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These are our shores. These are our lands.
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The sun went down without ceremony. The newly-arrived men on the beach barely noticed its setting, so busy were they. The light of day was replaced by the light of the Expedition, the forest and shore recast in the flickering yellows of torch and lamp.
The pace did not slow with the setting of the sun. Tents still went up, fires were still stoked, and few indeed were those who took to their beds.
By this time the Doctor was on his third trip from the Cepolada to the newly stationed camp by the river. He had his satchel at his side and a small trap in hand. Earlier, he had irritated Deslock to the point of near insanity about the weight of his packs, thus encouraging the Explorer to designate two crew members to take Nex's orders. The seafaring men lumbered behind the gleeful doctor, muttering under their breath at the unwelcome duty.
The screechy moan that arose from the left of the trail all but froze the three of them in place. The sailors became uneasy, but the doctor motioned for them to remain quiet. He whispered for the bigger sailor to give Nex his belt. He protested: Nexaddo merely stared at him until the belt was in his hands. Nexaddo discarded the baggage he had at his sides and shaped the belt into a loop which he slung over his shoulder. He pulled his hunting knife from its sheath and moved stealthily in the direction from which the noise had come. Again the moan came, though its origin was noticeably closer. It seemed to be coming from the direction of a large red tree, an eerie sound of distress and mourning.
The Doctor lunged around the tree, and revealed nothing. The initial reaction was disappointment, until the wail came again. This time, it seemed to be coming from the base of the tree itself. Creeping forward the doctor found a hole just about big enough for him to slide into.
He smiled.
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We will do unto you as we do unto all.
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Back on the path, the sailors were edgy. It had been a good while now, the doctor had not returned and the wailing had stopped for at least an hour. When they'd first come out there had been at least a sliver of sunlight cresting the horizon, and the fires of the Expedition lit the night like a second sun. Then there was nothing but them, their lamps and the moon, but even that was acceptable, for the lamps were strong and the moon was large and bright.
But now the clouds drifted across the face of the moon and strange sounds came from the shadows and Nexaddo had not yet returned. They wanted to return to the camp, but were wary of returning without the Doctor; they were surrounded by darkness and the shadows of the Unknown, but so was the path back home.
They were discussing what to do in quiet tones when they heard the noise from the skies above and looked up, thus becoming the first of the Expedition to see the coming doom.
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ARISE
fires of the ancients
ARISE
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They walked on air above the trees, stepping over leaves like they were solid ground. Their pace was so stately and grave that it took the eye a moment to realize how swift it truly was. Clouds trailed behind them--not mist, not fog, but true cloud, high in the sky, matching their unwavering line. They marched in step, these hooded figures, high above the ground.
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ARISE
spirits of our ancestors
ARISE
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Deslock heard the men shouting from the cliff.
"What are they saying?" he asked. "You. Go find out what they're saying." The shouts were tinged with an unnerving amount of fear, now that he was listening more closely. The turmoil of the camp slowed its pace as men heard the distant voices, crying out a warning.
"What are they..." Deslock started to say again, and then a figure crossed the moon. "Lamps! Bullseye lamps! I know we have a few around, point 'em upwards!"
The lamps were angled, but nothing could be seen.
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ARISE
magics of the forest
ARISE
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And then they were there, seven hooded figures floating high above, walking over the sky atop the camp as though it weren't there. They were not focused on the camp, not tonight.
They stood in a wide arc, a hundred yards between each, with the great ship at its center. The letters on the prow, in fading gold paint, proclaimed it to be the
Cepolada. It was an old ship, and had been through a lot to get to this place, but it was still strong. It was a ship that could sail through a hurricane and emerge unscathed.
This would be its final voyage.
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ARISE
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Deslock saw them.
"There!" he shouted. "In the sky!"
Then, belatedly, far, far too late; "To arms!"
The hooded ones raised their arms to the sky, revealing not hands but talons. The clouds trailed in their wake swept down, flickering with lightning and flame, crashing into the
Cepolada with enough force to raise a wave that crashed against the camp. The clouds spun and shrieked and blew outward when they hit the ship and the water, flying away from the impact in a solid wall of black water and dark magic and brilliant, brilliantly bright lightning...
The wall of water, cloud and lightning hit the Expedition's camp like the judgment of gods, and then all was fire.
