DrBleep's Secondary Tale Sandbox

A thunderbolt across the sky. Footsteps, metal clashing against metal, stars swimming across my vision. Blood. Blood on the ground. On my hands, on my armor. Ears ringing. What happened?

Clouds swirl in the skies over the young Finnfolk princess. Purples, reds, greens, and pinks, ominous and beleaguered. Muffled voices swim into her head, yells and cries, guttural screams and moans of agony resolve themselves in painful strokes, senses returning.

"Triemedes!" Familiar? "Triemedes up! Up now! You can nap on the field later. We have to go." A scaly webbed hand wrapped around one arm, a mud-woman's around the other.

"Suck on a clam Alva." the Finwife manages with a defiant groan, shaking the fog out of her head, "I'm not going anywhere as long as their is battle." A growl escapes her throat, the rage of battle rising in her throat once more.

Further conversation is stifled as the air grows quiet. Everything seems to stop as time stands still. Pressure builds against the three. Alva's lips move as if speaking, the other Finnfolk's lips curl back in a hiss, like a cornered animal, but no sound travels through the sudden vacuum. Triemede's head snaps to a pinprick of light at the center of the valley. Around it banners, glinting metal of thousands of armor soldiers, colossal moving trees, and giant men and arachnids made of clockwork obscure the floor.

The air moves. The ground ripples. Another pinprick of light. Men, Finnfolk, Daeva, are all suddenly, and violently tossed into the air like boats on a wave. The three of them remain steady.

Then the sky rips open twice.

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