Nighttime Concerns

JP with mdman and Cindy

It was the speech of speeches to Ch’Truta. His spirit lifted and soared in the clouds above as the roars of “For Arcadia!” Swirled about him, intensifying to the point that if the outlanders were here, they’d be defeated by the sound alone. Their very souls would have felt the heaviness of the throng’s declaration.

Ch’Truta was inspired himself, ready to follow Sister Locust to the grave and back. Was she as powerful as the mighty Uctilo’rhu? She definitely had more charisma, able to bind together people from all walks of life in Arcadia. That was something that Uctilo’rhu was not able to do with the broods that bowed to him.

Ch’Truta continued packing his tent. He ensured that the viles of sand serpent venom remained on his body, in a compartmented pouch designed to house such resources. He even had some of the daemon’s trumpet left. Ch’Truta would find a use for it.

He realized that he wished to be near her in this moment of glory. Not that she would glory in the moment herself. Ch’Truta knew Islana was not like that. She had a humble nature. Still, he wished he was near her, encouraging her, holding her.

Islana was bewildered, concerned and annoyed that the Sisters had taken over at that moment and for long enough to give her speech.

The redheaded young leader made her way back to her tent, giving Ch'Truta a good night on the way and one to her advisors as well, and then went into her tent closing the flap behind her. This was a recognizable sign that Sister Locust was to be left alone, unless there was an emergency. Her only companion would be Kaithak.

The falcon landed on its perch, settling in for the night. Yet, that bird always seemed to know when something was wrong and kept his black eyes peeled on Islana.

"Kaithak, I am fine. No....I don't know. I almost feel ..." The young woman walked closer to her feathered companion. Whispering, just in case the walls had ears. "I am scared. If I ...." What? Lose her mind.? Get taken over completely? That was a crazy thought, right? "If anything happens to me go to Ch'Truta, he will make sure you're looked after." She hadn't discussed it with the man, but assumed that Kaithak being important her meant he would be safe with the right people. "I might be unable to control much of what happens next."

Kaithak cocked his head to the side, then reached his neck up. Islana scratched his head. "It'll be alright." Not sure if she was saying that more for the bird or herself.

The nighttime ritual proceeded, and soon enough Islana fell asleep with dreams that didn't belong to her.

For Ch’Truta, the night was restless. He dreamed of holding Islana, only to have Sister Locust slip through his fingers.

In the middle of the night, Ch’Truta arose and grabbed the pouch containing the vials. He couldn’t remember the vision he had when he first and last tried this. It nearly took his life. He pulled out the daemon’s trumpet and placed it in the mortar. He began to work it with the pestle, breaking it up, crushing it. Ch’Truta pulled out a small vial and gazed upon the golden liquid within it. He had to know; had to see. Yet, if it were to take him to the depths of the grave, he’d be parted from her.

Cursing, he threw the vial against the side of the tent. As logic came back to him, Ch’Truta searched in the dark until he found it. He placed a vial back into the pouch from where he retrieved it. Then, he cast the contents of the mortar outside the tent and attempted to dream a more pleasant dream, hoping the spirits would return to him.