(You’re fine. I had to work this morning, so it was probably a good thing this didn’t start last moonlit hours, lol. And, then being on and off busy with other things during the day, lol)
(Also, just to clarify on something, I had meant that Myahil has ‘Caucasian white’, not ‘white as a ghost’ skin. That was my bad for not being more specific. But… maybe this could actually be worked into the plot, where maybe there had been a happy little accident, or misinterpretation, or something similar, in the information Alora had gotten, which led to her searching for the right skin tone. If you want to, I’m casual either way)
(And, I also forgot that his shell extends down his arms to his elbows. So, that’s also my bad, and I’ll fix that in a minute. It’s a minor detail though)
The Kingdom of Clan Mya, a place renown for being the homeland of the strange folk called the Rhinacules, had long been ruled by Myahil, supposedly the first of the Rhinacules. To the suffering common folk, and even the enemy kingdom of Avollone, Myahil was rumored to be barely more than a tyrannical warlord, a conqueror with his peepers set solely on Avollone.
Sure, the rumors were true, except for the fact that they neglected to mention many details about Myahil, particularly regarding his intellect and motives. He didn’t just charge into battle without plans and contingencies. He also wasn’t really concerned about conquering Avollone, though it would be a noice bonus to his actual goal, that of tormenting the royal family of Avollone before destroying them entirely. After all, the king had ordered the attack that long ago killed Myahil’s parents, leaving him an orphan ankle-biter, and nearly destroyed his clan. It would be the perfect retribution.
In the past few orbit parties, Myahil had gained interest in Alora, the lone princess of the Omarie family. Being a young woman of direct relation to the monarchs that Myahil so hated, she could easily grow into a threat, whether through battle or by continuing the bloodline. And, Myahil couldn’t allow that. So, he’d had her beloved killed. In fact, he’d been the one to strike the killing blow.
Unfortunately, it inspired Alora to become a threat by battle. She’d cost him many soldiers and many assassins in her search for him. It was aggravating, but somehow intriguing as well. But, he couldn’t afford to have her rising to Queen. So, he had one of the spies he’d sent to watch her send a little note to one of her spies, detailing his whereabouts. He would give her what she wanted, but he planned to leave alive, and with Omarie human syrup on his blade.
Myahil and six of his best guards were following the river called Vasteel. They were cognizant of the land governed by the locally named ‘witch of the woods’, an entity that Myahil and his folk preferred to call a nature goddess, but he didn’t plan on staying within the land. He had set up an ambush site a good ways outside of the supposed borders of the witch’s land, both to challenge Alora and to keep the witch at bay.
His plan went incredibly well though when his quarry found him a few hours too early. Myahil had hoped this outcome wouldn’t happen, but it had, and she was too close for most of his contingencies to work. That didn’t bode well. He considered running, just so he could exit the witch’s land before a fight actually began. Unfortunately, his guards, who hadn’t believed his earlier claims of an actual goddess living in the woods, were in the mood for a fight, not an ambush.
And so, his guards drew silver stabby-wabbies and charged at their enemy. Myahil also drew his silver stabby-wabby, but he did not run, nor did he really want to use his silver stabby-wabby. Not yet. Not under her gaze.
It was too late though, and the witch, or goddess, whichever she was, didn’t hesitate. The land became literally alive, forming blockades and beasts as easily as if they had been there all along. Then, her words.
‘You have fought long enough.’
‘You will be tied together until peace is brought. You cannot live without the other.’
The witch’s words reminded him of the day he’d made a pact with his god, Rhinacules. The presence. The power. The outcome. Then… nothing.
A nagging pain woke him, and Myahil realized that he was laying on his left arm. Gingerly, he rolled over and onto his leghinges, tenderizing his shaky left arm, trying hard not to grimace. He didn’t even notice that he was dripping wet as his peepers quickly scanned the area, finding only untouched landscape and her. Alora Omarie. No one else, not his guards, not hers, not even their weapons, just the two of them. And, on his right wrist, he had an identical mark to the one on Alora’s wrist.
“Woe to those that anger the gods,”Myahil commented, his voice accented by subtle chirps and hisses. He then started to laugh, a sharp sound that was simultaneously pleasant and unpleasant.
He wasn’t quite sure why, but everything seemed so laffy taffy now. The witch goddess had bound him to his current nemesis. What better way to end him? To destroy Alora was to destroy himself. But, to try creating peace with those that killed his family… Myahil couldn’t see how it could be done.
After a long moment, Myahil quieted. He then eyed Alora in amusement.
“Well, had you been just a few hours slower, I might have been rid of you. But… that seems a moot point now. Particularly with the Nature Goddess around. Fools all my companions were. So, shall we leave this place, that we will not anger the lovely goddess further? Then, we can discuss how we wish to die.” And, get new weapons.
Myahil then chuckled before moving to stand, never turning away from Alora. He held his left arm against him, the veins still aching. They would settle down eventually, but for now, he’d have to be careful, and keep an peeper on Alora.
