“The Blight Campaign” is the creative property of Tris Strudel (Joshua Park) and The Pending Game Creative Collective.

Originally submitted to the Small Speculative Fiction Write Jam (2026) on March 30th, 2026.

Read about how this project came to be here.

Segment One: The Expendable Victim

I am Syrol run’Pror, or Syrol the VII, of the kingdom of Saoyu.  I am the second daughter of King Kyrul run’Set (the III).  I am the third child of Kyrul run’Set and Lady Yusin.  And I am expendable.

Like my mother, I would be titled “Lady”, not “Queen” or “Princess”.  Second daughters are not marked for such honor and rank.  My prospect would be as an advisor if I demonstrated fealty: if I showed no hostility toward the favored siblings.  Failing that, I would be saddled with overseeing one of my kingdom’s prospect departments.  

Spiritual leadership was the most prestigious.  As Priestess, I would have access to arcane knowledge.  I could practice and teach my people’s magic freely.  The king and queen retained dominance over such power to ensure the religious authority submitted to the crown, but next to such power, the spiritual hierarchy was the most favored.

I would not receive such a blessing.  My brother was already Priest, being many years older than my sister or me.  And I had not demonstrated the emotional stability necessary.  So, I would be content with a smaller office.  My social capabilities made it unlikely, but I desperately favored the Inspector title.  Auditing territories and reporting status of the commonwealth would keep me busy, allow for the quiet of frequent travel, and minimize my political responsibilities.  If I were not to be Queen, I would not suffer sibling arguments on a national scale.

My sister–Syrol run’Rom, though I called her “Pelle”–was pragmatically proactive in finding me a position which diluted my chances of overlapping in her affairs as eventual Queen.  She understandably worried that an Inspector could manipulate citizens and falsify reports in my favor against her.  She could not risk it.

“Things are different,” she’d tell me.

“I know,” I’d repeat… for what must have been the thousandth time.  My twenty years of familial warmth were up.  I knew that.  Now, I just wanted security.

Pelle thought that playing ambassador would keep me out of her path long enough.  Saoyu had a complex history with the other nations, but we prided ourselves in our civility.  And it was customary for a noble of our faction to attend formal events of any neighboring kingdom.  I was to go to the Trachorum, who openly disliked my people.  A part of me still wonders if Pelle expected me to become a political prisoner and thus unable to–…

…

I guess it doesn’t matter now.  I was somewhere much worse.  I awoke in an impressive cage, domed with thick glass–or something like glass–and braced with metal.  Chains on its roof and rear elevated my cell.  There were a few dozen like these to my left and right.  Most were empty, but I could see traces of… residue on their stony floors.

I was in some kind of machine.  The walls were overlapping, interlocked, constantly moving shapes of metal.  It was more complex than anything I’d ever conceived.  Red and orange hues plumed out from different ports and between the teeth of gears.  It was uncomfortably warm.

I knew where I was.  The Blight had me.  They were first seen five years ago in this colossal, black and purple shape in the sky.  My people thought it was a leviathan of some kind.  It released these large, metal warriors on the land, hot like the inside of my prison.  However, these imposing foreigners initially showed no hostility.  For years, we thought they were only studying minerals and plants.  Some nations tried to be diplomatic and were ignored.  And then we heard about disappearances.

Now I was one of those disappearances.  And my family would not risk avenging me.

My long, white fingers traced up my tattered leather and fabric robes to a fleshy indent just below the left side of my collarbone.  There was a malformed hole.  Then I reached up to my upper forehead: a larger hole.  The Blight had robbed me of my Chassa: organic conduits for my peoples’ magic.  I have had mine since birth.  Without them, I was an abomination.

At least now I knew why the Blight were here.  They were studying more than flora and stone.  They were going to harvest us all.

I was resigned to my fate.  I had been in my cage for at least three days without any nourishment.  None of the other prisoners thrashed or cried out.  My antenna would have detected the vibrations even through the strange glass.  And my orb-like eyes could make out the slumping and catatonic stares.  I saw one of the Trachorum, this crustacean-like man who could barely fit in his cage.  I was shocked that the glass never cracked from the compression.

I had this habit of straining my hair and coiling it around my antennae.  But the Blight had shaved it before I woke up.  So now my fingers traced ghost locks every couple of hours.  I wondered what I would even do if I escaped.  What life awaited me now?  Even if I found my own Chassa, could they be reinstalled safely?  Would I ever use magic again?  

No.  This was the end.  And I decided I preferred that to going back and–

*CRA-SHA*

Something had gone wrong.  Some seven yards to my right and thirty forward, a blast sent pieces of the Blight fortress spewing out and crashing against some of the cages.  Something was on fire in the wound, but the rest of the room continued cycling through its parts without delay.  The damage was minimal despite the shudder and smoke.

I glanced calmly at the other cages to see almost no damage.  But the Trachorum’s chains were caught by this massive gear.  A whining sounded from above.  Something on the Trachorum’s cage was giving, and the crustacean was aware.  With the little movement he could manage, he jostled and hopped.  It looked ridiculous–even futile–but then I saw it.  The clamps on his cage’s roof were bending outward.  But… but this meant he would fall when they snapped.

Someone had to escape this.  I started banging on the glass of my own cage, screaming and pointing.  The Trachorum didn’t notice me three rows down at first.  Then one of his roof braces broke off entirely, causing a slit of a gap.  As his cage tilted, the crustacean realized what was about to happen.

He almost caught it.  The remaining braces snapped, and the crustacean kicked off his stony floor.  His meaty claws gripped around the side of the now dangling roof as the rest of his cage went plummeting out of sight.  But it was like holding onto a coin with the tips of your fingers.  Before the Trachorum could coil his arm with the upper chains, his grip slipped, and he began his descent.

I didn’t look down.  My eyes were glued to the dangling chains.  My antennae shivered, and I winced when I heard the messy, metallic thuds.  A few of the other prisoners made noise, reinvigorated.  But not me.  My body was neither sharp nor strong.

I sat back down and tried not to think of how the crustacean could have better planned his escape.  It would do him no good now.  Or so I thought.

My cage started to jostle violently.  I had nothing to hold onto, and the stone floor was smooth enough that I kept sliding into the walls.  I tried to stand at first, but the jerking kept sending me to the ground.

With an audible gong sort of noise, the Trachorum was now gripping my cage’s roof.  He looked down at me, and I stared back.  I reached out.  I felt so much relief.  I was about to urge him to escape without me, but his expression intercepted that thought.  It was a sour look.  He was glaring at me.  Then he just kept climbing.

I would have marinated in that efficiently executed betrayal if my cage wasn’t suddenly violently torn from its chains from above.  The crustacean must have severed the chains below it because he swung my cage into the gear walls.

At first, my cage just violently bounced against the gears.  But after a few good thrusts, the edges were bitten into.  My cage was going to get ground up.  Something about the painfulness of it–the indignity–made me not want to die just yet.  And the idea of damaging the Blight fortress motivated me even more.

The glass bent and exploded around me.  I dove without thinking, painfully catching myself on one of the rows of cage chains.  Above me, the crustacean was gradually breaking more chains and throwing cages into the gears.  He didn’t even look down to see if I survived.  I knew I had no time to climb up.  I just had to hope that–

A sound… a terrible, terrible sound.  It was like a horn but with more growl and vibration to it.  The room pulsed with red light over and over, in rhythm with the horn.  Then some kind of zipping hissed from my lower right.  These cylindrical shapes were being ejected from the room.  I could see sky through the holes.

A massive thud sounded, causing me to jostle in-place.  My arm was nearly dislocated while coiled around the chain as everything was jerked down some couple feet.  With how much damage was being caused to the prison room, I swiftly realized something was about to be dropped, like the Blight fortress was expelling a damaged limb.

Without time to think, I leapt from chain row to chain row, heading for those expelling tubes.  It was painful, but I got to one of the openings.  I couldn’t see the land below, but there was enough of a gap between the cylinder chambers and the external wall.  I slapped my body onto the nearest cylinder and prayed.

Unsurprisingly, when the cylinder ejected, I was sent flying.  I had no chance of gripping it.  I could see very little, just clouds upon clouds as I spiraled down.  I had no hope of landing safely, so I stared at the Blight fortress.  I had only seen it once before from many miles away.  But close up, it was like a sea vessel, but far larger.  No… no, it was more like some extremely bloated, finless fish, but metal.  And as predicted, this cube of metal was dropped from its belly.

As I fell, my heart sank faster.  How many lost souls were still trapped in that prison chamber?  I couldn’t decide if the Trachorum had given them a merciful death or something more cruel.  Who knew if some of them might survive the crash but die slowly from hemorrhage and other injuries?  In theory, the crustacean was about to suffer the same fate. 

… Good.

I would have closed my eyes now if not for the beautiful sight before me.  The entire continent–or what I knew of it–from the East Shores to the dark mountains of the north west was before me.  It wasn’t unpleasant for someone’s final experience.  I could see the dips and climbs of the land.  My only regret was that I could not see the forests of my own nation as the dark mountains grew taller, but I could feel it: the trees and the cool breeze.  It was a sweet reassurance to know much of my home was still rich and green.  It told me the Blight hadn’t yet desecrated enough.  They may have blemished me, but the face of my country was proud and lovely… for now.

I did not want to live to see how the Blight might tarnish it all.  In life, I would not have purpose.  I would be a detriment: a chore.  But my death could inspire my father and sister to raise arms against the Blight.  I could have purpose in my destruction.

As the clouds thinned, I noticed the expelled cylinders.  They were falling slowly now.  These dense, cloth attachments were allowing them to glide.   They looked like large, round, manufactured clouds.  Whatever was in the cylinders would survive the fall, at least, in theory.  I could have used this to save myself.  But I just stared.  I closed my eyes.

The fall was taking a while.  The initial discomfort had passed long enough for me to grow curious.  I opened my eyes to an infuriating sight.  Two of the cylinders were floating toward something.  I would impact the ground in some… thirty seconds perhaps.  And as I neared it, I saw an ugly cube of metal indented into the rich soil.

I knew this plain: Torsros Priam, Fertile Blood.  Wars were waged on this miles-long field before it became sacred ground.  Historically, the losers were forced to clean the battlefield after the victor completed looting it.  The third battle-cleansing was so heartrending that my people say it motivated a standing peace afterward.  To this day, only independent farmland was permitted to be built here as a means of beautifying the already pleasant fields.  And these Blights were blemishing it.

That was unacceptable.

I soared after the nearest cylinder, landing with a tumble upon its air cushion.  I could not keep myself atop it, my body slipping down and nearly smashing against the metal cylinder itself.  Thankfully, my fingers caught thin fibers tethering the cylinder to its cushion.  

The cube was getting closer and bigger.  I had no desire to enter it, but its roof pried open like eyelids to welcome the cylinder.  Absolutely not.  Absolutely not!

I tugged at the threads, trying to throw the cylinder off-course.  I swung my legs at its top to try to knock it.  And just as I thought I’d make no impact, I saw a spark leave my long heel.  I still had magic left.  My Chassa were gone, but whatever power I still had stored could be used.

The cylinder slowed to a comfortable descent as it got closer.  The cushion started to soften and fall over me.  I pressed my hands to the roof of the cylinder and charged whatever power I still had through it.  Such a barbaric use of magic was shameful—no specific purpose or incantation—but I had no time to be specific.  Even if I still had my Chassa, I wouldn’t have had time to think of the right motions.

The cylinder was halfway in the dark opening now, and my foot was going with it.  I felt the last of my magic dribble out of my fingertips as it threaded in and out of the cylinder.  Then I leapt off.

The cube was the size of a large house.  It must have been a Blight fort.  I ran across its warm, metal roof, and dove into a roll three stories down.  It felt so nice to touch the warm, rich grass of Torsros Priam.  Father brought me here before, but we were always kept in the carriage.  I could smell the richness of the wounded blades as my solid, hoof-like toes tore grass.  The soft soil was a pleasant cushion for my high-arched heels.

Then the explosion went off.  The lid of the Blight fort had nearly closed when my magic did its work.  It must have reacted to the cylinder and the fort because the blast was far stronger than I anticipated.  The ground quivered, and I fell.  But my long legs and arms caught me easily enough to resume running.  I wouldn’t have looked back if I hadn’t heard a whirring getting closer.  It was like the sound a sling made when being swung repeatedly.

It was the mouth of the fort, or half of it anyway.  It nearly took my head off.  I can’t even say I reacted in time.  It simply missed me by a foot or two. But I grabbed my neck all the same, frozen.  This smoke was coming from the top of the cube, but the fort itself looked unharmed.

It was quiet.  I couldn’t move.  My brain was too active, wondering how many of these… pimples were scattered across the country.  Someone needed to know what happened.

I decided I would walk until I found one of the farms.  Unfortunately, I only walked for a few minutes before my malnourished body collapsed.  The magic I retained sustained my unfed stomach, and now my reserves were depleted.

It was a dignified grave.  I wasn’t remotely skilled as a warrior, but this certainly qualified as a fighter’s death.  I would be found, and my people would recognize my contribution.  I would be remembered for stopping these monsters, or at least delaying them.

Other sounds caught my attention in the far distance, but I was too comfortable… and exhausted.  I stared at the cloudy, but bright, sky.  If I wanted to puff myself up and play brave, I would claim I was simply resting until my strength returned.  I was just waiting to pass away.  Maybe the Blight would find me.  My pale body stood out against the dark green, even with my faded emerald coverings.  But the approaching noise wasn’t the Blight.

The Trachorum survived.  I felt momentary relief before remembering the lives he doomed while somehow preserving himself.  How dare he?  What gave him the right?  

The crustacean was roaming in my direction.  When he found my resting place, he stood over me, and I just gazed tiredly back.  There was so much hate in his eyes.  What was I meant to do with that?  This was no young Trachorum.  His crusty beard and scars told me plenty.  His scuffed loincloth had the history of many battles and journeys.  But in contrast, I was visibly young.  He had to know I wasn’t old enough to have caused his people grief.  Perhaps he recognized me as from the noble family and sought to hurt them through my death.  I couldn’t recall a public conflict between our people in the last century but I knew the crustaceans found my culture irritating.

His meaty claw gripped me by the head.  My shoulders rose uncontrollably as I felt my neck cling to my joints.  But otherwise, I did not show resistance.  He held me up to his face.  We stared at each other for a while.  His eyes kept narrowing and widening like he was breathing through them.  He wasn’t, of course; that isn’t how Trachorum work.  

It wasn’t as though we spoke different languages.  I simply didn’t care to plead for my life, and he didn’t seem interested in ranting at me.  So he just stood there, glaring at me.  I eventually grew bored and closed my eyes.

A moment later, I felt the wind in my face.  He had tossed me aside.  My landing—while softened—was painful.  But what brought me some trickle of adrenaline was the tearing sound.  What remained of my robes were torn across the chest from the impact.  My undergarment wrappings graciously remained but I still felt uncomfortably exposed.

I sat up, instinctively pressing my clothes against myself.  I had accepted my death, but I was not going to abide by this indignity.  The crustacean was standing around, turning to try to spot a landmark.  So I screamed at him.

“What is wrong with you!?”  It wasn’t a pleasant noise.  My throat was dry.  It came out like a screech.  It wasn’t as though he intended to ruin my clothes, but why would you toss a weakened non-threat?

 fell on my back again.  There was a tickling throughout my vocals and mouth.  I panted heavily from the effort.  The Trachorum walked back over, staring with more curiosity than hostility now.  And when he noticed how I held my robes, he started laughing.  And he couldn’t even give me the mercy of brevity.  He just kept bellowing jolly noises.

I couldn’t help myself.  I couldn’t lift my head.  But I could cry.  Against my will, I sobbed.  It wasn’t dignified.  It was pathetic.

I remember many years of my father disciplining me sternly for a single question: Why would our gods let this happen?  And he always had a strong reason to scold that question.  But he was not here, as I lay dying.  A brute was laughing at my misery.  So I felt quite entitled to wonder why I was made to suffer.

The Trachorum finally stopped laughing.  My tears meant nothing to him.  Then he just… walked on.  It was then that I noticed just how unharmed he looked.  That… infidel was untarnished.  Oh yes, his plated loincloth flaps were dented but his body was only mildly dirtied  How?  How was he so healthy?  Experience?

Eventually, I heard a strong noise.  It was the same gears of the Blight fortress.  I could only assume the fort had opened, collapsed further, or perhaps was expelling some terrifying monster.  And at first, I didn’t care.  If it killed me, so what?  But then a chill ran through me.  What if it kept me alive and brought me back to the fortress?

More than once, I tried to get to my feet only to fall again.  I ended up on my face and barely managed to slump onto my side to avoid suffocating.  Roaring and crashing sounded nearby.  I felt soil drizzle over my body.  I felt the ground quiver.

A hot liquid burned my back like acid rain in spurts and drips.  And after an eternity of terrifying sounds, it ended with a long hiss.  This only made the pain worse.

Footsteps were nearing me.  I felt my head gripped again.  The Trachorum had me once more.  He was injured now, with a gash in his shoulder shell.  But it must not have been serious, considering he was holding me with that arm.

I could do little else than whimper out, “What?”  The crustacean analyzed me silently before lowering me and dragging me through the grass.  I only caught a brief–shrinking–glance at the other battle participant: some mangled mass of metal.  The fact that this crustacean so easily crushed one Blight soldier made me wonder how the foreigners managed to progress this far.  Perhaps that is why they captured my “rescuer”, to learn how to counterattack such an advantage.

Mercifully, the grass brushed with minimal pain over me.  It eventually brushed off some of the painful oil.  I was too weak to complain about the claws pinching my skin.  I couldn’t help but be vexed and perplexed at the manner by which the crustacean was helping me.  And I fell asleep some thirty minutes into the journey.

The Trachorum shook me awake a few times to make sure I wasn’t dead.  As disorienting as it was, it allowed me to mentally map our journey.  The way the grass darkened in the afternoon sun told me we were moving further into the Torsros Priam.  The soil was even softer, and occasionally moist.  We must have been within eyesight of the Blood Ponds.  Admittedly, it was an unpleasant name for a rather lovely habitat.  The ponds were scattered throughout the inner plains, making for a melting pot of fauna social activity.  I suppose, if one were to be more literal about the name, you could say “Blood Pond” referred to the predator animals who took advantage of the lumpy circle meeting places.  But it wasn’t as though gore and screams were common in these areas.  It was placid, at least above the water.

The third time I was jostled awake, it was late afternoon and we must have long-passed the ponds.  The soil was harder now, but I saw vegetation.  There were rows upon rows of purple gourd fruits to my left.  I couldn’t turn my head but I could appreciate the faint fragrance.  I loved the Gobakins as a child: rich, spicy, flaky, pumpkin-like plants with a red-onion consistency.  I might have asked to be left next to them if I didn’t fall asleep again.

Segment Two: The Unwanted Companion

When I woke up properly, I was lying on a stone floor with a wheat bundle cushioning my head.  I was in someone’s house, a farmer, no doubt.  Basic furniture and some doorless hallways were in my peripheral vision.  Lanterns were lit, and I saw only darkness through the windows, so it must have been night.  The Trachorum was somewhere on the farm.  I could hear his distinct weight.  But he didn’t come to check on me.

There was a bowl of water near me.  Having rested some, I found myself able to get to my knees and start drinking.  It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start.  I wanted to be grateful, but the way the Trachorum acted told me this rescue was to extract information.

I had to pull myself to my feet.  Where was the farmer?  In bed?  Then why was the Trachorum making so much noise?  It was incredibly rude to our host.

I started wobbling through the house.  It had to have fruit at least.  I wasn’t about to eat raw wheat.  But only halfway through the hallway, I stiffened at the crustacean blocking the way.

“The owner isn’t here,” he spoke in a gruff tone, with that signature gurgle his kind always had.  Great.  So, while the owner of this place was being responsible, we were pillaging their hard-earned labor.

I discovered expressing my gratitude to be difficult but etiquette carried my tongue to say the words, “Thank you.”

He scoffed, his tendrilly beard sneering up as though I had used a slur.

“Why do you hate me?”  The words just came out of me.  I didn’t even realize I needed to ask until I had.  And the brute started to laugh at me again.

“I don’t hate you,” he scoffed again before brushing past my small form and into the living room.

“You laughed at me,” I retorted.  “I was exposed and…” I felt my chest.  My robes were tied over my shoulder, covering me properly again.  The Trachorum looked back with a smirk in his eyes, as if fixing up my clothes made up for dragging me by my head.  “Why did you throw me?  Drag my head?”

“You’re alive,” he countered.  The fact that he sounded so smug about it infuriated me.  He didn’t have to save me but he didn’t have to do it in such a cruel manner either.

I deployed another argument.  “You expected me to survive being swung into that… machine wall?”

The Trachorum wiggled his head and peered at me.  He was visibly puzzled.  Then I saw his head jolt back and chuckle again.  “That was you?”

“Wh– Yes!  You thought a completely different Saoyuan was simply lying in the same field you landed in?”

The crustacean kept chuckling, but I had not deployed my best argument yet.  I had hoped to hear him address the atrocity unprompted, but he had not.  So, I raised the question, “What do you have to chuckle over after all those souls you sent plummeting in that tomb of a box?”

That stopped him.  But instead of giving any fragment of insight, he took on a firm tone.  “That’s enough.”

“… What?”

“You can stop talking now.”

“You don’t have a justification, do you?”

“I don’t have a desire to explain myself to you.”

He was belittling me.  I felt indignant at first but then just… resigned.  I was really that unimportant to him.  Seeing me silent, he went back to inspecting the house.

“What are you doing now?” I muttered.

“I need a mount to get back to my land,” he answered.  “My troops need to be warned.  You can stay here.”

He was a commander, clearly different from how my people instructed ours: leaving some young person alone.  But it wasn’t really a bad idea.  I would recover and be on my way.  And yet something made me protest.  “We should go together.  Two witnesses will validate the warning.”  

What I really wanted was to fulfill my ambassador role.  I didn’t realize this till later, but something opportunistic sparked in my brain to use this encounter and ingratiate myself with my family… to show strength.  He thought I was dead weight and I intended to change that.  And… perhaps I would see if his king thought differently of the lives the Trachorum doomed.

But the Trachorum took this notion down quickly.  “I cannot be burdened with you.  You are a weak body.”

“I am hardly useless, brute.”

“You are now.”

It was so direct… and cutting.  My hand went to my chest, where my robes covered the wound, but I could not hide the shame on my forehead.  This stranger saw it.  It must have been true.  I was worthless.  My family would think me worthless.  I could see Pelle now, looking at me inquisitively before sighing to Father, “Well, she’s certainly no threat to the throne now.”

“Why do you hate me?” I repeated, no longer just speaking to the crustacean.

“Would I save someone I hate?  I do–“

“Why?”  I approached with all the sternness I could muster.

The Trachorum folded his bruised arms, his extensive injuries dwarfing mine as he remained composed.  “Tell me, little Saoyuan, who are the true gods?”

This was something I had experience in, not simply religious doctrine, but debate.  But I recognized a loaded question when it smirked at me.  Thus, I redirected, “Yours, I suppose?”

“Correct.”  I went to retort, but he added, “That is why every year, my people go to every corner of the continent and spread the good message of salvation.  We even wear stupid little bells and pretend they’re pleasant as we stir up unwanted attention.”

That was it? He was being sarcastic about my religion.  The Saoyu faith demanded evangelism, but not since the old wars multiple generations ago had the state forced such practices.  He just didn’t like being preached to.

“We Trachorum keep to ourselves,” he continued.  “It must be tiring having to write ‘infidel’ into every scroll and speech.”

Oh, that was ironic.  I narrowed my eyes with a challenge.  “Your kingdom preaches that your species receives salvation, and only your species.  All other peoples are destined as slave classes in your afterlife.  At least ‘infidel’ chastises your choice to reject our beliefs.  But you see me as nothing more than speaking cattle, don’t you?”

“Don’t presume yourself into a tizzy.  If you’d been to my lands, you would know the old customs are dying out.  So, where is your moral high ground now?  You think yourselves above.  How does it feel to be missing those little chest drums?”

It was such a rapid succession of… not so much arguments but conclusions.  He presumed that because his culture was changing, he was automatically victorious.  And like a conqueror driving the rod of a flag into soil, his insult toward my Chassa cut deep.

I found myself quickly disinterested.  He didn’t hate me.  He hated my people and our culture. He was drenched in second-hand knowledge, biased and antagonistic.  And he reveled in my disability.  Had I my Chassa, I might have obliterated him.  Not once had I shown this brute malicious intent, and his instinct was to insult my disgrace?  I did not have the patience to debate myself to a stranger who was too smug to question himself… just like my brother.

“Where is the food?” I brushed past the crustacean.  He gestured down the hall.  I walked into the kitchen and began to carefully feed on available fruits and pitchers of water.  I knew better than to scarf everything.  It was a nicely stocked area.  I even recognized the hanging grain and spice bags from the ceiling.  That was a Saoyuan trait, but the farmers could just as easily be some other race.

I could hear him call in, “I saved you.”  After you threw me into the fortress gears.  I was not going to give him the satisfaction.

“My name is Jorjun,” he insisted.  Oh, so I was meant to tell him I was royalty and let him kill me over it?  No, thank you.

The brute eventually stopped trying.  He went to get his own rest.  I stayed awake for another hour.  It was proper and better for one’s health after feasting.  I wanted desperately to yell at him, to demand an apology.  But I knew I’d be torn down for it, just like Pelle and my brother… and Father had so many times.  I was small.  I was young.  So I was wrong.  The sky was not blue if I argued it so.

The next morning, I woke before the Trachorum.  I found the stables first.  Two sturdy beasts were ready to be ridden.  Their meaty limbs and reinforced spines told me the farmers of this area might have been Trachorum themselves.  These were Garba Cattle, suitable for travel and meat, but used more for the former than the latter.  The lithe horses I trained with would collapse under a single crustacean’s weight, but it took far greater strength to break a Garba.  

Saddles and travel packs were nearby.  This gave me an idea.  The Trachorum territory was far closer than my own land, and my father would have been obligated to send men to inquire about my progress there.  And… and I didn’t want to be alone.  I couldn’t stand that crustacean, but I had no chance against the Blight on my own.  I needed security.  Perhaps the farmer would have assisted me, but if not, I would be in an even less convenient position.  Even if I wanted to go to a nearer village or kingdom, I doubted the Trachorum would join me.

When the Trachorum came to the stables, I was waiting… with one creature to mount.  I explained my terms confidently.  We would go together to his land, or he would find another ride.  He laughed and shoved me aside.  But as he rode off, I moved the second steed from behind the barn.  And unlike the brute’s, I had prepared provisions for this one.  I felt guilty taking the farmer’s property, but if I survived, I would see them reimbursed.

I kept my distance from the Trachorum, but it became clear after the first day that he realized my presence.  He tried to lose me, but we were out of the Torsros Priam fields, and I remembered the land well enough.  The path was this dusty and sandy strip of wilderness: The Scar.  It started in the east shores and stopped before the Graze Mountain, right at the center of the country.  I always thought of it as a big root of sickness.  Nothing grew in it, but it wasn’t a particularly wide biome.  It stretched for dozens of miles but one could cross it like a dry river in an hour.  The only real threat from it were storms.  The sand built up from the upcoming rocky hills would become a painful blizzard.  But checkpoints lined much of the Scar to shield travelers.

My Garba worried me as I passed a decorated post.  This was the halfway marker for the wilderness’ width.  The Trachorum could wrangle his beast easily enough but if mine was frightened enough–or displeased enough with me–I would–… would…

I didn’t need to think about that right now.  I felt unstable enough already.  I just pretended I was riding a horse.  As long as I held my head high enough, I couldn’t see the Garba’s, and I could delude myself.

  Climbing the incline walls of the Scar took some effort for my steed but a few minutes later, myself and the Trachorum were on normal soil again, passing clumps of trees and nearing the rock hills.  We were on course to the Trachorum kingdom when the brute broke off entirely.  I considered continuing alone.  No Blight was nearby.  But how would the other Trachorum treat me?  My robes were unrecognizable, my Chassa were gone, my hair had only barely grown since escaping the Blight; I’d just be a Saoyu foreigner sticking her nose in their business and asking for imprisonment.  I had to follow this brute for now and pray he might vouch for me.  Perhaps if we came across some other civilization, I could break off.

It was proper to thank him for saving me, but I wasn’t ready to forgive everything else quite yet.  It was kind of him to save me but he made me feel toyed with… No, he made me feel like a literal doll.  But now I was mostly recovered, and if he tried to grab my head again, I… 

What?  What would I do?  Nothing.

We camped separately.  I stayed by some bare trees.  I knew these kinds but I couldn’t recall their name.  They always came in clusters of four to five, and their intertwined roots made t–

Reeles Trees, I recalled, also known as Finger Birch.  Yes, these wouldn’t have leaves for another month now but their blotchy bark was pretty enough to compensate.  We didn’t have many of these in Saoyu.

It was easy and satisfying, securing my tent between the birch trunks.  It took no time at all and afforded me a spacious, cloth-wall bedroom.  The Trachorum was some twenty yards away, but I could tell he had slumped himself next to his Garba without so much as a sleeping bag.  Neither of us needed a fire in this weather, and our Garba were too intimidating for predators here.  When the Trachorum started out the next morning, I nearly lost sight of him while taking down my tent.

It was clear by the second day that the crustacean didn’t care about my presence anymore.  I woke promptly, as ever, next to a calming stream in a dense boulder yard.  The hills of this area were only some miles from the brute’s kingdom, so why were we wandering so much?  We had found and lost the main road twice, which told me it was not the destination.

When I approached my Garba, I was reminded of my concerns in the Scar.  But the creature was quite domesticated.  I tentatively reached out and gave it an affectionate caress, which it leaned into.  

I took you from your home, I couldn’t help but wince.  But then I noticed my rations were gone.  The Trachorum hadn’t ridden very far.  The way he slowed when I hurried my steed after him told me he wanted to tease me.

His eyes smiled as I rode up beside him.  “Keeping all the food to yourself, little high one?  Not very Kresantha of you.”  

I should have been more offended, but frankly, I was impressed he knew one of my faith’s key tenets by name.  But it didn’t stop me from criticizing.  “You can live off far less for far longer. No one stopped you from packing your own food.”  And before he could bring up the Garba, I added, “And you only need one mount.  Return to me my provisions.”

“I think you can manage without them.  When you hunger enough, you’ll stop following me.  We aren’t too far from that farm.”

“I will return to that farm indeed, but with both Garba and proper compensation for the tenants.  In the meantime, we have the pressing matter of the Blight invasion.”

“And you are necessary to alert my people to that… how…?”

That was a good point.  If he were some military leader, they wouldn’t likely dismiss his testimony outright.  But I was not going to travel all the way back home alone.  It was a weak rebuttal, but I attempted it all the same: “The Blight have been operating unchallenged for years.  I am proof that they are acting beyond territorial defense.  They removed my–”

“Little Saoyu–”

“Syrol…”

“Little Syrol, I don’t know what they tell you in your treetops, but my people began a campaign against the Blight months ago.  How shocking that you couldn’t be bothered to notice.”

A campaign.  I wasn’t all that surprised.  My kingdom was so far from the Trachorum that we had to travel west to see any Blight activity.  No other nations propositioned us against the foreigners, at least that I knew.  My father wouldn’t remain idle in the face of a threat.  Surely… “Surely your king proposed an alliance then?”

“We have no need to grovel–”

“Grovel?”

“–at your roots when the threat should have been obvious all these years.  My point, stick-ears, is you have no leverage.  The desecraters harvesting your magic chest drums don’t change my people’s path.  Honestly, I really don’t know what you want out of this.”

“I want to get to the nearest kingdom safely and not be made a prisoner, especially when I am clearly not a threat.  Besides, my presence could be what stalls a war between our own people.  They will wonder what became of my trip to your kingdom.”

It was then that I realized I had given more details than I should have.  He was quiet.  He stared at me.  He even leaned forward, checking my robes.  Then he pulled back.  “One of those Syrols.”  His tone darkened.  “Explain yourself.”

“Before my abduction, I was sent to attend your festival.”

“Which festival?”

I peered.  “What do you m–”

“Name the festival.”

“The Festival of Tides.”  I couldn’t help but scoff.  Could he not fathom that I’d be familiar with his culture?

But the crustacean had a correction.  “The Festival of Chordan.  We stopped calling it the Festival of Tides before you were born.”

“And how old do–”

“Nineteen?  Twenty?”

I found his sharp memory concerning at first, but remembering that he was a potential military leader made it less so.  Being knowledgeable about any noble bloodline was expected.  And my surprise gave the Trachorum an opportunity to chastise me further.  “You impose yourself on our traditions every year, and you cannot manage to keep the right names?”

Another jab at my people, unprovoked.  But I wasn’t done yet.  “Do you really believe that?  Our people are distant, true, but when my representatives visit and refer to Tides, what stops you from clarifying?”

“Simply the desire to have as little conversation as possible,” he sighed, passively agitated.  He even rolled his eyes and turned his head to the front. I could barely contain my hatred.  And I could only wonder why my sister would have sent me to these prejudiced brutes.  I know she attended their events in the past.  And now it was my turn to suffer.  Or perhaps Father had ordained it to prepare me for the struggles of adulthood.  I told myself I wouldn’t be so emotional had I not been so recently traumatized.  Why couldn’t he be kind?  Even when he helped, he was demeaning.

“I was proud to be sent as an ambassador for both our people.  I–”

“Why were you sent to the festival?” His tone was dark again.

He wasn’t even listening.  I was directly answering the question, but he was so stuck in… in…

Compose yourself.  I leaned back and took a long breath.  He stopped his Garba.  I stopped mine.  He turned his toward me, patiently waiting.  I exhaled long before finally looking at him calmly.  I extended my hand and waited.  I waited for an entire minute.  But he just insisted, “Answer the question.”

I let my hand drop, a little too freely in fact.  I winced as it hit a hard ridge of my saddle.  I felt like a dozen eyes were on me: my sister, my brother, Father, Mother, and the gods.  “I am Syrol run’Pror.”  My posture adjusted as my voice cracked.  “I have been honored to act as ambassador to your people.  I was entrusted with cultural offerings, but I regret to disclose that they were stolen.  Please…”

But he had received enough of an answer and resumed riding.  I heard him mutter something about the coincidence of my being an ambassador to the only surviving prisoner’s race.  I did not have the motivation to challenge his disbelief, especially when he would decide when any worthwhile discussion was over.

Hours later, we found what the Trachorum was searching for.  We heard it.  Screams, explosions, and the eerie screech of metal echoed so piercingly that I feared the boulders might shatter around me.

The crustacean dismounted his Garba and secured it to a tent post.  I did the same.  We couldn’t see the fighting, but we stayed behind a large enough rock on one of the hills.  

“Go home, princess,” the Trachorum insisted.

“I am not a princess,” I curtly countered.

But the crustacean wasn’t in the mood.  He pressed me against the stone with one hand.  “I am not in the habit of encouraging foolish children onto a battlefield they can do nothing about, especially some royal in over her head.  Now leave.”

I had absolutely nothing to defend why I should participate in the battle, so I could only reflect the argument back.  “Why come here in the first place without support?  What do you expect to do?”

“I did not expect there to be a battle.  This is where my troops met the Blight, and I was abducted.  They must have been fighting for days.”

“And you suddenly appearing–”

Darkness.  I wasn’t surprised in hindsight that he would just crack his claw over my head.  Even had I retained my magic, I was no soldier.  I was a liability.  By arguing, I only made myself appear more entitled to the Trachorum.  What kind of ambassador would I have been?  Apparently not a mindful one.

Segment Three: The Metal Battle

When I eventually stirred, both Garba had fled.  Bits of metal, cloth, and shell fragments were strewn near me.  I must have looked like a corpse: so filthy and scrawny.  But as I stood, I realized there was a somewhat wide trail of debris moving toward and then away from me.  The fighting had reached my resting place, and someone stopped it from being my final resting place.

When he wasn’t belittling and scolding me, I found it hard to despise the Trachorum as strongly.  And it was probable that he was, in fact, what saved me once again.  It was the second time, now when it would have been a conscious decision rather than a coincidence.  I… I didn’t want to be a burden.  I just wanted some cooperation.  But no matter the rudeness and hostility he displayed, the Trachorum had protected me.  I had to know he was alive.

Despite the quiet, my antennae alerted me to distant movement, and the rhythmic, heavy nature of it made it clear it was my enemy.  I peeked up over the boulder to a ghastly visual.  There were some couple-dozen crustaceans strewn–and I do mean strewn–across the rocky hills.  An equal number of metal shells and machinery pieces overlapped with the Trachorum.  It had been a strong fight.  But the Blight had won.

These large, metal cubes–some kind of Blight wagon–were driving freely around the corpses.  Some were collecting the metal into themselves using large pans and claws on their roofs.  Others held strange pen-like pincers over the crustaceans.  Then squelch!

I covered my mouth only to grab my antennae to silence the noise.   But the visual was vivid.  These appendages were sticking into the Trachorum.  It was far messier than a simple sword, culling those playing dead.  And a horrid gurgling–not at all like Trachorum voices–followed.  I didn’t need to stare long to understand.  They were harvesting something from the crustacean bodies.  No doubt, this was akin to what they did to remove my Chassa.

In the far distance was one of the Blight forts.  Some of these self-driven wagons were already on their way back to it with their stomachs filled.  Had the brute–he told me his name; what was it–had he been claimed?  

I couldn’t distinguish many of the crustaceans except that a few were as bulky as he was.  Or perhaps that was only because they had already been… shriveled.  I had no good reason to involve myself.  But his tease of an insult still rang in my head: Not very Kresantha of you.

It was a tenet of selflessness, appropriately pertaining to one’s suffering to benefit others.  And it reminded me, I was already dead.  I had no prospects after losing my Chassa.  It made the decision easier.

Only the Trachorum stabbed by the pens were gathered into the wagons.  So anything brought into that horrible cube was dead.  I took hold of some flatter metal pieces and held them as camouflage as I started to inch into the humid aftermath.  And humid was quite accurate.  The residual heat of the battle wasn’t just smoke but steam.  The machines were expelling it every so often.

I saw no point in speculating why my rough concealment worked, but if I had to guess, it was probably my lack of Chassa, and therefore, no magic to sense.  Whenever the machines turned near to me, I flattened to the ground and moved the plating atop myself.  My antennae gave me a good radius of direction when the machines weren’t in my direct vision.

Seeing the inside of a Trachorum was nauseating: flaky, oily muscle in patterns of pink and tan.  Entire limbs had been torn off.  It made it easier to tell who was dead, but the smell and sight were harder to be around.  I was convinced that none of these were pretending.  They would have seen the machines skewering their brothers by now and reacted.  But I had to believe some were merely unconscious.

With every crustacean I tried to stir, another squelch could be heard nearby.  I could only spare under a minute for each, and each had the same non-reaction.  My grief multiplied as every face and body failed to match my memory of the brute.

At one point, I had lingered too long and had to cover myself far closer to one of the bodies than I wanted.  One of the eating machines grew louder as its strange wheels–some kind of flat rope linking their outer walls–neared me.  When the pen stabbed into the nearby crustacean, I could practically feel it.  I could certainly feel the vibrations.

It went on for far too long.  And the more I had to wait, the more I worried I was spotted.  The machine would surely turn to me next, skewering me before I could look up.  But as soon as it finished feasting, it drove on, even plowing over and crushing the chest of the nearby Trachorum.

I could not hold in my sick anymore, and I felt dizzy from the humid air.  I almost passed out, lying limp under my portable hiding place with fresh vomit inches from my face.  I stayed there for minutes, and when I rose back up, I was still unbalanced.

Many of the Trachorum bodies were gone.  The machines were mostly cleaning the metal debris.  I realized now that I only saw a few Trachorum weapons: a dense spear or a chained hammer.  These must have been one of the first resources gathered.

My mission had not altered.  And to my relief, the humidity was dying down.

Then I found him.  It had to be him.  He was big, bruised, and bearded.  Better, he was groaning.  One of his claws was crushed to pieces, but he was alive, propped against a half-shattered boulder.  Pieces of the big rock were precariously loose, ready to make a grave over the brute at any moment.

One of the machines was turning in my direction, but I couldn’t just leave.  I slapped, even punched the Trachorum, but my weaker limbs were nothing against his strong shell.

The machine grew close.  I shook the Trachorum’s head.  I even pushed his head and bit at some skin between his shell armor.  But he wasn’t waking up.  Of course not.  After all the effort I put in, he couldn’t make this easy.

I felt the vibrations right behind me.  The machine was at least ten feet tall, its shadow darkening the brute.  But I didn’t flee.  I couldn’t.  I screamed at the brute to wake up.  Then I heard the whirring.  The pen was about to lunge.

I grabbed the Trachorum’s shoulder and tugged as hard as I could.  He slumped onto his damaged arm just as the pen went thrusting.  It tore through his bicep instead of his chest, cracking through his shell and pricking against the boulder behind us.

Finally, the brute let out a gargling cry as he fell.  And before the machine could retract, the boulder pieces crumbled down and pinned the pen’s joints down.  Unfortunately, they also half-covered the brute.  

The pen limb was thoroughly trapped, but the machine was smart enough to start driving back to free itself.  But it wasn’t out yet.  I picked up a heavy stone and slammed it against the center of the pen joint.  It dinged and fell without much impact.  The brute caught my intention.  His claw was basically useless, but the shell around his wrist made for a good scooper.  A much heavier stone went driving against the pen, bending to one side just as the machine freed itself.

Other machines were gradually rolling toward us, but this one was now harml– Oh.

I thought the machines all had singular tools, but from the roof of this damaged one came the scooping tool.  The brute was struggling to move the rocky debris off himself, but he would not be out in time.  

I scrambled up the side of the metal beast and waved at the brute.  He caught my meaning and chucked more rocks up.  I caught one of the larger ones and helped propel it onto the scooper’s joint just before another stone hit me in the jaw.  I fell on my back as more rocks hammered against the scoop.  

What is wrong with these people? I thought in my dazed state.  

I could feel my teeth loosened, if not shattered.  The sting was nothing compared to the throbbing in my head.  I could feel the machine struggling against the brute.  No doubt his free hand was wrestling with the scoop now.  But then I felt something else.

A tiny flicker of light trailed across my fingers.  It wasn’t my magic.  And it wasn’t my people’s magic either.  It felt unfamiliar, but it was unmistakable.  It was the energy harvested from the Trachorum.

I had little time to process the sensation.  The other machines were almost upon us, and the brute could not fight forever.  All I could do was focus and draw the power toward me.  It was like breathing in, but without stopping.  It was a strange power that made my body twitch.  It felt like the cold of touching a white-hot stone in the sun.  But just like any breath taken in, it eventually had to go back out.

I felt the power flowing through my chest and into my brain, like my own people’s magic.  But without my Chassa, I could barely direct it or understand it.  It was like swallowing liquid metal, leaving a residual, numb, sticky feeling in my throat as I expelled it.  But I was successful.  The machine was damaged internally enough to collapse.

Three other machines were on us now, but I was no longer worried.  I leapt from the hull of the first onto another and immediately began syphoning it.  One of the other harvesting machines tried to stab me with its pen, but I obliterated its limb with a burst of power and then grabbed hold of its hull as well.

I felt almost nothing in my body except the energy swirling inside.  It was a painful heat, but it was stamina like I had never experienced.  I could see this yellow light seeping out of my chest where my Chassa once embedded.  

I looked down at the brute as he stared back in awe.  It was an intoxicating feeling.  But we had no time to celebrate.  That horn noise–the same I heard in the fortress–was going off from all the machines, and then the cube fort.

Even with this power, I was not nearly as fast as a Trachorum.  I jumped down into his arms and ordered, “Get me to the cube!”

Their legs weren’t nearly as bulky as their arms but at least the brute’s were unharmed.  He charged toward the Blight fort with my small form firmly pressed against his chest.  Despite the roughness of his shell, it was preferable to being dragged by the head.

Other machines were expelled by the cube as we approached.  These were shaped more like people of some sort.  They were bulky and rectangular, but legs and arms were discernible.  These must have been the Blight soldiers who won the battle.

The 7-foot soldiers came armed with large spears, but the brute was familiar enough with them by now to outmaneuver their attacks.  One thrust at him while charging, but he turned aside just in time before gripping the chest of the soldier and swinging it so violently that part of the plating dislodged.

The brute chucked his enemy into another approaching soldier, sending them spiralling across the rocky hills.  But this only bought us seconds.  And the brute knew this.  With his good claw of a hand, he threw me as far as he could toward the cube.  I didn’t even have time to look back at the speed I was flying.  And I soon realized that the brute had far overshot his throw.

I collided with the downward incline of a hill so violently that I blacked out.  And when I could see again, I couldn’t feel a thing… except the power.

My body had slid down the hill, forcing me to limp up until I caught sight of the cube once more.  I couldn’t hear.  I couldn’t smell.  I could barely see.  But I kept focused on my target.

My arms pressed against the massive cube.  I could sense more power in it, so I traced myself along its edge until I felt the strongest source.  I began to draw it in through the metal walls until I could not take any more.

Then I released.

The last thing I remember was the cube detonating around me in a ball of white light.  The power I built up surrounded me so densely that any debris that would have struck me was dissolved.  Then I collapsed.

Segment Four: The Wartime Leader

I am General Jorjun of the Trachorum Creedict.  Once, we were called a creed, but our government has evolved since.  Unlike many more overtly passionate nations we’ve tolerated, my king and council elected to separate spiritual doctrine from dictating state law.  Many of us still hold strong to our beliefs–our gods and morals–but we are no longer so foolish as to follow blindly, or to rely on such aspects when considering each battle or crime.  

When the Blight arrived on our continent, we were among the first to observe them from our lake-crowned city.  What would you have done, gazing upon a massive, flying thing, with no reference or indication of its nature?  Inspect?  Attack?  No, that would be far too sensible.

I can’t believe it was already five years ago.  Only the Staldra had access to flying steeds.  My people never asked for such beasts and the Staldra would never relinquish their advantage.  Good.  That made them smart, usually.  But on that day, when the giant vessel passed in front of the sun, I knew tradition and pride had to be secondary to swift action.

I did not ride to Torminus–the Staldra territory–by command of my king.  I was secured at Trachor to enforce our borders and maintain calm in the citizens.  This was a mistake.  But I do not blame my king.  He was right to want an experienced and public hand helping to reassure our people.  While discouraged, I too was confident in the abilities of our diplomats.  But diplomacy should have been a courtesy.  When the Staldra idiotically refused to scout the vessel, I would have taken their sacred flying lizards and gone after it myself.

The Staldra eventually sent scouts a full year later, but only after the Blight’s fortress started pathing closer to their dark mountains.  The vessel never attacked their stupid, cowardly scouts.  But the machine’s might and density scared them so much that they convinced their people to conceal themselves and hope the vessel passed by our continent entirely.

What imbeciles.  The Staldra would argue their lesser population and sacred preservation of ancient species as reason enough to hide… as though the Blight wouldn’t come for them eventually; as though the rest of us might not desire to have our histories preserved.  But we were clearly less important than those stupid hermits

When the Blight machines started coming down and analyzing the land, my king called for action.  Another mistake.  And another instance where he could not have anticipated the stupidity of our fellow kingdoms.  He sent us to rally and instead, the other kingdoms forbade us from attacking the Blight: threatening retaliation if he attacked first.  

I hadn’t even reached Saoyu when I was ordered to return.  A message went out to the stick-heads all the same and we never heard from them.  Every month that passed made us itch to strike.  The other kingdoms tried to speak to the Blight, and the machines ignored them.  When the idiots kept at it, the Blight either injured or killed them.  It was a blatant sign of aggression and yet still, they refused to act.

Some princess of Saoyu attended my peoples’ sacred festival one year.  She was downright oblivious to the Blight’s campaign.  I wasn’t particularly surprised.  She lived comfortably in her forests, the furthest east of any nation, and the furthest from the influence of the Blight.  That toxic etiquette of hers demanded that she lie to preserve the event’s positive energy.  That is to say, she promised to relay our concerns to her father-king and urge her people to act.

Perhaps I was too harsh, blaming the princess.  For all I know, she made good on her promise, and her fool of a father chose to ignore the issue.  My king suffered the inverse.  The Trachorum called for action but our government had held out.  We hoped that the other nations would see reality and heed our warnings.  But if we attacked the Blight, we opened the door for the other nations to strike us.  Morons that they are, we did not seek their destruction… but we also could not wait forever.

When the first Blight Box dropped, an emergency meeting of the council was held.  The discussion was brief.  Multiple diplomats had prepared speeches.  One confessed that he was prepared to overthrow our king.  But the king had already come to the same conclusion.  If the other nations became our enemy, so be it.  The Blight could not continue.

I led experienced men to the Boulder Fields of Sherrok.  We weren’t foolish enough to blindly charge the box.  We would starve out the inhabitants and take them with minimal damage, then we would dissect their machines.  We had our own war domes–giant, shell-like walls–to protect us against some foreigner surprise, especially if the fortress arrived during the battle.  It was not enough.

The Blight machines recognized my position over my men and swarmed me.  I was knocked unconscious and abducted.  They took me to their fortress and the moment I woke, I felt only clarity and purpose.  

I was in the heart.  This was my opportunity.  I would die here.  The prisoners from throughout the land I loved would die here.  And through our deaths, the Blight would be extinguished, or at the very least, severely wounded.  All I needed was the right moment.

I soon realized that the Blight were draining our bodies.  They were taking the power inherent to us and making it their own.  But they were not experienced enough.  They didn’t realize how volatile it was to keep different magics in the same vessels.  Something detonated, damaging my cell, and allowing me my moment.

I nearly perished in the fall but I caught myself and made rapid progress back up the lines.  My strong claws could only minimally damage the chains but I knew the higher tethers would be more strained by the weight.  So I kept going.  And that’s when I saw her… a pathetic, little Saoyuan girl.  She had her precious magic heart drums surgically taken from her head and chest.  And she just stared at me, expecting me to help her no doubt.

I had no reason to assume this was that princess I met years before but the thought did occur to me.  Regardless, it bears repeating how pathetic her situation was.  I couldn’t decide if I was more disgusted by the state she was reduced to, or furious at her gall to look up at me, for help, when her “enlightened” kingdom of mages hadn’t lifted a finger.

What followed was a blur.  I used the Saoyuan’s cage to damage the gears of the fortress.  It took effort but the chains gave and I wreaked havoc.  Not bad for a man of my age.  I had no plan to escape, but I hadn’t anticipated that the fortress could eject entire sections of itself.  It was like a stomach being tossed out of a body.

Only when I felt the descent did I prioritize my escape.  If the Blight could handle losing this giant room, I preferred to live to harm them more.  Like pores on skin, these large holes opened on the walls and I used these to make my escape.  I went flying toward the surface and caught sight of some horizontal sail attached to what must have been a safety container.  It was simple enough to hijack this and sever the strands holding the capsule.  It went plummeting down and detonated.  I only hoped at least one Blight died in its blast.

As I glided, I saw another Blight Box, in the sacred Torsros Priam fields no less.  I landed a good distance from it but I still had my strength, and enough intent to scout–then infiltrate–the foreign camp.

To my surprise, the cube was destroyed when I arrived.  Smoke and steam was still seeping out of its roof and its outer walls were bent out.  Something exploded inside of it.  Then, furthering my surprise was the Saoyuan girl.  She was lying in the grass, resting.

My first assumption was that this was not the same Saoyuan from the fortress.  I was certain she perished and that this was some escaped prisoner of the nearby box.  I picked her up, looking for anything specific, but she was like all the other stick-ears.  And she would soon be dead, malnourished and lacking those magic drums.

I had no interest in sentimentality.  I had to go see what became of my company.  I left the Saoyuan–who didn’t even try to get up–and started leaving.  But one of those soldier machines had survived its hive’s detonation and came after me.  I tore it apart and crumpled it into a heap.  Then I noticed the Saoyuan had moved.  And it occurred to me that she might have valuable insight about the box.

I took the girl with me, traveling until I found one of the farm houses.  Fortunately for the Saoyuan, she was unconscious when I saw what became of the owners.  The Blight had already been here but they hadn’t touched the farm itself.  There was no point in adding to the girl’s grief by explaining our hosts were abducted and likely dead.

I soon discovered that–despite it all–this was the Saoyuan from the fortress, and she was an indignant little thing.  She was insistent on debating morals and character but all I cared to glean from this was that she had no insight about our enemies.  She was of no use to me.

I thought the little Saoyuan would be satiated in a cozy, stocked farm, but no.  The prissy little thing followed me all the way back to the boulder plains.  Worse, she was one of the Saoyuan princesses, though not the one I encountered at the festival.  So not only did I have this tyke shadowing me, but I had to keep her alive.  I just hoped that when I reached the battle, it would have been over, and I could return to Trachor.

The battle was still waging on.  And my men–steadfast as they were–were losing.  I knocked out the princess and left her behind some distanced boulders.  I couldn’t waste time.  I had to rally my men back into the fray.

They all roared when I charged in, but this was not the time for admiration.  I needed them invigorated but focused.  We started driving the machines back into their box but one of my men informed me that our reinforcements were going to be intercepted.  I cringed at the idea of leaving my men after having just arrived, but if another company was delayed too long, the Blight would regroup.  The fortress could be upon us at any moment.

No military transport had survived but the Garba I rode in remained at the princess’s resting spot.  Myself and one other soldier rode off toward Trachor, leaving our men to hold the Blight in their box until we returned.

I’ve never struck a Garba so violently before but every wasted second was another closer to my men’s obliteration.  We had ridden for over an hour, leaving the boulder fields behind and trudging into moist, marsh land.  A vast, stone pathway was erected years ago, to direct travelers without sinking into the surrounding mud.  It was once a thin bridge of a road but multiple generations of repairs and additions turned it into a wide highway, being some twenty yards wide at its thinnest.

Even with the Kuthor Road, these marshes were dangerous to roam.  A battle was about to be waged here and falling into the sinking marsh would mean doom.  Thankfully, my treatment of the Garba paid off.  Seven Blight soldiers were traveling straight across the road toward a company of some thirty Trachorum troops.

The machines didn’t expect the two of us.  It was indulgent, but I relished in ramming my Garba into the nearest machine and thrusting it over the road and into the marsh. But even with one machine down, the six remaining were in peak condition.

What the machines intended as an ambush was turned against them in a tricky battle.  These Garba were well-trained, but not for battle.  I lost control of mine partway into the fight and had to leap off before we both went flying into the quick mud.  The other Garba fared better for a while but it too fled after getting a minor puncture from one of the machine’s claws.  Our allies had armored Garba but we had to get to them first.

Throwing the machines into the marsh wasn’t as helpful as we first thought.  Those stuck slowly sinking were still armed, firing pellets of sharp metal at us like mounted cannons.  And when they ran out of projectiles, they detonated.  I saw more of those sail-held capsules floating away, having ejected from the machines.  One soldier managed to spear one back into the marsh but the others were long gone.

Then the worst of it came.  The machines’ ambush was meant to be a pincer maneuver.  There must have been a Blight Box nearby because some ten more of these soldiers were coming up our flanks from the west.  Three of my reinforcements had already fallen and two of the original ambushing soldiers were still locked with us.

We couldn’t allow this battle to drag out.  Even more Blight would come for us and I couldn’t let myself think of what the boulder field battle must have looked like at the time.  The reinforcements’ commander was nearby so I called him over.  “They seek to exhaust and delay us!”

“Agreed!” he roared back.

“Your men must get to the boulder fields!”  I pulled over a damaged war dome.  “We must clear the road!”

It was certain suicide for many of us but the commander did not argue.  The remaining 24 troops fell back and repositioned.  We grabbed whatever we could to widen our stances.  Ten of us made for a dense wall before charging forward with our remaining Garba at the front.  We rammed into some four or so machines, enduring their strikes as we forced them into the marsh.  The rest easily avoided us by leaping above.  Some kind of air-shooting mechanisms allowed them to float above us for only a second, but it wasn’t long enough.  Our second wave caught the floating machines and dragged them into the marsh shortly after.

I didn’t wait to check how many of my allies or enemies survived.  All I knew was another surprise could be anywhere.  I must have shouted seven times before the remaining troops stopped gawking and started riding east, to the boulder fields.

Five of us were left on the bridge to hold off the three Blight soldiers still standing.  Only myself and one other were left without serious injury.  Even with the sinking machines firing at us, I felt confident that we might handle the remaining pests.  And I started outright laughing when I saw another wave of Trachorum troops nearing the start of the road bridge.  

But the Blight were sore losers.

I barely had time to react.  All remaining machines exploded.  Two of my men were engulfed and I was sent flying back.  When my vision cleared and I got back to my feet, a whole segment of the road was gone.  But I started laughing again.  The idiot machines had detonated in vain.  Three armored Garba leapt over the seven-yards-wide gap and landed with notable bravado in front of me.  One of their riders helped me to my feet.

“General Jorjun,” he nodded.

“General Sovr,” I chuckled back.  I held my head, the laughter only worsening the splitting headache.  But I couldn’t mask my amusement.  “Let me help cross your men.”

“How obliging.”

We Trachorum aren’t callous about death.  But every soldier knows the risks of war.  And I was confident that many of these brave, fallen heroes were celebrating unspeakable rewards in the hereafter.  It was only for those left behind whom I grieved.

The damage to the road delayed Sovr’s men a good hour but it was easy–if tedious–trudging them all through the marsh and across the rest of the road.  I rode ahead with one of Sovr’s scouts to make certain the boulder field Blight Box was secured.  There was no point in sending Sovr’s men to their doom.  I had to warn my fellow Trachorum that we were likely to witness a slaughter.  And I was right to assume as such.

But when we reached the fields again, I caught a familiar sight.  The boulder field Blight Box was destroyed.  It looked like an ugly, blooming flower.  Its entire roof was gone, and its walls peeled outward.  Bits of machine and gore covered the rocky landscape.

These strange scooping machines were struggling against a few Trachorum soldiers but the battle was clearly over.  Three of my original 50 troops had survived.  Most had been… dehydrated by the machines.  I could see these pincer tools in the scooping machines, with holes at the end to suck out life.  It was disgraceful.  But I had little time to express my distaste.  One of the survivors approached me, carrying a small body in a tattered banner cloth.

The soldier himself was missing a hand, and a large hole was visible in his right shoulder.  But he would recover.  The body he carried, however…

“She destroyed it, general.”

The little Saoyuan.  She was even whiter than before now: her body bleached by the explosion.  I could feel a heartbeat.  I could hear faint breathing.  But she was not well.  She would not last without her magic drums, and my people did not have the medicine needed.

“She mistook me for someone, general,” the soldier explained.  “When I found her, she apologized for not remembering my name.  Do you know her?”

What a foolish girl.  So young… and now condemned to an eternal void, because she was brave?  Unchosen as her kind was, it was a cruel fate to rob someone not halfway into their lifespan.  She did not belong on this battlefield.  She did not belong in that fortress.

I carried the little Saoyuan back to my Garba and had whatever provisions were available mounted on my saddle.  I left the scout with instructions for General Sovr and rode off without delay.  I traveled across the rocky hills in a near-straight line.  I had no hope of reaching Saoyu in time.  That was at least a week’s journey with my tired Garba.  But I found a village near the base of the Graze Mountains–Tellum’s Crest was the name–which could house us for the moment.

No Saoyuans were in the village but a Jorl baker was gracious enough to care for the girl.  These rabbit-like people were educated and skilled with medicine.  Even so, this baker could only slow the pain and ease the girl’s breathing.

A messenger hawk was sent over the mountains and out to Saoyu.  I only stayed at the baker’s house for two days.  There was a tunnel through the mountain and a sister village on the other end.  I would have ridden past this too had the girl not worsened.  She could not take riding any further, but at least we were relatively closer to those prissy forests.  

So I waited… for five days.  The girl was confirmed dead twice only to painfully revive.  I learned that she had taken the power from the Blight and used it against them.  And that power was chaotically swirling inside of her.  It was scarring her slowly, keeping her alive while destroying her.  Trachorum power was not like Saoyuan magic.  I couldn’t just reach out and pull some force out of her.  I couldn’t look at her by the fifth day.

Segment Five: The Busy Priest

I am Yunsit, son of King Kyrul run’Set and Lady Yusin, and Priest of the radiant Saoyu kingdom.  In my 35 years, I have been tested to ensure my future would bring enlightenment and prosperity for my people.  I have been Priest for seven years, and very little of my time since has involved family.  Impartiality is demanded of the Priest.  My father is the king and my younger sister–Syrol run’Rom–had been training to be Queen.  But for the sake of the people, our interactions have been almost entirely professional.

Once every year, a census is ordered across our kingdom, and messengers are sent to interview representatives of neighboring nations.  This “Doctrinal Census” gathers statistics concerning citizen and neighbor interpretations of the Saoyuan religion.  It is my duty to go through said information and clarify mistakes.  And while it is accepted that any report could provide enlightenment no Priest had considered, this outcome was unlikely.

It is a sacred duty, which I must pour all of my focus into.  I cannot allow for bias or any emotional distraction.  And yet, my king sent an order–not a request–that I delay my census report and travel all the way to the Monette’s Shadow village.  

We communicated via servant thrice, but my king would not budge.  He explained that my youngest sister–Syrol run’Pror–had sustained serious injury at the hands of the “Blight” foreigners.  I was already privy to the disappearance of my sisters–against my will–so all I gleaned from this news was that she was alive and could be cared for by someone else.

It was only after my king explained Syrol’s condition in detail that I relented.  And even then, it was partially because I knew he would not change his mind.  Apparently Syrol had some mixture of powers inside of her, caused by the loss of her Chassa: both Chassa.  I suppose this was meant to entice me from a spiritual or scientific perspective.  

I took the census documents with me.  I already had the report from Monette’s Shadow so this would be a brief visit.

I ensured that my carriage was fully concealed.  I trusted my driver and guards.  I needed to be fully cut off from the outside world while I worked.  No distractions.  And across the five days of travel, I completed much of my census work.  I would still be delayed.  My consolation was that this would reflect on my king and not my own lack of professionalism.

Only once did I peak out of my carriage, and that was because the terrain was growing concerningly bumpy.  I feared that a wheel was going to break off, but when I opened my window, my driver was already on it.

“Not to worry, Priest,” I heard him call, though I couldn’t actually see the front of my wide transport.  “My apprentice checked the undercarriage when we got here.”

Here was the eastern outskirts of the Dark Mountains.  While the peaks became more like hills, unstable and dry fields only grew more treacherous.  And unlike the lush and tall trees of my homeland, many wild fires had turned this dense, woodsy hillscape into a black and musky omen of a path.    We’d be out of it soon enough, but the way bits of multiple-years-old ash still drifted up… like… like dark energy, it was not productive to gaze upon.

My imagination would have overtaken my focus if I didn’t hurry to close my window again.  I tolerated the bumps and jostling for the next few hours, but I hardly got any census work done in that period.  However, the rest of the day was salvaged.

The carriage didn’t stop until we reached the village.  Inspections were done in motion, but had anything been damaged, I would have been informed.  

I left my census documents in the carriage.  There was no point in bringing them.  I would give Syrol my full attention and have the matter settled as soon as possible.  The sun was imposing but my gold eyes adjusted quickly as I gazed upon the mountain-indented community.

I could appreciate the architecture.  It wasn’t pretty but it was efficient.  Monette’s Shadow, and its sibling village–Tellum’s Crest–were mining communities.  They intended to domesticate the entire lone mountain one day.  It made sense.  The Jorl had no nation of their own despite their numbers.  I’ve never known any of these rabbit people to be aggressive, but they were certainly ambitious.  But such matters were for my king to deal with.

As I walked up the incline paths of the many-layered village–stone fading to wood and back to stone again–a few children tried to grab my silver cloak.  I was aware enough not to assume this was attempted thievery.  They were simply curious.  But I still had to shoot them a warning gaze.  This was sacred.  And I would be remiss in my duties if I indulged them.  For a split-second, I hoped I didn’t scare the younglings too harshly.  I wasn’t here to give a bad impression.  And frankly, I found children… No.  That was no longer possible.  It was a distraction I had to push aside for now.

My sister was kept in a recovery house.  This was common for the mining villages.  Their workers often returned with some toxin in their lungs or rust-lined cuts.  They kept the facility well-furbished.  White and blue paint lined the interior walls, and fragrant plants contrasted the smoke which lingered on the bodies.  Even so, coughing bodies were still bunked in multiple rows, sharing each others’ sick.  Thankfully, Syrol was in her own room.  The last thing I needed was these rabbit people spreading illness to a vulnerable Saoyuan.

This impressive, elderly Trachorum stood at Syrol’s bedside.  His scarred exoskeleton shell told dozens of stories, and his tattered warrior’s garb a dozen more.  I knew immediately that this was a man of action and duty.  He had probably been active in the final battle at Fertile Blood.  The Trachorum were stubborn and agitating people.  And I was certain this one would oppose me at nearly every philosophical turn were I to broach such discussion.  But his labors thus far earned my respect immediately.

I had no qualms offering to shake the man’s hand before a word was spoken.  He shook firmly, but his eyes narrowed fiercely.  “Are you the Saoyuan priest?”  His tone spoke bewilderment, which was preferable to disgust or hostility.

“I am.”  Normally, I wouldn’t invoke familial bonds, but I needed to get to the point of this journey quickly.  So I gestured to my resting sister.  “I am her brother.  My father, the king, urged me to attend.”

The Trachorum grunted as our hands unlocked.  It was not a pleasant sensation, feeling his rough claw, but I was hardly discouraged by it.  And the man was gracious enough to focus on the patient.  “Her Chassa were taken by the Blight.  I believe my peoples’ power is inside of her along with others.  It kept her alive, but it looks to be destroying her.”

I pulled the sheets back and observed Syrol closely.  The Trachorum did not exaggerate.  Not only could I see faintly growing scars spreading from her Chassa holes, but I could feel at least three types of power within her.

I urged the Trachorum to leave us.  He obeyed.  I could only assume he was smart enough to trust that the Priest could handle such a matter.  And once alone, I started immediately.  My long fingers pressed hard against Syrol’s forehead wound and chest wound.  I forced my own energy into her, coiling it inside like a hook to draw out the other powers.

Syrol shook violently.  She did not cry out, but I could feel her pain and distress regardless.  It was of no concern.  This was not the first time I performed such an operation, even if this was irregular.  I could handle the emotional strain.

The process took an hour, and by the end, Syrol’s body was even more scarred.  It was like half-inch-wide serpents had coiled around parts of her body.  These would heal in time but the scars would remain.  She looked like someone covered in tumors, when ironically, her spiritual growths had just been removed.

What the Trachorum didn’t know–and I had no intention of explaining–was that Syrol was likely to die from this.  Her body was cleansed of the impurities, but she had no Chassa to regulate Saoyuan magic.  If she had, it would have been a simple process of sharing mine.  But her body would merely be energized by it now, not repaired through it.

All that could be done now was wait.  So I stepped out.  The Trachorum veteran questioned me briefly and I explained that Syrol would either wake or die of her own accord.  Were it up to me, I would have returned home, but I knew my king would insist on returning with Syrol.

I returned to my carriage and continued my census work.  But only an hour later, a Jorl came barging in.  Syrol had already woken up.

I sat next to her bed while the Trachorum stood opposite to me.  Syrol had to be propped up into a sitting position.  She could barely move her mouth and was offered some kind of stew.  Thankfully, I stopped the Jorl from feeding her.  She was in no condition to eat something like that and probably couldn’t digest most of it.  And fortunately, I had a Fray Leaf with me for such a matter.

This wide, turquoise lettuce-like plant would soothe Syrol’s throat and line her lungs with nutrients.  She recognized it immediately and graciously swallowed it.  I had to help her chew by lifting and pressing her jaw some ten times.  It was a somewhat embarrassing process.  But ingesting the leaf whole would have done far less to help her.

Another hour later, Syrol could speak.  She stared at me for a while before asking, “Why are you here?”  Even with the leaf’s medicine, her voice came out rasped and quiet.

“Father sent me,” I answered plainly.

“In other words…” she paused, “you did not send you.”

I could tell that the Trachorum was growing uncomfortable at the start of familial drama but he didn’t excuse himself so I did not address his tensing posture.  I also didn’t respond to Syrol.  I wasn’t interested in engaging with whatever notions of sibling duty she wanted to espouse.  It wouldn’t be good for her health to get worked up.

But like always, Syrol had to press it.  “Does Pelle know what happened?”

I knew she’d ask about that.  Father was better suited to talk about this, or Mother for that matter.  But they weren’t here, and I knew better than to assume Syrol would drop it.

“She doesn’t.”  I tried to stop there.  But as Priest, transparency is a key tenet to my position.  With a screwed lip, I forced out, “She is dead.”

I waited for Syrol to react.  I needed to gauge how distressed this would make her.  It was difficult, with how limited her body was.  And after ten seconds, she hadn’t said anything.  So I elaborated.  “The Blight who abducted you killed her.  I understand that she fought valiantly.”

I nearly jumped at seeing the Trachorum’s claw lower to Syrol’s side.  His aged voice came out softly.  “Your sister will be avenged, little… um…”  The man might have been a grandfather, but he too seemed untrained in delicate matters like this.

“I will inform the king.”  I hoped that would be enough, but the Trachorum caught the general nature of my statement.

“What will you tell your king?” he started growling.

“Everything,” I answered plainly.  “If you are implying something relating to retaliation–”

“–I certainly am–”

“–then I am not implying anything either way.  If I recall, your people separate church and state?”

“Is your king going to fight the Blight?”

I wasn’t here for this.  And Syrol wasn’t going to feel better by having two grown men arguing over her bed.  But I wasn’t going to lie.  I stared calmly at the veteran.  “I am not going to presume.  But take reassurance that, as Priest, I condemn the actions of the Blight, and will advise in favor of proaction.  Please, sir, take any further issues to my government directly.  The negative energy could be harmful to the patient.”

The Trachorum was frustrated but silent.  Satisfied, I nodded, and turned to Syrol.  “I will return you home when you can stand.”

I started for the door.  I could feel the Trachorum staring at me.  He was baffled by my tone and words.  He was disgusted that I would leave my ailing sister.  I could tell so easily because it was what I expected from most people.  But I had no interest in defending myself.  I had duties to attend to, and I had gone out of my way to save my sister’s life.

But before I reached the door, I heard Syrol call out, “You can leave, Yunsit.”

“That’s wh–”

“You can go home, Yunsit.”

I turned around.  The Trachorum was staring at her.  She stared at him.  Then she closed her eyes and rested.  Of course, I wasn’t actually going to leave her here.  So I spent the next week finishing my census at the village.  But when it was time to go, that veteran refused to take no for an answer.  He was coming with us.

Concept and Purpose

The idea of The Blight Campaign began as a salvaging of a video game narrative. Expect a post soon to elaborate on the details, including concept art and early draft music. The Blight Campaign is a proof of concept for a greater fantasy narrative. Whether that narrative will be developed will be determined by the reception to this post. We encourage readers to engage in the comments. Let us know what you’d like to see more of, and what could be improved upon.