At the Ruins of Madness

[The Raven Basilards]

122PW, Winter

It was good that rust was not a concern.

Sea water rippled over the blade, each gentle wave moving the basilard ever so slightly over the sand. The faint clink of metal softly tapping stone was heard with each new push. The basilard knew it need not fear the dulling of its edge. Ancient magic protected the basilard from the concerns of mundane weaponry. The enchantments of a dead race, the giants known as Ispoli, would hold true for now.

The sun, brilliant in its radiance overhead, was unimpeded by the whims of the stratosphere and scoured away the violet glow indicating that the basilard’s magic yet functioned. Not a single cloud dotted the sky, leaving the searing light complete dominion over the sand and water. Its light was a testament to the circumstances which had brought it here; not a storm, but the conflict of mankind.

Fragments of a junk rested nearby, even less animate than the basilard itself. The wood was charred and crisp. The killing had resulted in fire; the basilard was uncertain how or why such a destructive force had been employed. The connected platform of boards was the only fragment visible. The rest had drifted far away. It would have left the basilard in a horrific state of isolation, slowly drawn into the watery depths, were it not for the sleeping figure which still rested atop the ship’s remnants.

She was an unusual specimen. For the thousands of years the basilard had existed it had never seen another mortal with her features or garb. Her clothing had been badly damaged by both the raid and water, giving the basilard the means to study her numerous tattoos and body piercings. The largest was of a lynx, leading the basilard to assume her probable origins as North East of Tian Xia, an area it had little familiarity with but understood to be largely tribal in culture.

The stylized nature of the tattoos and carvings, coupled with damage and a coating of wet sand, made it difficult to guess as to the remaining species, but one stood out. Numerous decorations upon her body, including a notable tattoo on the left side of her face, indicated spiritual reverence of ravens. None were as large as the lynx, but ravens were represented through a wider variety of means; feathers dotted the remainder of her outfit in one location, and a tattoo of a raven was prominently displayed on the left side of the woman’s face.

She had answered its call before, when its past wielder had fallen in battle. After the ship came splintering apart, her grip had remained firm upon its handle even as she swam for safety. It had not addressed her further or conversed in that time. She had been performing as it desired, and it had not wished to jeopardize its situation when speaking something incorrectly would result in a century surrounded by the darkness of the seafloor. Upon finding land she had quickly collapsed due to exhaustion, leaving the basilard in its present state on the shore.

The sand proceeded for only a short distance, even with the tide low. A steep ridge of earth and rock, roughly as tall as a man, separated the beach from the jungle. Vibrant greens, each of a different hue, covered every available surface. Tree bark, which might have betrayed some shade of brown, was strangled by a thick wrap of vines and moss. Tropical ferns of all shapes and sizes would prevent even the most wary traveler from gauging the security of their next step.

The only color one could see was in the form of flowers. A beautiful chorus of crimson and lavender decorated the shadows beneath the canopy, enticing the naïve to enter. Though the sun held dominion over the sand, it was plain to see not a single ray would penetrate the forest’s eternal ward.

The basilard had other senses beyond mundane sight it might have used to gauge the jungle’s threat, but it feared to use them. Through the simple act of existence as a being so entwined with magic, it could feel potent forces pushing against it. The jungle’s magic felt like blood, flowing from an open wound.

Wake up, child. It told the woman. As its mind opened to reach hers, it could feel the jungle pushing against it, eroding the deliberate Ispoli magic which sustained its being beneath a river of primal power. You are not dead yet.

[Kuyeix]

Heat.

The air was thick with clouds of it, pushing against Kuyeix's skin with some heavy demand. It was as if she was inside a steam house, and for one dizzy moment she thought it must be so. She opened her eyes. A riot of colors assailed her, and as she breathed it matched the overwhelming stink and fragrance. She closed her eyes. She sat up. She knew immediately that she was being tested, that Raven had pulled her into His dreaming, had made His will manifest. This was her existence now, this wild frenzy of impossibilities.

She opened her eyes.

It was impossible to make sense of it at first. Except for the water (and even that shaded towards hues she would never have considered possible), everything was a facsimile of what she knew nature to be. None of it existed but for Raven's will, and she took her time drinking it in. She knew what this test was. Her body would be pushed to its limits, starting with the otherworldly heat. Her mind would be flayed open by the impossible, and if she could not keep it together, she would meet a fitting end. Raven did not need the weak.

"Who are you?" She asked of the voice, though she had her suspicions.

[The Raven Basilards]

The dagger you took from the man with the raven’s limb; prick your finger. It said, answering in truth with the spirit of deception. If there was a raven themed spirit in her lore, it would sound as if the question had been ignored entirely. If not, it had just answered her question. I will guide you through this land, if you can keep the knife in hand.

[Kuyeix]

This was a trick. Raven might have taken the form of the dagger, might have been the dagger all along. Or, this was some scion of Raven, designed to act as Kuyeix's guide or damnation, to make her question the things she knew. Raven was not necessarily cruel, but He was capricious.

"As You will," she said, voice without inflection. She took the dagger, voice taking on the singsong of ritual: "I accept the burdens laid before me, and the task set for me. I will prove my worth."

She drew blood along the inner wrist of her left hand, and let it fall to the sand.

[The Raven Basilards]

The basilard’s power flared, the light of the blade magnifying such that even under the sun it could be discerned. Though often slow and liquid, here the light bent in a manner even more foreign to natural laws, inexorably being pushed away from the jungle. It was best to do this now, before the basilard was stripped of its strength by the ambient magic flowing through the seal.

The basilard turned the flesh of her wrist into the dark, feathered hide of a raven. She was marked. In the event that she dropped it, the basilard would be able to speak to her over a considerable distance.

The momentary expenditure of arcane ability afforded the ambient magic of the area a new push upon the blade. The basilard could feel its enchantments straining beneath the inexorable force, threatening to unravel its very being. The tension faded gradually, but the basilard could yet feel it. The blade doubted it would ever fully recover until it left this place. It had been wise to mark the tribeswoman before entering the jungle’s heart. It feared what even telepathy would do within.

Speaking curtly now would explain later negligence in its guidance. As she recovered from the pain of healing, the basilard resolved to keep its words brief. Ask what you will, but move quickly. We are not safe here. It paused, before fearing she might bolt from beneath the sun’s harsh sanctuary. Avoid the flora for as long as you are able. An ancient power slumbers beneath the leaves.

[Kuyeix]

There was a reverence to the way Kuyeix handled the blade after her wrist partially shifted, and to the way she looked at it. A veil had been lifted, and it dawned clear behind her eyes. She smiled, certain that the Trickster had given her the privilege of this new game, this test. Maybe she wasn't being cast off after all; perhaps she had already passed something in her trip. But, those thoughts wouldn't serve her now. Now, she had to focus on the (un)reality of what was before her.

She got to her feet, testing each limb for any weakness. She was bruised, and a headache was setting in thanks to the brightness of the sun, but nothing was broken or badly damaged. A gift from Raven, she had no doubt. While she did this, she listened to the blade and took another look around her. It was difficult not to be overwhelmed by the strangeness of her surroundings. The plant life was immensely varied, and inevitably luscious, with large fronds and innumerable leaves. It was thicker than the forests of her homeland, and a brighter green. She could not see the trunks or branches of most of the plants, and she knew that would make travel difficult. Not to mention, there were plants in her homeland that were bad to touch, and she did not doubt that Raven had included more dangers in this strange place.

She watched the treeline as she started walking along the beach. The sand was unlike any she'd ever experienced, soft beneath her feet and strewn with detritus from the shipwreck and other, stranger things. There were shells unlike she'd ever seen before, and a few tiny crabs that scuttled about and dove into similarly tiny holes in the sand at her approach. She ignored most of it, though she was wary of any and all life that she could see; she did not know what any of it was capable of, and she was not about to underestimate anything that Raven had dreamed up. She could hear the cries of other animals and insects, distant within the unending field of green. She would need to be cautious.

She considered the blade's words as she walked slowly, occasionally stopping to bend and look at this or that. She found some rope, swollen by the water and salt-damaged, as well as canvas and a few steel bits. It was doubtful that the blade would continuously answer questions she had, so it was better to ration out questions and only ask that which she truly needed to know. And, as she walked and slowly gathered up a small collection of bits and bobs, a question did come to mind.

"Are charms be good here? To use?" She was thinking of spending the night on the sand, to observe and prepare for the long journey ahead of her.

[The Raven Basilards]

The basilard had no difficulty interpreting “charms” to mean “magic” between its centuries of experience and what it already knew of her. It was an enlightening declaration, as referring to magic in unusual ways was often the mark of isolated people with longstanding customs regarding its use. The basilard made a note that she likely did not know of the existence of the seal. It would have to curtail its speech to accommodate her.

They will function as usual, but there is grave danger involved. It informed her, basing its estimation on its own experiences. The basilard could only guess as to the jungle’s effect on her abilities. You will feel a force alien to all experience. It will overwhelm you without a thought, should you give it a chance. Even now, I struggle to maintain this link beneath what feels like a wave of pestilence.

The wind picked up, causing fronds and leaves to rattle in a clangorous symphony. The timing, as if the jungle were responding to the insult, tested the basilard’s will to refrain from extending magical senses for threats. The waves extended several more inches up the shoreline, as if the ocean itself was failing to sink the forsaken place.

Stay your hand of your most powerful rites, and use only moderate ones now. The sun glinted off the ebon hilt of the knife, provoking a glimmer of light which refracted in the water that rolled over the tribeswoman’s feet. In the heart of the jungle, I fear use of even weak mysticism will entreat a terrible end.

[Kuyeix]

The blade had not told her whether or not Raven wanted her to make charms or not, but there were hints. Kuyeix hummed to herself, eyes narrowed as she continued her slow ambling pace down the beach, at once marveling at her surroundings and wary of them.

"You are of my side?" There was some sly hesitance in her voice and bearing.

Her free arm was getting full, burdened by the detritus she'd picked up. "I must put you away, spirit of Raven, if this isn't offense."

[The Raven Basilards]

I am on your side. The basilard responded without hesitation. Should you fail, I will be left here to perish, stifled beneath this place’s presence over the slow course of decades.

She addressed it as “spirit of Raven,” giving the basilard the title of her deity. Relief and amusement entwined in light of the fact, as while this would prove immeasurably helpful in maintaining the half-truths it told her the name was remarkably uninspired. It was also to the basilard’s fortune that her faith allowed for tiers of divinity. The basilard knew the limits of its knowledge. Posing as an infallible being could not have lasted long, and so the basilard had not hidden its own weaknesses from her. No direct lies could be told in the present circumstances. It was far too dangerous to them both.

As the pile of detritus she collected grew, she expressed a desire to put it down. The basilard was once again pleased to see she had come to recognize it as the knife, rather than an ethereal voice. Hope felt dangerous here, but the basilard maintained a small amount.

Survival is paramount. No offense can be taken from any actions towards that end. A colorful bird which the basilard did not recognize sang in a branch overlooking the water, its head turned sideways. One large, round eye was watching them.

[Kuyeix]

Kuyeix didn't respond immediately, brow furrowing as she moved.

"You are... like me?" Her tone was probing, slyness mixing in with the wariness of her body language.

She stopped to look at the bird, and stiffened: there was too much life. Too many eyes. Too much possibility for mischief. Sleep would be difficult, that night.

[The Raven Basilards]

In what rega- The bird let out a harsh cry, its legs crawling along the branches. The creature flapped once without letting go of the branch, causing its weak wood to bend. The basilard recovered quickly, restating its question as the bird flapped again, this time such that it flew. With a muted glow all but invisible under the sun, it asked, In what regard?

As the bird left, the basilard could feel its consciousness fade from its awareness. It hadn’t detected anything abnormal affecting its psych, but still refrained from any potential risk that might expose it to the wound which affected the Seal. It could not take any measure to check. With ambient magic of such intensity, it was uncertain if it could sense magic with any regard for precision anyways.

While its hopes regarding the tribeswoman remained, its confidence in its own utility rapidly dwindled. It would be most useful as a source of knowledge, but none of its wielders had ever been so foolish or unlucky to brave the jungle. Although it had a thorough understanding of magic in general, the scale at which forces worked here made it feel rather paltry indeed.

[Kuyeix]

The bird caught and held Kuyeix's attention until it disappeared into the wild array of foliage, the brilliant green of its feathers nearly jewel-like against the green of the plants.

She paused, hesitated, took a step as if to continue along the shore, but then abruptly turned and started walking. She headed for a small hump of beach-grass that rose slightly above the sand about it. She looked through the grass, checking for anything unusual, and found it empty. She tamped down the center, and made herself sit cross-legged over the grasses, though they were tough and itchy against her skin. The grass was tall enough that if she were to lay down, she wouldn't be seen by casual eyes.

She had left the pile of her gathered materials in the middle of the grass, and now started to sort through it. As she sorted, she spoke ever-so-casually: "like I am. Or ... you were like me?"

[The Raven Basilards]

The basilard’s glow remained contemplatively mute as she settled into the grass. She dropped a handful of detritus into its midst and set to work sorting through it all. The equipment appeared sparse, but what they did have could prove to be useful. Waterlogged rope, planks, and a small handful of broken and burnt knickknacks which had floated along with their segment of the broken ship.

She asked it the same question without much clarification. The basilard assumed that from her perspective her question was self-explanatory. From the sand at the edge of the field of grass, it tentatively responded, I was never human, though I was not always a blade.

As she shifted through the detritus, the basilard noticed something she might not recognize. She had opened a small lockbox, inside of which was several soaked papers and a silver contraption, cracked but serviceable. That circular device is a called a compass. It is useful for navigation.

[Kuyeix]

Her hands stilled for a brief, heart-thud moment. "You were raven?"

[The Raven Basilards]

The wind sauntered over the beach, goading the waves ever forward. The beachgrass bristled and rolled alongside the water, producing an eerie sound with an uncanny similarity to whispers. The basilard’s sense of security dropped. The plants felt more like watchers than sanctuary, with blades surrounding them both.

It doubted anything it could say would gracefully supplant the conclusions she seemed to be weaving about it. It wasn’t certain if she comprehended the existence of any intelligent species not human. The possibility that all nonhumans, or perhaps just spirits from the astral plane, were referred to as ravens under her belief system was entertained, but could only guess as to that conclusion’s validity. Likewise, she had once again used the term raven singularly but the fact that she had asked it if it was a raven was a source of great perplexity.

After a few moments of silence, pressured underneath the ambient magic, it responded, A small fragment, stolen by giants long ago. They were clever, but slain by the empire at your tail.