Raised By Rocs
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Book One: The Roc's Lair

Table Of Contents
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- Table of Contents, Author's Note - Page 1
- Title - Page 2
- Chapter One: A Picnic - Page 3
- Chapter Two: Capture - Page 4
- Chapter Three: A Correspondence - Page 5
- Chapter Four: Confrontation - Page 6
- Chapter Five: The Roc's Lair - Page 7

Author's Note
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This book was originally meant to be a standalone piece of work, a whimsical story based on the idyllic Oleanvir valley and the Razine Mountain Range. It was only upon putting quill to parchment that I realized that the plot was not quite as simple as I intended, and the characters and the story were too complex to be contained within a singular book. And this is why this book will be the first of a many-part series.

Therefore, if the ending of this book appears to leave you with more questions than answers, and if the plot appears to be unresolved, it is because this story is not over yet. Keep your eyes peeled for the next installment, and I hope that you will enjoy this tale.

- Coraline Myeras

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(A masterful illustration takes up the entirety of the page, depicting the characters of the story in stylized detail using charcoal and various tints. A ferocious-looking trill stands tall at the centre, her angular face painted over using black and ashen-hued tints. Stormy grey plumes have been styled into a jagged mohawk atop her head, and her wings are a vivid forget-me-not blue that have been mottled over with white and grey to mimic the daytime sky. Her reflective brown eyes gleam with a feral intent, and her thin lips are pursed shut, as she appears to stare at the viewer with an intensity that makes her appear almost lifelike. She wields a steel claymore in both hands, raised above her head as if mid-slash. The trill is flanked on both sides by fierce and enormous rocs, their taloned claws and hooked beaks rendered in meticulous detail as they spread their sky-like wings, as though about to take flight. A third roc spreads its wings above the trill's head, shadowing her form as it soars into the sky from behind. A dracnari of opalescent scales has been illustrated to the left side of the page, wearing black robes and a plain brown rucksack. Only the side view of her face is visible, a gleaming emerald eye painted above a high snout, as she holds a silver broadsword in her hand. To the right side of the page, a menacing figure covered in leaves and moss emerges from a meadow of grassblades, clouds of swirling pollen surrounding its form like a luminescent halo. The characters have been shaded expertly using charcoal, to mimic the progression of shadows in a way as to make them appear almost three-dimensional. The backdrop is divided into two parts that are placed parallel to each other: the top section portrays the jagged peaks of the Razines, and the bottom segment depicts the beautiful Oleanvir valley.)

(The words "RAISED BY ROCS: THE ROC'S LAIR" have been inscribed over the painting in stylized font using bronze tincture.)

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Chapter One: A Picnic
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"Are we there yet? Are we there yet?", the little trill girl chanted impatiently as she bounced up and down from her seat in the carriage. Three hours had gone by since their journey started, and she had started feeling cooped up just one hour into the journey. Just -how- long away is New Celest anyway?

"Not yet, Nelaea. Be patient. We still have a ways to go.", replied her mother curtly.

"I'm bored and sweating and hungry!", whined the little girl.

The girl was but four years of age, and not used to riding in carriages. She had also begun to notice the fact that this particular coach was way too small for her: she couldn't even move her wings without hitting them up against the curtains!

"Just a couple more hours, dear.."

"I'm -hungry-!", protested the girl, her voice now a high-pitched wail. "Let's stop somewhere to eat!"

The little girl's parents shared a look between themselves. They had been feeling quite hungry and cooped up themselves. It wouldn't hurt to stop for a little picnic. They decided to part the carriage curtains and peek outside for an appropriate spot.

A beautiful, placid valley loomed in the horizon, beckoning the family towards it with merry birdsong and flowery fragrance, as if their prayers had just been answered. Indeed, they could have the picnic at the vale.

As they stepped out of their carriage, the little girl's eyes were wide with wonder, taking in the sight of the valley. The ground was carpeted in a vibrantly diverse variety of flowers, and large moss-laden trees almost completely obscured the intense forget-me-not blue of the sky above. Furry raccoons and wild hares scampered about the area, and birds chirped pleasantly from the branches overhead. She wandered about the area, a merry skip to her steps as she walked, until she found the perfect picnic spot: fragrant rosebushes grew wildly in a small clearing, and there were no trees to blot out the sky.

(Tall, jagged brown peaks provide the backdrop to a breathtakingly beautiful valley, illustrated whimsically in a picture here. Lush green, moss-laden trees give way to an ethereally placid clearing, depicted fancifully using expert strokes of the paintbrush. Dainty roses cast vibrant red and white hues upon the lush green grass that covers the ground, while dreamy cotton clouds grace the sky above. A wooden carriage is painted to the right side, drawn by two pure white horses that are depicted grazing idly on the grass below. Two stern-faced adult trills sit upon a patchwork blanket: one possesses pure white feathers while the other boasts plumage of a vibrant forget-me-not blue. Laid out in front of them on the blanket are dainty teacups, a ceramic tea bottle, three closed casserole dishes, and a plate filled with fluffy cloud bread. To their left, a young trill girl is running after a brown hare, her bright blue wings unfurling behind her as if she is about to take flight.)

As her parents spread out their quilted picnic blanket and laid out their casseroles and their teacups, the little girl skipped around the meadow, chasing blithely after a particularly cuddly-looking hare.

"Nelaea, don't go that far!", shouted the little girl's parents after her, but she paid them no mind. She was -so close- to catching this rabbit! As the little girl closed in on the rabbit, she failed to notice another winged creature, much larger than herself, closing in on her. Neither did she notice her parents' cries as they were drowned out by the flapping of massive, feathery wings.

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Chapter Two: Capture
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The mother roc circled around the skies, her sharp eyes scouring the valley for potential prey. It has been a while since she had fed her children: they must be starving right now. She was beginning to feel rather hungry herself.

She slowed down her gliding as she noticed a family of trill sitting by the wooden carriage. Each trill would make a fulsome meal for sure, lasting her and her little family for days. But she knew better than to attack a group of trills: there were three of them, and she would be no match for their combined strength.

But look! One of the three trills - the smallest one, it must be a juvenile - was beginning to get up. The mother roc watched as the small trill slowly wandered away from the group. Just as she was sufficiently out of range of what the roc assumed was her family, the bird decided that this was her chance and she must take it.

In one clean, calculating swoop, the fierce roc snatched the little trill by the waist as she quickly flapped her wings to fly away into the
firmament.

(Soft strokes of gray and sky blue make up this painting that depicts a wide and shallow roc's nest. Chewed bones and remains of broken eggshells have been depicted ominously in bold strokes of the paintbrush, surrounding three baby rocs covered in soft downy blue feathers. The fledgling rocs stare in curiosity at a juvenile trill that glances wide-eyed at them from the other side of the nest, her slender fingers clutching desperately to the sides of the nest. An enormous adult roc holds a massive wing over her children, while glancing hungrily at the trill with reflective eyes.)

The girl was rather thin and bony, the mother roc noticed as she roughly deposited her on to her nest. One of the adults would have made a better meal, but she would do for now.

The mother bird gently nudged her children towards the girl as the trill frantically crawled away to a side of the nest. It was strange, the mother thought: her hatchlings usually pounced readily at the sight of a meal, but they were acting differently today.

The hatchlings' eyes gleamed, not with hunger, but with a mixture of curiosity and warmth, as they waddled closer to the girl. She immediately folded her feathered wings over her body in a desperate attempt at self defense, and that was when the mother roc saw what her children were seeing.

The downy feathers that made up the little trill's wings made it evident that she was still a young fledgling: the wings were very clearly not yet equipped for flight. But it was not the functionality of her wings that drew the rocs' attention: it was, in fact, their hue. They were a bright forget-me-not blue, painted like the colours of the daytime sky. Delicately downy feathers of pure white poked out haphazardly in the cerulean expanse, much like tiny, fluffy threads of clouds.

The colour of feathers on the girl's wings - and even those wispy plumes upon her head, a soft grey in their hue - were not all that different from those of the fledgling roc children. It was clear that the hatchlings thought the same, as they now surrounded the little girl and rubbed up against her quivering form. Greeting a long-lost sibling, perhaps?

And, the more the roc mother looked at the strange scene unfolding before her, the more her sharp eyes softened, and the more her avian heart filled with a feeling akin to... motherly warmth?

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Chapter Three: A Correspondence
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Found inscribed upon an aged vellum letter inked with butterflies, left by the Gaudiguch postmaster's desk:

Shanthin 5th, XXX CE

My dearest Akuyo

I hope you have been faring well without me. Did you miss me much, or did you fill the void by immersing yourself into your work, as you often do? I pray that you aren't completely inundated with letters and other busy work on the regular. I know it has only been a week since you were appointed as Head Postmaster, but I am sure that you must be the talk of the post office with your impeccable work ethic. I know you never follow my advice, but please do not overwork yourself! They like to pile heaps of "duties" upon the hard-working and the diligent, but do remember to take it easy every now and then.

I am extremely sorry for not writing any sooner. Do know that I have been thinking of you every moment I have spent here. Although I miss the softness of a plush mattress, the soothing fragrance of incense, the invigorating warmth of the Eternal Flame, and, of course, the gladsome presence of your company, I have been getting quite fond of this valley. My tent may be simple, and I might be sleeping upon a simple rug on the grass, but the beauty of this vale is breathtaking to behold, and the creatures that live here so engrossing! I am sure that by the time I return, I will have the right material for my book. I have not started compiling my words together just yet, but I have some of the sketches to accompany them done already! Here, look, I will attach one here:

(A tiny postcard has been glued to the letter, painted over with a vibrant and scenic landscape. Skittering raccoons, hopping hares, and slithering adders have been depicted in meticulous detail, and the mellow strokes of the paint lend their images a charming allure that makes the creatures appear almost lifelike. Violets of vivid shades cover the ground in a whimsical carpet, while wispy white clouds adorn the sky above. Tall, jagged brown peaks illustrate the Razine mountains to the west, partially covered by a light veil of fog.)

There are the furry raccoons, the brown hares, and the shy golden-green adders: each charming and riveting in their own way. But the most interesting creatures by far lie not in plain sight. Have you ever wondered why no mortal settlements have ever been discovered in such a
pleasant and beauteous valley, my dear Akuyo? Well, I shall endeavour to tell you now.

I am sure you must have seen and noticed the fierce rocs that inhabit the Razines. They can usually be spotted when you travel northeast from the city. Well, these gargantuan creatures have been using the valley as their hunting grounds, scanning the vale for prey and swooping in when they least expect it. Now now, I know what you must be thinking right now. "You must be insane, Salko! It sounds absolutely dangerous to have a tent in such a place, they might scoop you up and make you dinner!" Well, calm down, darling Akuyo, for I have gone completely prepared. I may be impulsive, I may be irreverent, I might even be verbose: but what I am not is a fool. You see, I have covered the tent in a makeshift rug of tall grass-blades and vines of broad-leafed ivy; and when I venture out into the open air, I cover myself in a cloak made of the same and make sure to crawl my way about the area. I also make it certain that I have sufficiently rolled around in the grass (for at least fifteen minutes!) before venturing out! This way, I am guaranteed to have pollen all over me to throw off their scent trail as well. Quite an ingenious camouflage, if I say so myself, the rocs haven't sensed a singular dracnari in the Oleanvir valley yet!

So I have been curious, and studying these rocs closely for the past couple of weeks when they hunt (again, do not fret, I have been following the precautions I have listed above and am always safely out of their sight). They are fearsome creatures to be sure, their hooked talons and beaks making them the most vicious of predators in the valley. And their wings! Oh, they are so very majestic! Spanning well over fifteen meters, they can easily blot out the sky - and that is how you know they are circling. You must look for a shadow... one that couldn't possibly be caused by anything else. Because if you look up at the sky, you wouldn't spot them that easily, my Akuyo, for the hue of their wings: oh, they are so ingenious! You might already know that the rocs have white feathers, but upon closer inspection, it can be seen that they have also been mottled over with greys and blues : almost perfectly mimicking the firmament above. Just like I have employed the art of camouflage to escape their attention, they too have done the same to make their preys feel at ease.

And they show up, daily. They circle the valley, and take their prey: usually the hares, sometimes the sheep. It is always the adult rocs, never the fledglings or the adolescents - well, until now, anyway.

Today, I saw a marvelous sight. I saw a shadow, looming in the horizon as usual, but it was slightly smaller than usual, so I went to check it out. I wanted to study the new roc and what it might prey on. A newly-grown adult, I assumed. Well, I assumed wrong.

You see, Akuyo, the creature that I looked upon -appeared- as a roc, in behaviour and mannerisms, and even mostly in appearance, but anyone who looked closely could see that it was not. Flanked by wings of blue and white, the plumage on her head deep grey and jagged, glided in not a roc, but an adult female trill! I have never seen anything so fascinating, and I don't know if words can give it justice: here, I have attached two sketches for your perusal. One of an adult roc, one of this strange trill:

(Two sketches have been shown side by side here, evidently meant as a comparison. To the left lies an anatomically accurate depiction of an adult roc, everything from its large talons, long curved beak, and reflective eyes marked and labelled in meticulous detail. A ragged crest of feathers adorn its head and extends all the way to the back, and it holds its massive white wings aloft, mottled with gray and blue patterns. To the right, and adult female trill has been depicted, clad in a primitive cloak of discarded roc feathers. The grey feathers on her head have been fashioned into a jagged mohawk, as they reach all the way down to her waist. Twin brown eyes gleam with a feral intent from an
angular face painted over using ashes and charcoal. Her nails are long and curved inward, their mud-caked appearance closely resembling the talons of a ferocious roc. Massive wings flank her slight frame, their hue predominantly a placid sky blue, but adorned by wispy cloudlike patterns all throughout in delicate shades of white and grey, mimicking the appearance of the sky.)

As it (she?) snatched up a hare in her mud-caked hands and flew back into the skies, I lay on the ground, not daring to make a sound and too awed to move. A trill, that looks and behaves as a roc! Can you believe it, dear Akuyo? This is an exceptional discovery, and I must write extensively about this in my book: that is sure to attract the attention of many readers!

I know I was planning to be back home last week, but I must stay longer and study this trill. No longer will the Gaudiguch Gossip call me a "crazed, rambling lunatic, who this reporter is sure has never been to a Collegium". No longer will that Chixieya turn her nose up at me when I turn up at her printing press, for this time, I will not be going in seeking employment: they will beg to be employed by me! All once this book is finished.

Until then, I will miss you
Yours in love
Salko Miim

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Chapter Four: Confrontation
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The soft rays of the evening sun reflected and refracted off of Vanu's scales, making them gleam in a prismatic display, as she made her way through the road. The more she travelled, the more the roads started looking similar, as if she had been walking around in circles. Where even was she presently? She paused to take her map out of her belt, examining it closely. “Old Imperial Road”, it said. Funny, she had been at the Old Imperial Road for a while now, sticking to the sides as it curved around the Razines.

"Why did I even agree to this?", the dracnari muttered under her breath as she continued to walk forward at a brisk pace. Judging from the age and condition of the roads, it was a miracle that they were still serviceable. It had been three days since she had been sent off by her uncle Akuyo to find the Oleanvir valley and bring back his crazy boyfriend, and although her map seemed to tell her that she was getting closer, there was no sign of the aforementioned valley. Night was swiftly approaching, and Vanu was getting tired and rather hungry. She checked her map again. There was a way station nearby: she could stop, eat something, and then stay the night. If the rocs were as fearsome as her uncle warned, then it probably might not be the best of ideas to try to rescue Salko from them at nighttime.

Surely enough, as she continued her journey, she noticed a small way station in the horizon, making its presence known with a permeating briny fragrance reminiscent of the ocean. Just like the map said. Maybe this thing was not completely useless, after all.

The station was sparsely decorated and appeared as though it hadn't been accepting many customers on the regular, Vanu thought as she picked at her humble dinner of rabbit stew. There was not a lot of choice here in the way of food, and the living quarters were far from luxurious, but hey, it was cheap. And besides, the waitress was rather cute.

She would spend the night here, at this inn. Tomorrow, she would set out to find the Oleanvir Valley, find that Salko Miim, and try to knock some sense into him.

(A sparsely populated, sea-themed mess hall has been illustrated here with bold strokes of green, blue and brown. Bleached planks and rough stones adorn the walls, alluding to the poor upkeep of the inn, but they nevertheless add to the quaint charm of the depicted way station. A prominent portion of the hall has been cluttered by seaweed-covered driftwood, netting, and other discarded items, strewn haphazardly on the floor. A roaring fireplace has been set up at a tidied-up corner of the room, depicted whimsically in this painting using fiery hues of red, orange, and yellow, and a couple of tables have been set nearby to welcome hungry and weary travellers. The tables, flanked by log benches, are empty save for one at the corner. There sits a lone dracnari woman. Her demeanour is aloof and intimidating, with her tall, muscular frame, her high snout, and her piercing jade-green eyes. Nevertheless, she possesses a statuesque and striking allure, drawing attention to herself with her dazzlingly opalescent scales. Pearlescent in hue, they cover her form and appear to reflect the evening sunlight that comes through an adjacent window. The dracnari is being served a bowl of what appears to be some form of stew, by a dainty young human woman with rosy cheeks and long dark hair.)

The next day, at the break of dawn, Vanu packed up her belongings and set out eastwards in search of the Oleanvir valley. This time, her map was secure in her belt, right next to her trusty broadsword, for the waitress - Aurore was her name - had explained to her the directions to the valley. She had even winked at Vanu as she detailed the way, and slipped a perfumed note surreptitiously into the young dracnari's breast pocket. Vanu was extremely pleased by this, and thus, her spirits were much higher than they had been the day before. She could use some good spirits, with the task she had ahead of her.

Her parents, her uncle, and the entirety of her extended family had decided that Vanu, with her intimidating demeanour, no-nonsense attitude, and "convincing nature" (by which, of course, they meant her mastery of the broadsword - Vanu's preferred manner of influencing others was through sheer brute force), was the best bet in bringing the eccentric Salko back home. And thus, they had decided that she, the twenty-year-old, would go. She would go because she could go. Nobody asked if she wanted to go.

The young dracnari was brought back from her reverie as she caught a beautiful, placid valley emerge ahead of her in the horizon. This must be the place. Now she just needed to find that fool.

Vanu needed only to search the valley for a few moments before she found a dingy old tent covered in grass and vines. According to uncle Akuyo's description, this must be Salko's tent.

Vanu decided to take a quick peek inside. Nothing but a bunch of smelly rags, torn-up sketches, and scrumpled up vellum. Gods, how does anyone live like this?

"Hey! What are you doing?", came a voice from behind.

Vanu summarily exited the tent and looked around for the source of the voice. Strange, she couldn't find anyone.

A faint rustle from behind her, and again the same voice. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

Vanu reflexively turned around, and that was when she came face to face with a gargantuan mound of grass, vines, and moss.

The figure slowly raised a moss-covered hand towards her. Clouds of multicoloured pollen danced about its form in radiant swirls, reflecting the midday sun overhead in a prismatic display.

"Ahhh! It's a sun druid!!", cried Vanu as she stumbled back, reflexively drawing her broadsword in defense.

"A -sun druid-! Why, I never-", protested the grass-coated figure. "I've been called very many things in my life, but a sun druid, that's a new one.."

Her eyes still narrowed, Vanu examined the figure closely. It must be at least six foot tall, and was covered head to toe in grass and vines. Pollen and blades of grass swirled ethereally about its form. No cudgel, though. She looked around at the ground. What would a sun druid's cudgel even look like?

"You are mistaken, young lady.", continued the viridian figure. "I am not a druid, I am but a simple traveller and artist."

And that was when realization dawned on Vanu.

"...Salko?", she asked hesitantly. Uncle Akuyo had mentioned that he might be covered in leaves and vines, but she clearly did not understand to which extent.

"How do you know my name?", the grassblades on either side of the figure's face drooped down slightly in a comical impression of the narrowing of eyes.

Vanu did not answer. Instead, she sheathed her sword and took a few angry stomps forward, her face now only inches away from the mossy figure.

"Just what do you THINK YOU'RE DOING??", Vanu screamed at the figure, puffing up her chest. "What is wrong with you? Endangering yourself like this? My uncle has been worried sick!"

"Uncle? Are you-"

"Do you know that I have better things to do than roaming around and looking for a crazy old man? I've been walking for three days! THREE. WHOLE. DAYS! Stepping on horse manure, eating nothing but way station stew, sleeping on their dingy floors, and all for what? Because some random buffoon who my uncle is in love with - for some ungodly reason, I do not understand what he sees in you... "

A faint cloud of pollen spun slowly around Salko as Vanu continued her tirade. He already knew that he could not get a single word in if he tried, and so he voted to hear her out.

"...decides to go on an inane adventure and willingly put himself in front of harm! Oh, I could just strangle you right now! You're coming back with me right now, and I won't hear any excuses.."

It was when a heavy shadow began to cloud over the both of them that Salko decided to protest. "Miss-"

"I -just said- I won't hear any excuses from you!", Vanu cut him off, still bristling as she spoke. "If you don't get out of that stupid pile of grass and come with me this instant-"

This time, it was Vanu who was interrupted as a pair of enormous talons grabbed her from above.

"Bluh-"

By the time she realized what was happening to her, she was too far up in the sky to reach Salko's vine-enveloped hand as he ran after her. "Miss! Nooooo!"

(An artist's rendering of the Oleanvir valley has been whimsically depicted here using masterful strokes of the paintbrush. The jagged peaks of the Razine mountains are depicted in the horizon, strokes of grey meeting the brilliant blue of the sky, all enveloped by a light blanket of fog. The ground is brilliantly green, tall blades of grass peeking out from the viridian expanse. A green, triangular mound has been illustrated towards the right, covered in leaves, grass blades, moss and vines: with an open door curtain at the front the only thing identifying it as a tent. Towards the middle, a buff dracnari woman with brilliantly hued opalescent scales narrows her emerald-green eyes at what appears to be a tall figure covered in various greenery, blades of grass and varied leaves sticking out haphazardly throughout its form. A light cloud of pollen has been depicted around the viridian figure in brilliant swirls of golden spots. A shadow falls over both the dracnari and the grass-coated figure, looming from the left side of the painting.)

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Chapter Five: The Roc's Lair
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It seemed like only a moment had passed since she was abruptly abducted from the skies, but all Vanu could remember was an encroaching shadow, something strong grabbing her from above, and the concerned cries of Salko as she was suddenly lifted up into the skies. And then, a bluish blur around her as the wind howled into her ears, and suddenly she was deposited at a shallow nest.

"Creeee!", cried a hungry baby roc as it lunged forward to nip at her arm.

"Hey!", protested Vanu as she took a few steps backwards, nursing her now bleeding arm. She stumbled upon something feathery and turned around, now coming face-to-face with yet another ravenous roc fledgling.

She needed to get out of here, and fast.

Vanu harriedly fumbled about at her belt, heaving a sigh of relief as she found her trusted broadsword, sheathed securely at her waist.

"Stay away!", she cried as she slashed her sword at the air. "Get away from me!" Scrambling towards the edge of the nest, she continued to brandish her sword at the fledglings as she attempted to climb out.

She had to be somewhere at the Razines. Vanu hoped against hope that the nest was not at a perch too high for her to jump down from.

"Creeeee!", the fledglings clamoured, almost in unison, as they toddled towards Vanu: too hungry, or perhaps too naive, to be fazed by her sword. One of the creatures started to pull her down from her ankle.

Without thinking, Vanu slashed at the fledgling bird with her sword, hacking into its not-yet-formed left wing.

The baby roc howled loudly in pain as blood sprayed around it, and, immediately, as if in response to its cry, the sky darkened overhead as a creature swooped down into the nest. The mother roc, perhaps?

Only a quick glance was enough to ascertain that this was far from the case: for although her wings were almost similar to a mother roc's, it was not a roc that stepped defensively in front of Vanu, fixing the dracnari with reflective brown eyes.

Vanu took a step back as she stared in amazement at the stranger. She looked all too similar to a roc, but was not quite one of the species. A trill, who seemed to be about the same age as Vanu: an adult, but a young one at that. Her wispy grey head-plumage was styled into a jagged mohawk like the ridges atop a roc's head, and ashen face-paint covered her gaunt face and her long, slender neck. She was garbed in a crude cloak of grey and white roc feathers, and she held a steel claymore in her mud-caked hands, the fingers ending in long nails that curved inwards like talons.

"No... hurt...", the trill said, raising her claymore threateningly at Vanu and not taking her eyes off of the dracnari.

"Who... who are you?", Vanu stuttered in confusion.

"Hurt... and I... kill..."

The trill spread her wings protectively over the hatchlings, and narrowed her eyes, the pointed tip of her claymore glinting in the daytime light.

This might be the best time to escape, Vanu thought: the trill was defensively protecting the hatchlings, and might be too busy tending to them to come after her. And yet, against all logic, the dracnari stood there, frozen in place, fascinated by the stranger in front of her.

She was clearly feral, with her primitive attire and her savage demeanour, but then again, she could form broken phrases in Common, and she had that claymore with her...

Perhaps she could reason with her, Vanu thought. Convince her not to attack.

"I don't want to hurt you or the birds!", the dracnari cried. She held up her hands in a gesture of peace, although her right hand was still gripping her broadsword tightly.

The trill did not reply, but only cocked her head to the side, confusion crossing her aquiline features.

Hmm. Maybe she doesn't quite understand Common beyond a few phrases.

"I... no.. hurt..", Vanu said, making exaggerated gestures with her hands. "I..leave..."

The trill was wearing a silver necklace, although it looked worn and damaged. The locket, embedded with a beryl, seemed shattered and cracked in half, with the right half smashed beyond repair.

Vanu squinted at the locket. The other half seemed to spell out 'NEI'. Or perhaps it said 'NEL'.

"Nel... are you Nel?"

(A wide and shallow roc's nest forms the backdrop of this illustration, feathers, with broken eggshells, and chewed bones strewn about. To the left, a young trill spreads her sky-like wings to protectively cover four fledgling rocs. Blood gushes out of the left wing of a smaller hatchling at the front, and it pools at the floor in a vivid carmine hue. The trill's reflective brown eyes are narrowed, and she wields a steel claymore, the tip of which is pointed at a dracnari depicted on the right. Covered in gleaming opalescent scales, the dracnari is using one hand to grab protectively at the walls of the nest, while her other hand clutches a silver broadsword.)

"Nel?", the trill responded quizzically, tilting her head to the other side. After a long pause, she responded, "I am T'iar."

Still eyeing Vanu warily, T'iar knelt next to the wounded roc fledgling, her sky-blue wings still spread over it and the other hatchlings like an umbrella of protection. There was a gash on its left wing and it was bleeding profusely from it. The wound did not look serious, but the roc could die from bleeding or infection if it was not treated.

Vanu couldn't help but feel a little bad. Sure, it had tried to attack her, but it was only a baby - a newly-born hatchling. Perhaps she could help it.

Vanu fumbled around at her belt. The map was still intact, some gold sovereigns, purity dust...

"Aha!", she cried triumphantly as she took out a vial of healing potion from her belt.

"Here... drink...", Vanu said as she dropped the vial on to the nest. She gently rolled the vial towards T'iar and the fledgling, then made a drinking motion with her hand.

T'iar narrowed her eyes, looking at the potion for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then slowly, she picked it up, pulled open the cork with her talon-like fingernails, and poured some of the gleaming liquid down the wounded roc's gaping maw.

Almost instantaneously, the wounds healed, and the bleeding stopped, as the fledgling returned to its previous vitality.

"Thank...", said T'iar, glancing at Vanu and nodding curtly. Her expression appeared to have softened a little.

"I...go..?", asked Vanu hopefully. Maybe now that she helped save the fledgling, they would let her go.

A sharp howling of wind interrupted their conversation as the nest began to shake. Vanu looked up at the sky. A storm was coming. And it seemed to be a big one.

She glanced back at T'iar, who was also looking up, studying the firmament with her reflective eyes. She let out a succession of what sounded to Vanu like raspy shrieks, her expression now clouded with worry.

The fledgling rocs frantically tottered around the nest as it - and everything around it - quivered violently. Vanu watched as T'iar picked up two of the hatchlings, one in each hand.

Pointing at the other two on the nest, the trill fixed Vanu with a pleading gaze. "Help..."

"Me? I-"

"Take. Follow.", now the words had an touch of harshness about them.

Vanu stared for a moment at the baby rocs, and then obeyed.

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