here, to see that your duty is done. I speak only the truth to you, my lord."

Omen stepped back, and relented, no longer looming. His gaze remained judging, still fixed with four eyes on Bellesta.
"I believe you, Dreamer. But I will not be lenient again."

Bellesta bowed again at her feet, hands and forehead returning to the grass, murmuring hurried thankyous and praises. Omen used a claw to lift her shoulder, forcing her to rise and face him.

"Speak what you desire, Dreamer."

"I know the name of he who killed my daughter. I need permission to unrest the dead."