And None Returned

Ketsalkuetspaltahtepetl, Several hours after enemy encampment news was shared

"It has been an hour past time, Warrior Skielstregar," one the Talons reports to the towering silverscale, who's been nearly painted gold from the sheer amount of draconic runes and handprints covering his exposed scales. The drizzling rain is making the paint run again.

"T-They will return," Skielstregar growls, glaring out into the jungle as he observes, just outside the main walls. Malefic stands nearby, silent.

The Talon nudges Skiel with their tail. "We must grieve later. There is much more to be done," they intone, before quietly ambling back, deeper into the holy site.

The silverscale trembles, pressing a palm against a tree to keep himself upright. Black ichor drips in rivulets off his arms. A horrid sensation of dread waft from him.

Malefic quietly murmurs, "You must remain calm, Skielstreg-"

"DOES IT LOOK LIKE I CAN BE CALM RIGHT NOW?!" he snaps, eyes crimson as he snarls. A fist flies forward, slamming into the trunk of the tree. A chunk of wood explodes out, the tree groaning and leaning.

"Do you feel better now-"

"Silence!"

Verna emerges from larger structure, possibly from a discussion with one or more elders or members of the Talons. A tome hovers before. Swaying dress with brisk steps and rather sharp page turns bely that her skimming is more than casual reading. She appears to pay minimal mind to her surroundings beyond obstacle avoidance. Until the splintering of wood, that is.

Her head rises sharply and tensely, eyes promptly scanning with sudden urgency. When no immediate threats are apparent and she notes Skielstegar at the damaged tree, her posture relaxes. Slightly. "Is there any recent news?"

Skiel, dripping a mixture of brackish miasma and rainwater, turns slightly as he hears Verna's question. Expression furious, glaring. But he thwaps his own snout and turns away, plugging his nose with fingers and blinding himself with the other hand.

Seems like he's trying to calm himself down.

Malefic turns, standing nearby. It gives a little dip, as if it was a bow, before its metal maw parts to speak. "The scouts are an hour past their return time, Death Singer," it answers, morose. Its exuberant tone as of late has been absent, the metallic voice a quiet reed. "They aren't returning."

Skiel's skull quietly thuds against the assaulted tree.

Verna exhales a long breath before her pensive expression flickers to frown. Then, as she approaches, it becomes flat. Neutral. Once behind the looming Makari, she opines,"Your ire is best held for the enemy, warrior. There shall be no lack of targets."

The brackish mixture slowly abates to nothing as Skiel gets himself pulled together, face buried into both hands now. A deep, near silent bassy rasp rumbles in his chest, staccato. "W-Why mussst they alwayssss take? They take thisss one. They take their tribe. They take thisss one'sss memoriessss. They take thessse landsss. Take, take, take..."

Malefic turns to Verna briefly before nodding along. "We can purge them sssoon, Warrior, for every one they did this to, two more can pay-"

"I grow tired of needlesss violence...!" Skiel hisses, turning around to slide down the tree until his seated in the mud. He draws his knees up, the bassy rasp resumes.

He's crying.

"They will not continue to take," Verna assures him, her voice level and even. "We will not permit them to." A hand reaches for the Makari now more easily within reach of her. "We all stand against them, of our own free will and desire. Any who did so and fell, or might fall in the battles to come, are not taken; they were given by choice to protect others."

Skiel looks up, little patches of ice under his eyes growing. A haggard sigh escapes him, a single talon extending to give the reaching hand something to hold on to. "I know this, Death Sssinger. I did thisss before, I do thisss now. But it alwaysss feelsss like it isss to no end."

He sniffles, rubbing at his face. "Thisss one knowss you are keenly aware of their deviousnesss. To be alwaysss underfoot isss... tiring." He exhales, eyes downcast. "Ssscouting failed. What do we do now?"

Verna lowers her hand to her side and is silent a time to consider. "Which group did the scouts seek, or were there several parties?One attempt at reconaissance need not be the only attempt, though we should do so with great care and caution."

Another pause. "As I believe the ravener to be the crux of their plans, it would likely be the most guarded. Whether the magi or the devils are the more potent group would depend on the skills of the magic users. Which would you consider the larger threat of the two?"

Skiel lets his offered talon fall to the side as his legs splay out. "Thisss one organized ssseveral Huntersss per site. Time isss of esssence, ssso thisss one tried to get as much ground asss possible."

He stares at his hands. "Both are equally powerful. Both have causssed thisss one grief. But we know what the magesss can do. Lotsss of fire and tentacle spellssss. And they are mortal. Devilsss... more unknown. Not mortal. Dangerousss and can infiltrate." He looks up to Verna. "Thisss one thinksss the devilsss are more dangerousss. And would be better ssserved to have smote with holy fire sooner than later."

"Amen," Malefic quips.

Skiel's tail slides over and shoves Malefic into the mud.

"... I deserved that."

Verna nods. "The mages could be the easiest to scatter and dissuade when threatened. If the fiends are summoned, they will hold no qualm in fighting to their own destruction; they would simply return to the hells." She glances to the tipped-over weapon a moment, then looks to Skielstregar. Pointedly. "How soon would you consider soon enough and whom would be best to harass or remove the devils? I could aid in transporting a force to the vicinity, and perhaps more..."

As she considers that, her eyes slips past the Makari to abodes beyond him. "Though Auranar would not forgive me were I to venture off against fiends without her."

Skielstregar looks at Malefic, shaking his head before blinking at Verna's gaze. "The sssooner the better, ssso we can also sssave the Huntersss. And... thisss one can join on that. While thisss one would enjoy helping purge the corruption, thisss one feelsss it may be beyond thisss one. And the risssk with thisss one'sss, um, /condition/, may make it worssse."

He glances behind him to the abodes. A chuff escapes him. "Then you need not face the devilsss. Thisss one knowsss servantsss of the Dragonfather that would enjoy the chance to purge fiendssss. Your mate can easssily help with the magessss."

"None of us can be in all places at once," Verna acknowledges, albeit with a frown, "regardless of how much we might prefer otherwise. There is limited time to act, so it is best we focus where each might bear the largest impact. I began study of what means they might use to control this creature. Perhaps it best that I continue such. If they cannot direct it here, it cannot threaten the city, nor the Sith-Makar as a whole. Auranar will act as she deems best," a slight hint of smile curls her features, "though she holds no small interest in returning fiends to the Hells."

Skielstregar takes a deep breath, him rising slowly and picking up the muddy halberd as he does. "Sssa. Then you work on that, Death Sssinger. You figuring sssome way to dissrupt their control would be bessst, assss our groupsss will be holding back forcesss to buy you and your group time."

A chuckle- something thats far more fitting on the silverscale- escapes him. "Thisss one knowsss not how your mate fightsss, but if she wissshes to ssslay fiendsss, then she isss safe with usss."

Verna's countenance softens further at that last comment, from a morself of mirth to a genuine smile. "I welcome your assurances, and am most grateful. She is powerful and capable in her own right..." she exhales a soft breath "even if I do not always best reassure her of this."

Skielstregar's tail thumps the ground. "We sssshow our caresss in different wayssss," he rumbles, feeling better by the moment. The silverscale looks amused. "You remind thisss one of their Chiuaa. Focusssed on resssultsss and actionsss, pragmatic. Worry not. Your mate can tell you are reasssuring them in your own way, Death Sssinger."

His eyes nictate. Looks around. Then bends down to be closer to Verna. "Alssso, isss um. Isss pink hair natural for sssoft skinsss?" he inquires quietly, confused.

"I will always hold concerns," Verna admits, whether for misunderstandings of her mate, her mate's safety, or both. The inquiry that follows is unexpected and causes brows to lift. "It is not one that appears naturally for most, no. Many choose to dye their hair as they see fit, however; just as some might decorate skin or scale. Auranar is fond of that particular color."

"Oh." Blink blink. "... thisss one though her hair turned pink the further down it went," Skiel mumbles, rubbing his head. "... softskinsss get confused at makari waysss, but sssome softkinsss hair and skin variesss jussst asss much asss oursss. Thisss one may have thought the pink hair wasss turning into pink clothesss. Much makesss sense now."

Bless him.

A puff of cold air escapes him as he rises. "Very well. Thisss one will... try and figure out sssomething elssse that we can do. Will ssend word at leassst to Daeusss temple in Alexandria."

Verna steps back as he rises out of respect of personal space. "Sildanyari hair would not make for comfortable clothing, I suspect. I shall see what else I might learn of our foes or their methods. Peace on your nest."

"Peace on your nessst, Death Sssinger." A pause. "... thank you for ssspeaking with thisss one. They feel better." Skielstregar smiles.

-End Scene-