By: Tate Wilson
Aeneas slid down the deepmare’s coiled fins, flicking his blade clean of the gore spattered down its length. Aeneas’ bodyguards, on their eel mounts came out of the cloying mists of the ethersea to report. The debris from the ruined monolith was still settling and the death groans of the ogors drifted across the battlefield. In a voice that sounded like tearing paper his lieutenant said “ M’lord, the thralls have begun harvesting what they can of these barbarians”. They eyed the rubble, spotting the gruesome idols riveted to the downed monolith. Aeneas grimaced, he always had a soft spot for his Namarti brethren and their reliance on the souls of others. “They might as well consume a jellyfish” kicking the bloated corpse of an ogor “these creatures are no better than beasts”. His Morrsarr guard chuckled, his lieutenant began to speak when they all felt something. Like the way a spider feels a vibration in its web, the Idoneth could feel a change, a small disturbance in the waves of the ethersea. The guard’s slender hands went to their sabres. “That won’t be necessary” called an approaching voice from a nearby stand of trees. Forming from the mist itself, figures stepped gracefully out, their opal bows now glinting in the clearing. Aeneas smiled, his reavers had returned.
The two groups closed the distance and saluted. The blind eyes of the Idoneth marksmen surveyed the battlefield as if she could see in the traditional sense. “Sorry we missed the battle, sir” she apologized. Aeneas dismissed the apology “Your marks closed the distance before a clean shot could’ve been made, besides there is nothing here worth it’s salt”. “I fear you and the other Namarti won’t have a desirable soul to share in the whole lot”. She grinned; sharp fish-bone-white teeth showed. “My Lord Aeneas leave these to rot; we were successful in our scouting mission. It seems this land is rife with bright souls for the taking.”
With the reavers report Aeneas reached up, pulling a signal conch from his mounts saddle to his lips. The haunting timbre echoed, calling his thralls to him. He mounted his deepmare and his guard followed suit on their eels. Once Aeneas’ raiding party were all gathered the reavers set off. The rest of the warband followed with hardly a whisper or blade of grass bent.
To an onlooker it would look like a breeze had suddenly sprung up, pushing the mist from the clearing and revealing the battlefield below. However, those who have heard tales of the Deepkin would know that there was no breeze that day. The ethereal tides of the ethersea protects its deep denizens, accompanying them as they reap their soul bounty. So, if you see the mists gathering, it could be too late, for the Idoneth have come.
