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For 's War Event!
--0--

Rakhamat paced nervously as she waited for Berraluth to join her. This was her last-ditch attempt to get her cousin to understand the importance of this war-- the importance of bringing Grandesque down. And it was her last attempt to show her that the war was truly not as bad as it seemed. Her cousin had a silver tongue. Rakhamat herself had seen it in action many times; the reeve could get just about anyone to do her bidding. Most of the time, anyway. She hoped that this skill would find a practical use today. They were going to Twistoult, to... well, to "convince" a shaman to join the Skrekrill side and heal the wounded soldiers that poured in by the dozens. Rakhamat hoped that Berra could simply talk to the shamans, persuade one of them to quietly accompany them to Skrekrill for awhile-- it was a foolish hope, in retrospect.

Berraluth joined her reluctantly, and together they made the journey to Twistoult. Their relationship had been strained as of late. If Rakhamat was being completely honest with herself, she knew they were no longer really on speaking terms. Neither of them could breach the wall that had grown between them with every day of war that passed. Her own stubborn pride kept her from reaching out. She was so devoted to Queen and Aerie that the very idea of someone not liking the war-- it was treason. She knew it was-- but Berraluth was her cousin. Perhaps not by blood, nor any other particularly strong binding ties, but family was family-- and Berra was the only family Rakhamat had ever truly had.

She wanted to make the effort. Gods, how foolish she was.

They found a shaman resting in the forest, sunning on a rock in a warm clearing. She was black as night, with an enormous bill and a bright white crown-- a regal figure, in some ways. At first, Rakhamat had worried that they had stumbled upon Tulkiina herself, but the other gryphon was happily unadorned and had feline forepaws instead of Tulkiina's fabled talons.

"We're just going to be speaking with her," Berra murmured. It was a question, though it hadn't been phrased as such. Her golden eyes glanced quickly to her cousin's face.

"Mm," Rakhamat grunted, turning to look at the shaman with her one good eye. The other had been wrecked in the fight with a Grandesque on the border, after already suffering some trauma from the massive tiger gryphon she had fought with ages ago. Her face was deeply scarred-- now on both sides.

Berraluth pushed her large ears backward, dainty paws shifting uncomfortably at the way her cousin was eyeing the shaman.

"Just to come and heal the injured," she added, hoping to get more from the white serval gryphon beside her.

Rakhamat clacked her beak sharply and nodded, gesturing for Berra to approach. With a sigh, the reeve flattened her ears and slowly moved up to the black shaman.

"Excuse me," she murmured, glancing over her shoulder at Rakhamat as the shaman opened up one golden eye to look at her. "You are a shaman, correct? A healer? One who can summon the old magics?"

The shaman chuckled softly and waved her tail, sitting up to get a better look at Berraluth.

"You must be from Skrekrill," she murmured, her voice deep and resonant. "I am, indeed, a healer. Many of your kind have come through these forests lately, but none have ever asked. They speak, and take, but never listen."

Rakhamat sidled up beside her cousin, blind eye flashing in the sun.

"You'll come with us, then?" Berra asked, her voice quavering slightly.

"No," the shaman said, giving them a faint smile. "I will not abandon my fledge so close to his adulthood to serve Skrekrill."

Rakhamat growled and took another step forward.

"You'll come with us."

"I won't."

Berraluth took a step back, her wings shifting uncomfortably.

"Rakh, she says she won't go. That's that, I suppose. Let's be on our way, surely there's another shaman--"

"She'll be coming with us," Rakhamat snapped.

All at once, everything came to a head. Berraluth began to walk away, and Rakhamat knew this was a losing battle. She had worked so hard-- she had fought for this, for a chance to show her cousin how much the other aeries revered Skrekrill in secret. And now this fool shaman was resisting? Refusing to help her dying brethren as they battled bravely against the Grandesque resistance?

No.

Not today.

She leapt. All at once, she and the shaman were locked together in combat, and Berraluth arched her back with a startled hiss and chirp. The Twistoult was much stronger than she looked-- and knew just as much about breaking bones as she did mending them. A paw slapped against her wing, and Rakhamat let out a horrible squawk as she felt power resonating through the bones before a sickening crack sounded through the air. Her wing was broken. She stumbled and leapt again, forcing the shaman onto her back. Powerful hind legs came up to catch her in mid-air, claws raking painfully along the soft muscle on her inner thigh as she swiped down with her talons.

For what felt like hours, they fought-- until, finally, the shaman kicked her away and raised up, magic curling and writhing around her paws. Rakhamat looked up, ears flattening along her skull as she glanced at the blood spattered land around them. Berraluth was gone.

Her cousin was gone.

With a quiet hiss, Rakhamat limped off into the woods, dragging her broken wing along the ground behind her. In the clearing, the shaman fell to the ground with a soft thud.

No other sound rose from the trees. Rakhamat was alone in the silence.

What a fool she was.

--0--

Okay, ridiculously long story. Sorry about that! Kudos if you read to the end
So Rakhamat ends up with a broken wing, a badly damaged leg, and minus one cousin-- in addition to not bagging the shaman.

The shaman pictured is actually Karkaros' mother, Muriel. Her side of the story will be alluded to in Kark's next few challenges.

This war event was great-- it really gave me some good material for developing these characters, and I'm looking forward to making a third who will grow up in the post-war world!

Description
For 's War Event!
--0--

Rakhamat paced nervously as she waited for Berraluth to join her. This was her last-ditch attempt to get her cousin to understand the importance of this war-- the importance of bringing Grandesque down. And it was her last attempt to show her that the war was truly not as bad as it seemed. Her cousin had a silver tongue. Rakhamat herself had seen it in action many times; the reeve could get just about anyone to do her bidding. Most of the time, anyway. She hoped that this skill would find a practical use today. They were going to Twistoult, to... well, to "convince" a shaman to join the Skrekrill side and heal the wounded soldiers that poured in by the dozens. Rakhamat hoped that Berra could simply talk to the shamans, persuade one of them to quietly accompany them to Skrekrill for awhile-- it was a foolish hope, in retrospect.

Berraluth joined her reluctantly, and together they made the journey to Twistoult. Their relationship had been strained as of late. If Rakhamat was being completely honest with herself, she knew they were no longer really on speaking terms. Neither of them could breach the wall that had grown between them with every day of war that passed. Her own stubborn pride kept her from reaching out. She was so devoted to Queen and Aerie that the very idea of someone not liking the war-- it was treason. She knew it was-- but Berraluth was her cousin. Perhaps not by blood, nor any other particularly strong binding ties, but family was family-- and Berra was the only family Rakhamat had ever truly had.

She wanted to make the effort. Gods, how foolish she was.

They found a shaman resting in the forest, sunning on a rock in a warm clearing. She was black as night, with an enormous bill and a bright white crown-- a regal figure, in some ways. At first, Rakhamat had worried that they had stumbled upon Tulkiina herself, but the other gryphon was happily unadorned and had feline forepaws instead of Tulkiina's fabled talons.

"We're just going to be speaking with her," Berra murmured. It was a question, though it hadn't been phrased as such. Her golden eyes glanced quickly to her cousin's face.

"Mm," Rakhamat grunted, turning to look at the shaman with her one good eye. The other had been wrecked in the fight with a Grandesque on the border, after already suffering some trauma from the massive tiger gryphon she had fought with ages ago. Her face was deeply scarred-- now on both sides.

Berraluth pushed her large ears backward, dainty paws shifting uncomfortably at the way her cousin was eyeing the shaman.

"Just to come and heal the injured," she added, hoping to get more from the white serval gryphon beside her.

Rakhamat clacked her beak sharply and nodded, gesturing for Berra to approach. With a sigh, the reeve flattened her ears and slowly moved up to the black shaman.

"Excuse me," she murmured, glancing over her shoulder at Rakhamat as the shaman opened up one golden eye to look at her. "You are a shaman, correct? A healer? One who can summon the old magics?"

The shaman chuckled softly and waved her tail, sitting up to get a better look at Berraluth.

"You must be from Skrekrill," she murmured, her voice deep and resonant. "I am, indeed, a healer. Many of your kind have come through these forests lately, but none have ever asked. They speak, and take, but never listen."

Rakhamat sidled up beside her cousin, blind eye flashing in the sun.

"You'll come with us, then?" Berra asked, her voice quavering slightly.

"No," the shaman said, giving them a faint smile. "I will not abandon my fledge so close to his adulthood to serve Skrekrill."

Rakhamat growled and took another step forward.

"You'll come with us."

"I won't."

Berraluth took a step back, her wings shifting uncomfortably.

"Rakh, she says she won't go. That's that, I suppose. Let's be on our way, surely there's another shaman--"

"She'll be coming with us," Rakhamat snapped.

All at once, everything came to a head. Berraluth began to walk away, and Rakhamat knew this was a losing battle. She had worked so hard-- she had fought for this, for a chance to show her cousin how much the other aeries revered Skrekrill in secret. And now this fool shaman was resisting? Refusing to help her dying brethren as they battled bravely against the Grandesque resistance?

No.

Not today.

She leapt. All at once, she and the shaman were locked together in combat, and Berraluth arched her back with a startled hiss and chirp. The Twistoult was much stronger than she looked-- and knew just as much about breaking bones as she did mending them. A paw slapped against her wing, and Rakhamat let out a horrible squawk as she felt power resonating through the bones before a sickening crack sounded through the air. Her wing was broken. She stumbled and leapt again, forcing the shaman onto her back. Powerful hind legs came up to catch her in mid-air, claws raking painfully along the soft muscle on her inner thigh as she swiped down with her talons.

For what felt like hours, they fought-- until, finally, the shaman kicked her away and raised up, magic curling and writhing around her paws. Rakhamat looked up, ears flattening along her skull as she glanced at the blood spattered land around them. Berraluth was gone.

Her cousin was gone.

With a quiet hiss, Rakhamat limped off into the woods, dragging her broken wing along the ground behind her. In the clearing, the shaman fell to the ground with a soft thud.

No other sound rose from the trees. Rakhamat was alone in the silence.

What a fool she was.

--0--

Okay, ridiculously long story. Sorry about that! Kudos if you read to the end
So Rakhamat ends up with a broken wing, a badly damaged leg, and minus one cousin-- in addition to not bagging the shaman.

The shaman pictured is actually Karkaros' mother, Muriel. Her side of the story will be alluded to in Kark's next few challenges.

This war event was great-- it really gave me some good material for developing these characters, and I'm looking forward to making a third who will grow up in the post-war world!