The Road to Squalls Crossing

We passed the city limits of Ter’aquit after half an hour of walking through the single-story houses that made up the low-income agriculture district.

Looking over the people who laboured the land, it was easy to see that their lives were, frankly, rougher than I could have imagined. They were malnourished and exhausted, with skin sun-worn to a rough leather, and clothes that were nothing more than a patchwork of rags.

The worst part was seeing the defeat in the faces of noncore species—demihumans and therianthropes who were not too different from the heroic triop of the story. And due to the power players that ran Moal’aw, none of these people understood they had been unwittingly subjugated to a life of serfdom on behalf of the nations Ter’aquit, Sultin’eli, and Anak’hati. A secret punishment of nearly two hundred years to all their kind after the successes of Talir’sahn and General Petal Highland, Maren’s great-grandmother, and the greatest hero of the fallen city.

It was just another injustice I wrote into existence to progress the plot. A meaningless atrocity that I was responsible for.

The guilt tied knots in my stomach as I made eye contact with them.

Not much longer. I thought as I passed, seeing their defeated gazes. They were trying not to make direct eye contact with us, a group of core species, as we walked onward.

I promise that Maren and her triop will free you all soon.

The road to Talir’sahn, the fated location where the last battle of the Two-Generation War had been fought and the last stand of General Highland, was a two-day trek on foot. Squalls Crossing was a halfway point and home to the descendants of those who fought and lost that war, including Maren, her gifted younger brother Melvin, and the majority of the Highland clan.

The landscape was primarily farmland between here and there, meaning that threats were minimal. But this didn’t provide the triop ease.

Traumatized from their last trip through, the party was on alert. I was the most relaxed of our group because, for me, the locale was nothing more than an enjoyable and leisurely walk in a new location.

Three months of Dwindlefyre and Al’Magi had been great and safe, but the itch to explore the world I created had begun to drive me stir crazy. There was much I wanted to see of this reality before the coming war.

Before the end.

This was why I shouldn’t have been as surprised as I was when suddenly something plucked me from the ground while I lagged, admiring a field of poppy-esque flowers. I hadn’t even noticed the shadow that grew darker around me with every passing second before it was too late.

Oh, crap! This isn't good! I’m flying. I thought to myself as dagger-like claws clutched around my shoulders, driving in deep and pouring blood down my chest.

“Ahg!” I cried out, looking up at the four-legged half eagle, half-horse.

Releasing a shrill scream as the beast lifted me thirty feet above my companions, I yelled.

“AHHHHH—Hippogriff! Hippogriff!”

The cry came in time as a second beast swooped down, narrowly missing Sharzin, who had nowhere to hide in the open fields.

Fighting was underway instantly, as from my position, I watched the group shift from caution to combat. Rionriv release a bolt of lightning from her palm within seconds, striking the second hippogriff. It arced over the beast's body, bringing its smouldering corpse quickly to the ground.

Next came Aesandoral, who released two arrows towards me. They impacted one of the legs, forcing it to release its grip.

Dangling now from one of the claws, I looked up to see the free limb as it immediately began reaching for me once more. But it wouldn’t have time before another arrow struck its target. In an instant, I was free.

And I was falling.

No, no, no, no, no! Annnnd, hero landing!

Concentrating my magic in my extremities, a trick that Aesandoral used to put magic into her arrow strikes, I hit the ground in a three-point landing. I channelled a burst of energy from my limbs at the last moment, cushioning the collision, and resulting in a satisfying blast of dust out around me.

“Holy crap! Did you all see that?!” I freaked out, turning towards the triop.

“Pay attention!” Rionriv yelled.

She raced forward, pushing me down and rolling against the road with me. A moment later, a blur of feathers tore through the air above us, as bloodied claws barely missed taking my head.

“You’re going to get yourself killed!”

Aesandoral slid into the dirt beside us, releasing two more arrows. With deadly precision, these sunk into the right wing of the beast, crippling it in an instant and sending it into a death spiral.

It collided hard with the poppy field, carving a ditch through the land before coming to its final resting place. Waiting, I watched as three more arrows met their mark before it finally fell limp.

We had done it. No, they had done it. There was no thanks to be given to me. If I had been paying better attention, I would have spotted the ambush. This was all the triop and they had performed remarkably.

“Great job, everyone.” I commended them, only to be met with a smack to the back of the head. “Owww-uhh!”

“Pay attention, this isn’t Al’Magi.” Rionriv lectured me. “These aren’t students playing monsters. They’re hungry animals. You. Are. Food. Use a little more foresight, oracle.”

She flicked my forehead before taking charge of the situation.

It became obvious that the road was something these three were used to. With little discussion, they divided up tasks and began to make quick work of both hippogriff bodies. They stripped claws and high-quality feathers from the corpses to sell later and carved up thick slabs of meat that they divvied up into each of our bottomless bags.

“We have rations.” I reminded them, as they worked away and I watched in awe, doing my best to learn from their efficiency.

“Never pass up edible food on the road. You never know the next time you’ll find it.” Sharzin said as she cut another slab and shoved it into her bag.

After an hour of work, we were again on the road forward. Having learned my lesson, I was more attentive for the remainder of the journey. Gawking would have to wait for a later date because now, I was keeping my observations of the countryside strictly professional.

By the time we reached the midway town of Squalls Crossing, it had already grown dark. We approached the torch-lit streets some two hours after sunset and headed to the nearest inn.

Aesandoral led us to the tavern and inn where they stayed the last time they came through. It was a hole-in-the-wall hovel with enough seating for maybe a dozen people and potentially enough rooms for just as many. The atmosphere was giving ye olde dive-bar, complete with a drunkard passed out in the corner.

After a surprisingly hearty stew and a strong pint of ale, which came with the cost of lodging, we retreated upstairs to the rooms—and that word was a stretch. They were nothing more than broom closets with a bed.

But they would do for a night.