Children of Terra

~A new land~ ~In a vale of peace~ ~And a Conjunction closed~ ~Pruflas and Metile~ As the shimmering myriad passing through the entrance of Hell faded, Pruflas found Metile and himself emerging at the foothills of a mountain range. A pause was made for the abrupt change in scenery and senses. No blood, muted colors, or miasma. Instead, they were in a vale surrounded by snow-capped mountains behind and in front, with breaks to the left and right. Blue skies, green plants. The first step was orientation and building familiarity -- they were in unknown land.       Accordingly, Pruflas took to council with his demonette. Water. The great resource of life, and they needed to find it. Luckily, the forest was clean and pure-aired. None of the headache-inducing miasma; and so they set off leftward -- the direction of the heart -- using the ranges for orientation.       Only after silence finally settled did Pruflas begin to laugh, loud. He was so taken that Metile had to stop and look at him in half-amusement and half-concern.       She spoke to him, "Am I missing something, Pruf?"       " . . . No, Mettie it's, just wonderful. This is real, isn't it? We're actually out?"       "Yes Pruf, we got awa-"       She was cut off when Pruflas took her in a great hug, lifting her and spinning around in joy. Even she couldn't stop some levity at it; after all, they got out, together. Pruflas set her down, catching his breath before taking in the sights and smells once more, taking her hand and continuing on a path neither knew.       It was an enclosed mountain hike, one demons would rarely -- if ever -- encounter in the 9 rings. Trees and large granite boulders blocked the full horizon, and the sounds of natural life ebbed the hard spirits of the two. Perhaps an hour or two of this passed as they climbed, slid, stumbled, laughed.       Eventually, Pruflas had to point out the diminutive creatures they kept seeing scurry away around far outcroppings. Metile saw them too. But what were they? Grey imps? No demon below looked like that, like a saggy flab of impid. The demon pair ignored them for now, but the occurrence of the creatures showed in ever greater numbers.       One was brave enough to stay on the path in front of them, then Pruflas saw the claws: long, sharp, dried red. He reached to squeeze Metile's arm, before firing a stone bullet at the creature. The pebble hit hard enough to audibly 'phwok' in the flesh; the creature stiffening and slumping. Well, they died easy enough. It was the number of them that was concerning.       They continued on a cautious path until reaching a narrow in the pass, where the rock faces constricted to about a 3-pace gap. Pruflas looked behind him, seeing the distinct ruffling of the small creatures. He looked to Metile, "Shit, this became troublesome. What do you think? Should we fight our way back, and go for a different way?"       She was guarded, a dagger clasp undone but still in leather. "No, if the rest of them are as soft as the one a while ago, we just need to watch for traps." She grasped the handle and stalked forward, eyeing around.       Pruflas nodded, taking a breath as he kept pace behind, walking retrograde and keeping his focus just above the horizon line to maximize field of view. He fired stones at trees and rocks where heads popped up, noting the angles.       Right as they got withing the enclosure of the pass did the things begin to hop out, at least a dozen plus half. Odd, with sharp teeth, claw, and clammy bodies. They looked like degenerated imps left too long in the sun. But Pruflas felled them with ease. They were as easy to kill as imps, if not easier due to the lack of tactics. The hordlings rushed the pair in feral manner, ringing about the pass like bandits, jumping in with groups easily dispatched.       Metile stabbed and weaved her way through her share, dagger singing as it sliced and poked the soft fleshes. Life forged in Limbo didn't allow for total weakness.       The group of impoids were totaled in under 5 minutes. By the gods, did the smell reek! The corpses oozed gooey blood, horse flies already descending in the area.       "Fucking gross. The hell are these things?" Pruflas began to wick moisture from the surroundings to clean Metile and himself, but the concentrations made for a bit of time.       She squatted down to inspect a dead one nearby. Flipping the body over, checking the flabby jowls; Pruflas standing over her shoulder. She took one of the ears (horns?) in her hand, looking at the thin, sharp teeth in the mouth, and then to the nostrils -- a lack of protuberance. The skin was grubby, pale leather. She looked up at him, Pruflas beginning to wash her with accumulated water.       "I don't think these are impids. The anatomy is too dissimilar."       Pruflas nodded, taking the dirty ball of water from them and splashing it elsewhere. "I agree, affairs here don't match the latest reports of Limbo. Come." He knelt down to offer his hand.       She took it, standing back up before looking around. "Things quieted down. Let's see if we can find somewhere safe enough before nightfall." Turning, she began to walk through the pass, Pruflas behind.       The view that greeted them beyond the rocks was a vast nature of trees and hills as far as the eye could see. Birds flew, clouds passed, and the pair were awestruck. Silence dominated the time before Metile prodded Pruflas' shoulder, bidding him look to the right.       Far away, past crops of trees and hills were the signs of water: lines of trees snaking away from the foothills. Pruflas gauged from memory, figuring aloud; "What would that be, 12-13 leagues?"       Metile stood in thought. "I would guess closer to 10 flat-leagues, the terrain might extend it to 15 at worst." She looked to the sky, noting the solar position. "We should head out soon. It will be firmly dark by riverside. You have a naturalis marker?"       Pruflas wrought a bough of aether in his hand, fiddling with it. "I never was as good as Stolas with this stuff, but . . . " The fiber of aether took on an aquae hue and tugged in the direction of the river. "There, now light won't be as necessary." He smiled at Metile, taking her hand as they began to descend the foothill face, stones slipping jarred free.       The mote of blue aether danced above them as they descended down the mountain foothills, the sun marking progress. It would have been downright miserable if not for Pruflas' ability to focus the rich magia of the land into their demonic bodies. This observance bothered Pruflas, and he voiced it in the mid-afternoon, once they were firm in the forest heading over hills.       "Mettie, it bothers me the level of magia in this land. It far exceeds the Terra where I have ever been before. I would think such a place would have been known to us long ago. Maybe a pocket could be hidden, sure; but, you feel it too?"       She looked back at him, her soft face shadowed by the canopy. "Yes, Pruf. We will need to be careful around mortals. The lack of sustenance is a dead giveaway. Don't worry, I'll keep you on a firm leash."       He laughed, slitting his eyes in the way he knew incubi did, letting his prominent canines shine.       She turned straight ahead, suddenly stiff. "Not fair. You know damn well that efficacy."       "A duke should use all available tools in his belt. Isn't that fair, duquesa?"       The tips of her ears visibly reddened as she walked ahead, but she didn't say anything further. Pruflas knew her well enough by now not to tease any more, without some form of retaliation. He took a breath in of that sweet, clean air and walked the forest. Animals of sorts could be seen past trunks and roots, but at least no more hostile ones.       They had traveled far enough the sun was beginning to set, and Pruflas knew there were still 2 or 3 leagues to go. The forest was thinner here, and beginning to break into grassy plains. Just visible in the sunset haze were the green blurs of the distant canopy demarcating the river.       Another advantage of demon kind showed itself here: demons could see in the night. There was no need to carry light with them, and the pace could continue as fast as daytime. Still, demons could get bored on a walk, so Pruflas decided to bring up the earlier conversation with Metile.       "Mettie?" She visibly stiffened, and he knew it was still a sensitive topic. Demon hierarchy was a firm caste system, among the most regimented to a human perspective. Accordingly, it would be hard for Metile to grow accustomed to be on equal footing to effectively a royal -- no matter the prior circumstances of exile.       "Metile. I won't push it for now, but I do want to make clear we aren't in the Rings anymore. It's . . . different, here."       " . . . I know, duke. Let's find a quiet place before discussing this?" She eased the pace, walking in time with him.       He reached to squeeze her hand, walking in silence as the sounds of night began. Colder night breezes wafted by, crickets in the grasslands around sang in concert; and bats with their clicking hunts seen hounding food they could. Eventually, these sounds joined another: the tinkling of a small running creek beyond a treeline ahead.       The trees were thin in density enough to see a creek of modest width, but the night sky and scant moon -- wait, what the fuck? Pruflas was caught looking at the crescent silver in the sky, Metile following his gaze.       Even she vocalized, "I don't think any story or reports suggests a moon of that size . . . "       Pruflas wasn't a divination wizard, sure, not like Stolas. Even the duke knew enough about lunar charts to know the moon in the sky wasn't the companion of Terra. Much too damned large, much too out of phase for what was expected from reports he recalled . . .       Most importantly, the face of it was different, a quirk caught due to demonic night-vision.       They weren't on Terra.       The walk of nearly 15 solar hours didn't wear on Pruflas, nor did the fight in Limbo just prior. In fact, when was the last time he slept? Regardless of that, nothing sagged upon his shoulders like this revelation. He sat on the earthy ground, the soft creek noise a lulling siren.       He spoke out loud for Metile, but his head remained on the silvery creek. "The portal spirited us a ways, it seems. I can't say how much our information will remain true to point."       She sat beside him, finally loosening her neck tie. "Won't matter, my duke."       "What, why?" He looked at her, the faint moonlight making her features hauntingly soft.       "Because we're together." Her words made Pruflas take a back, fixing his gaze and quieting thoughts. He sat beside her in the night glade, with the creek in front and trees around as witness.       After a while, enough for the night moon to reach high; Pruflas stood, offering his hand to Metile. She took it, looking at him for a decision.       He looked around, before settling. "I think we should rest now, given circumstance. Regroup. I can use concealment naturalis, and make a camp for the night."       "Any plan for what to do tomorrow?"       "Follow the river. If there is civilization -- and I believe there is -- we''ll eventually find either a roadway or a town. All people need water, and ease of access like this makes our task simple."       She nodded, leaning against a tree for him to set up camp. Magic really trivialized things in that regard. He set about clearing debris from a spot, compacting the ground underneath to a firm degree. He walked back to the grassy hills behind them and returned in a moment with wind-cut grass.       To Pruflas, the next part was the tricky one. Stolas would have been a natural at it. The duke set the grass in rough bed-like shapes -- two ellipsoids jutting from a central circular shape -- like an amoeba. Eh, good enough. He stepped into the flattened area, beginning to trace the outer periphery in warding symbols and concealment glyphs; one hand weaving and the other he reached without looking for Metile. The feeling of her cool fingers entwining brought a smile to his face as he began the final lap of wards.       Once satisfied, he finally lay on the cool grass-bed; a sigh at the long day now gone. Metile did roughly the same with more poise. He could feel fatigue pulling him down, and he looked to his partner with lidded eyes; "Sleep well, Mettie. You deserve as much."       She closed her eyes with a smile, replying; "Who says we won't meet in dreams, Mr. Incubus?"       He snorted but fell asleep soon after.       It was a whole world unknown past this small quietude -- glyph warded sleep pad. And he needed a full mind to deal with it.