Infamous Goose
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1.9 ...Marches On
🕑 Added 2025-05-15 02:16:45 +0000 UTCA storm was coming. Lysander could feel it in the air, in his bones, in the whispers of the spirits as they danced along the roaring winds. He pulled his buffalo hide coat tighter around himself, snuggling into the warmth and debating the merits of running back to his little shelter to huddle in for the rest of the day. Currently he stood far away from the salamander’s cave, on the opposite side of the lake hidden in some trees, watching the entrance as they scampered about, hauling in their wood piles and anything else that stood outside. Smart. He got the feeling that this one would be a heavy storm, and their cave, especially south-facing as it was, would provide shelter from the worst of the winds and snow.
I should probably follow suit. Find shelter. He thought with a sigh, turning to start the trek back. Movement caught the corner of his eye, however, and he paused.
A small yellow salamander darted out of the cave entrance, racing down the hillside and into the woods. He frowned and eyed the cave. No one was following. In fact, in that brief span of time it took him to look away, it seemed like all the salamanders had managed to finish their chores and head inside – leaving only the one who had run into the forest still out there.
He debated with himself for a moment, looking up at the cloud-laden sky. Yep. This was set to be a doozy, one great big first snowstorm to kick off winter. Once again he pulled his thick buffalo skin jacket tighter around himself, pulling up the edges so the tips of his ears were plunged into warmth. He almost hadn’t even realized how cold his ears were getting until he’d done that.
He sighed heavily, and grumbled to himself as he set off in the direction the little salamander had gone, set to either head it off or spot it.
He crouched low as he ran, the sun rapidly setting and winds howling in the trees – there was nothing quite like the roar of wind through pine trees, in his opinion, as it was a vastly different sound than any other trees. Only this wind was not pleasant to listen to. It roared down the mountainsides and along the valley floor, promising to vent winter’s wrath upon any who dared to remain outside in the cold and snow. Lysander pulled his jacket tighter around himself, gritting his teeth. Maybe I missed it. Maybe its already back to the cave. He thought to himself as he darted behind a particularly large tree, straining his ears to listen. His gut said otherwise, but worry about the storm had him shifting from foot to foot, ready to get a move on.
A quick glance at the mountaintops revealed that they had disappeared behind a wall of snow. He swallowed thickly. Yep, it was time to get a move on –
A branch snapping not too far away froze him in place, the sounds of soft chirrups just barely audible over the winds. Carefully he peered around the tree, snowflakes just starting to drift down from between the branches, to see the little salamander. It was tiny. A child, he wasn’t sure how old, but he knew the youth of its features. And said child was digging in the dirt looking for something – ah. He blinked as it pulled up a small rose quartz rock, smiling at it and clutching it to its chest tightly as it turned to run back to the home cave.
That was when the snow hit.
In the matter of thirty seconds the relative clarity of the day vanished in a wall of white, snow blown so hard it was shooting sideways through the trees. For a brief moment Lysander closed his eyes, the sudden wind blinding him, and by the time he reopened them the child was gone. A curse escaped him as he moved forward, the wind driving daggers of chill into the tips of his ears as he cast his gaze about for the young salamander. All at once he spotted it – running the wrong direction, sparks flaring from the tip of its head.
He gave chase, adrenaline pumping through his veins and heart pounding in his chest. This was stupid. It was stupid of him, but far dumber for the child to be doing this – a blizzard like this, if it kept up, would be a death sentence. Even for most elves it would be. He, at least, had ways to survive. This child? Unless it could keep its flames going through the storm, he doubted it.
His feet never hesitated even as his mind whirled. How would he approach this? How would he guide the little one back home? Its panicked chirruping echoed through the trees, pausing for a moment to whip its head back and forth. Lysander crouched, pulling his jacket over his head to hide his body shape, and bit his bottom lip. He let out a breath, pushing his tongue to the roof of his mouth and clenching his throat.
“Here,” he chirruped, in a mockery of the salamander’s language. The young one whirled, visible only through the sparking of it stripes through the snow, and Lysander realized he, too might be hidden from sight. He closed his eyes for a brief second, his magic pooling in his stomach as he raised one hand, imaging light – yellow and warm, the light of the sun on a clear summer day. Warmth spilled from his fingertips, beams of light radiating forward through the white and dark of impending night to touch the little salamander.“Here. Over here.” He chirruped again, feeling like he fouled the words. But the young one started to move and Lysander set off at a jog, just fast enough to indicate urgency as he led the little one back home.
Twice he lost it. Twice it turned itself around and he had to circle back through the worsening snow – sliding his feet across the rapidly whitening ground to create better tracks for the child to follow, if it came to it – to collect the little one once more, waving the light from his fingertips and chirruping warnings for it to follow. It only took ten minutes to guide the panicking child back to the cave, but they were perhaps the most intense ten minutes of Lysander’s life. By the time the light of torches came into view, somehow still burning at the mouth of the cave, he felt like he’d aged a century – and he sighed in relief as he watched the little one dart into the cave, talking up a storm as it vanished from sight.
Good deed done for the day. He told himself, shivering and leaving his coat pulled up over his ears. The only thing he hated more than wearing wet leather was cold ears. Time to go take shelter. Astraea almighty, I want nothing more than a warm meal right now.
***
Two days later, after the storm, he found a little stone bowl sitting atop a pile of snow, a single set of salamander tracks leading to and from the snowdrift. And inside the bowl was a chunk of shiny stone, and the little piece of rose quartz the little salamander had picked up. Lysander smiled, and took them both.
A good first impression, right? Maybe I’ll have Sybella or Geovrick take these back, make a necklace out of them for the salamanders. Might as well start sewing some goodwill.
***
It was the day of the winter solstice, heralding the start of the second winter since Lysander started watching the Salamanders, and there was something dark moving on the mountain.
He grit his teeth as he stalked back and forth along the hillside, weaving between trees and wading through the deep winter snowdrifts. That the snow had fallen down into his booted moccasins, soaking his feet and pantlegs, barely registered in the haze of his search. Whatever it was making him feel this way, driving spikes of anger into him so hot they burned, he couldn’t find it. He’d been hiking Bite Mountain for hours, ever since this feeling started, and all he’d gotten from it was cold.
He clenched his hands into fists, digging his fingernails into his palms and grounding himself in the pain. Deep breaths. He told himself, shivering as a chill wind cut its way through the pines, the tips of his ears already numb. This must be what Sybella always talks about during the equinoxes and solstices. Spiritual energy running rampant, spiking, messing with everyone’s emotions…He’d never felt it this strongly before, not being magically sensitive enough, but it was fairly common for older elves to sequester themselves away during these days. Everything spiritual just got…stronger, for whatever reason.
And if he couldn’t find anything that might be causing this – not that he even knew if there even was something that would make him so angry, or what it might look like, there was little else it could be than the solstice itself. Sighing softly, his breath misting the air, he ceased his pacing and stared off into the horizon, looking but not seeing
The problem was he remembered this feeling. It was but a whisper of a memory, tickling the back of his mind like the taste of some long-forgotten food, but there all the same.
Movement caught his eye, and he turned. Down the mountain, just a hundred yards away from him and stalking through the snow with angry huffs, was the frost bear. It sniffed the air and shook itself, pawing at the ground in irritation as it sought something. Snow churned with each move of its great paws, plumes of white shooting into the air as it dug into the ground.
Lysander watched the beast as it made its way up the hill toward him, following his scent. Quietly he settled in a crouch, content to watch but unwilling to move away.
It wasn’t until the frost bear was a mere twenty yards away that it noticed him, its frosty blue eyes locking with his own. The two stared at each other for a long moment, the only movement between them their breaths in the air, when the frost bear snorted, stood on its hind legs, and roared. Ice crystals raced across the ground, stopping just shy of Lysander’s feet.
He didn’t move. He didn’t react. In fact, he felt unbearably calm.
With a huff the frost bear fell back to all fours and turned away, stomping off back down the hill, occasionally swiping at the hillside as it went.
I think we understand each other a little bit better now, brother. Lysander thought, standing. You’re out here for the same reason I am. With a shake of his head, he started off in the opposite direction of the bear, heading to the little cabin he’d built into the hillside across the river. It wasn’t much, but it kept out the cold, and was fairly well-hidden in case any salamanders decided to cross the Goldstone River. Not that they had, yet.
Pissed off as he was, there was little he could do about it. Maybe if it happened again he’d take another look around.
***
Sybella was in a foul mood, and when she was in a foul mood, others suffered for it. It was by no fault of her own, open as she was to the spirit realm, things tended to just…react around her. The wind would blow at just the right time to send the hide covering of someone’s teepee flying away. A tree branch would shake, sending someone to the ground as they tried to leap away. Mud would slip underfoot, and other such nuisances. It was part of the reason why she lived apart from the town itself, so as not to cause undue disturbances whenever she got in a bad mood.
Which seemed to be awfully often, as of late. Her visions had been growing increasingly intense and frequent, often undecipherable but always of ill. Darkness and blood, spears that gleamed with the light of the sun and moon, clothes that could deflect even arrows made of the same light, cracked and shattered. Elves, dead, monsters in the night, and demons at the fringes of her mind. And no one else seemed to see it but her. The danger ahead. Her mother waved it off with that sad smile of hers. Alaric was too caught up with what he found in the plains. The other elves just saw her as that crazy girl who saw spirits and visions…
All of that, but also none of it, was why she was in a foul mood today.
Her night had been blessedly dreamless.
Her day was turning into a nightmare.
With a sigh she stared at the three elves kneeling before her, all but glaring as she continued to endure the prattling of the young man that had sought her out in her own home.
“…so, we really, really need to know where it was found. This is the discovery of the century – no, millennia! Melting stones, Lady Sybella!” the young man kneeling before her chattered away. He was maybe a century old, his black hair, narrow eyes, and lighter complexion noting him as one of the descendants of Old Man Xi. He was dressed oddly, for an elf; colorful robes of spider silk, with baggy sleeves and multiple designs embroidered along the seams. It was quite eye-catching, one might say fetching, even but no less odd for it.
“Mm.” She grunted, staring at the gleaming dull-gold stone, flattened and smooth, that had been set before her as if it were some sort of demon. For all she knew, it was. The color may have been duller, but it matched the color of the sunlit spears she’d seen in her dreams. Even the way the light of the fire flickered on the smooth stone, making it sparkle and shine, was the same. Resisting the urge to sneer she looked up at the group, eyes fixating on Geovrick.
The grey-haired elf shrunk away from her gaze, properly chastised. What had he been thinking, giving the stone Lysander had found to the Xi of all people?! He knew of their inquisitive nature, and no one was to know of the salamanders! This would only galvanize them to investigate. It had only been three years since they were discovered – no time at all! Neither her brother or Geovrick could keep a secret to save their lives!
“I have been told Lord Lysander was the one to discover this, and although he is away on a mission investigating a new magical beast, I was hoping to get into contact with him to source more of these melting stones. The request was to make a necklace of it, but this is…so much more than that. Perhaps my family and I could be of assistance to his quest as well? We do have experience in handling magical beasts.” The Xi boy continued, practically bouncing in place where he sat cross-legged. Sybella shifted her gaze to him once again, fixing him in place with a harsh stare. Once he was silenced, she turned her gaze to the final person – a young female elf with orangish hair pulled into a ponytail, and bright green eyes.
I say young, but she can’t be too much younger than Lysander. Maybe three hundred? She thought, gaze drifting to over the girl’s shoulder. Typically, she should have been able to see the girl’s spirit guide, but her vision was blurred and it was hard to make out. There was too much energy in the world right now – about the be made worse. The full moon was rising, and the summer solstice was almost upon them. It would be a miracle if she wasn’t bedridden by the end of the solstice, there would be so much powerful magical energy flooding the land.
“I apologize, Lady Sybella. I have yet to introduce myself.” The girl said, bowing slightly. Lady Sybella? Lord Lysander? What weird things are these new generations learning? Sybella had time to wonder, just before the girl continued. “My name is Gloria Arden. My great uncle, Lord Alaric, put me in charge of planning the new village outside of the Caldera. This discovery has put a lot of pressure for the village to be built near to the twin lakes area, where the melting stone was discovered. Or, at least, a push to explore over there and provide more stones.”
Sybella frowned at them, but mostly glared at Geovrick. How much had he told them?
“Don’t look at me,” he protested, as if reading her thoughts. “They figured it out themselves. Lysander asked me to have someone make a necklace out of his shiny rock, and everyone knows the Xi are the best at those kinds of things.” Sybella just continued to glare at him. He could have asked anyone else, and they would have been able to do it.
“Indeed! Imagine my surprise when I accidentally left it in a pottery kiln! Granted, I was trying to figure out how to break it into smaller chunks by smashing it with a rock, first, and noticed how much softer it seemed than stone, but that was a completely unrelated discovery.” The Xi boy chattered. His incessant yammering was causing the headache already forming in the back of Sybella’s skull to worsen, and she finally snapped.
“Enough!” She boomed, leaping to her feet. The entire home rattled as her magic flared with her emotions, the fire in the firepit flaring up briefly. Everyone except for Geovrick flinched away from Sybella as she loomed over them, fighting to keep a sneer off her face. “This is not up for discussion. You will let the matter lie, and do not bother me with your foolishness. Get out.”
All three bowed their heads and rose, shuffling backwards to the door, though Geovrick held her gaze for a few moments before he followed suit. Now fully scowling, she glared down at the melting stone they had brought, still sitting at her feet. In one fluid motion she bent down and scooped it up.
“And take-“ Her expression morphed as she held the stone out, words dying in her throat as simply touching the object sent a cascade of visions rolling through her mind. It screamed of fire and bloodshed, of rage and ruin – she gasped, and the stone clattered to the floor.
“Sybella?” Geovrick asked, concern etched over his features.
“I – I,” she stammered, clutching her head and trying to block out the storm of words and images and screaming –
A hand laid itself on her shoulder, and Geovrick pushed his way through the haze of her visions.
“Sybella, are you ok?” he asked. She worked her mouth, unable to respond. How could she respond, with the hateful screams of demons still echoing in her ears? Her legs were moving before she could even register hat she’d seen, magic swelling within her as she darted out of her house, nearly throwing the door off its hinges as she sprinted for the mountains. The wind swirled behind her, pushing at her back and urging her along.
She had no time to waste. She barely had any as is.
Not when there were demons beneath the mountain.
