Prologue

So yeah, Im Del, newbie pilot with the ISGC, pleased to be here… With me ive got Katja, the worlds most neurotic onboard navi-comp and were here to talk about the Kador race, completely out of our own free will and nothing to do with my press agent pointing a 1400mm Howie at us through the dock wall…. hi boss.

Whilst we warm up the tapes here, some of you may be interested to know that Kat and I have been racing for years in the little leagues. They arent the kinds of races youll see on the air, but we’ve been racing on and off around systems, through custom built courses and belts for a while now. Backwater deadspace races mostly, nothing ever on this scale. Getting the invite for the big league, well that was pretty special i can tell you.

Ahh here we go, run the tapes Kat.

So yeah this i…………

“BUY QUAFE ULTRA – SPECIAL EDITION NOW AVAILABLE AT ALL GOOD RETAILERS!!”

Sweet mother of matar, i told them not to add the commericals. Kat, scratch those right out, and play it again…

So anyway, its just over two weeks ago. Im sat in Preparation ‘H, my mining hulk, alternating between remote accessing my labs to tweak some blueprint designs, chatting on the comms to one of the foremen at the plant who cant accept that we need those parts yesterday and actually, occassionally interspersed with some actual mining, which i largely leave at the control of Katja, who has finally come to grips with the idea of “Swallow as many roid’s as possible as soon as possible to keep those flight paths clear.”

At the back of my mind is the war we’re currently in, and the fact i was supposed to deliver 800 salvagers to the RSK 3 hours ago.

Needless to say, im a little stressed, and judging from the way Kat keeps pumping me full of boosters, she kind of agrees.

“You’ve got mail!!” announces Kat, so i take the excuse i think shes given me and cut the comms.

Turns out i really do have mail too. From some guy named Kazuo…. never heard of him before, but i get a lot of unsolicited mail, so im not overly suprised. Its come in over the alliance sideband, so i take a look incase its important.

“Are you interested in racing……..”

Is the Amarran Emperor a little ripe? Sure im interested. Chance to kick back, relax and do something fun? Its what my quafe marinated liver is crying for.

So i take a week. I’d like to say I was trying for fashionably late, but to be honest, I just forgot. Then I picked up some unlikely chatter on alliance frequencies. Kazuo chatting some research. I remember the mail and open up a channel. Pretty soon I’m drafted into the big leagues, and i realise i must be driving this guy insane with all the questions. I sound like a damned Amari i tell you, “can i do this sir?” “can i do that?”

He takes it all tho, cheerful, happy to help, and i come to realise this guy is good, maybe not the kind of good that gets you front page on What BattleCruiser magazine, but the kind of good that comes from experience, hard work and knowing what you’re doing. To be honest, thats the best way to be, cute face coverboy will last as long as his luck and disappear into the dregs. A good pilot will be there all the time, just behind the cover shot kinds, setting the pace, pushing those in front to the limit and knowing the only thing keeping the people infront actually infront is luck, and that never lasts.

Its about a week to go till my debut, Kador, of all places. Last time i flew through that region it was in an escort friegher, shortly after pumping the output from an industrial cap booster in to the Amarran slave-captains pod and enjoying the fireworks. We flew fast that time too, eager to get back to Matari space before we were located and “recovered”.

Realising it had been a good few months since my last race in the boondocks out in the middle of no where, i begin training up and retrofitting my Jaguar. Its not the most amazing ship in the world, the first one i ever built and could afford to keep myself really, shes mostly built of scrap, spare parts ive scavenged, more superglue than superstructure and theres times i think the only thing keeping her up is a morbid fear of falling back down. I reprogramed Kat there too, made her more self aware than “Aura” ever was. No more relying on second hand input and feedback, Kats tied into the systems as tight as me. They warn you about that… “Synaptic Seepage” they call it, where the mesh between you in your pod and the AI is wrong and it stops sucking up data and starts taking other input… personality, whatever.

Kat saved my life more times than i can count. Sure sometimes it sounds like more of a real scream than just metal being twisted and wrenched by impact when we hit something or get shot, but thats just feed back man.

Anyway, we get the shields rigged up real tight. Not as tight as id like to be honest, but its stronger than its been in a long time. Some clever Caldari work under the hood pushes it one step beyond and we use it to help slide the ship through warp with some hyperspatial rejiggery. I scour the manuevering outlets till they gleam, reapply the teflon hull paint, and replace half the powergrid for that low resistance/hi-output garbage they got on the market now.

Time we’re done the Jag gleams. Its slick, real sweet, like its just come off the line.

Couple of days left till the big race, so i take Kat offline to run some diagnostics, and we tidy up her database to try and improve response times a little. Unfortunate set back of this is it temporarily de-syncs her vocal processors and she sounds like a smurf for a while, but thats soon fixed. During the nights, i study. I memorise the area maps, practise power calibration techniques the works. I must have looked a real sight, sat there in my birthday suit, 2am in the morning, arms outstreched, practising precision engine double de-clutch breaking like some lunatic old timer who cant let the pod go.

After spending a night reciting warp jump coefficients in my sleep, Kat takes me off the boosters.

Then its the big day, and im sat there eating my Piwate Cwunchies for breakfast practically dancing in my seat. I’ve gone solar surfing man, ive taken a ship down through the corona of a star and ridden the super heated plasma surface like a wave, my ships shields and heat dissipators blasting through enough energy to power a large space station just to keep me whole, and now i have nerves.

But this is the big leagues. Its not just me either. Theres this guy, Kaz, asked me to ride with him, and i refuse to let the guy down, him or the team.

I take an hour, chill myself out. Then i head into the hangar and look at my baby. Not flown her since doing all the work on her. Jaguar is a good name too. In the ruddy light of the hangar she looks like some kind of vast beast, ready to leap out of those doors and do damage to the first thing that gets in her way.

I wasnt going to even try and give in. Quickly came up with an excuse to fly to the lab in person to pick up a blueprint, 30 jump round trip, no problem. I ease myself into the pod while Kat uploads herself into the onboard mainframe, and slowly the vessel around me comes alive.

Then it happens, as im lying back, my lungs filling with podgoo and my mind ablaze as the crystal code of the ships systems slice their way into my conciousness like a million ice cold crystals of light and energy. The engines catch, and the ship shudders, i dont hear the noise, i feel it, like a million high powered subwoofers massaging every fiber of my being with an electric pulse. In my mind i release the thought that held back over a million meganewtons of thrust, as Kat opens the hangar dock and we leap free of the station like a salmon jumping upstream. Even with the pod to support me, the force is crushing, and im pulled down against the side of the pod, unable to move. Raw pain, but good pain. My ship and I, as close to being one as we can, speed out across the stars, and through the gestalt that is my mind, my ship and kat, i know that my meat body is crying with joy.

Its a crude ship, built less for speed and grace and more for stamina, but with all the work we’ve done, its like flying something a thousand times more graceful than the sleekest of interceptors.

We make our way with ease to the labs and back. The run seems barely adequate, like we had only just built up a head of steam before we had to stop again, but it is useful. Through some clever calibration we improve the shield even further than ever before.

We dock fast, and deliver the blueprint, not even letting the engines cool before we are away again.

This time we’re headed for Kador. The journey is over in no time, and i rest in my pod as Kat attends to our pre-flight checks.

Then a comm call comes in. Its Kazuo. Finally i am to meet the man who took a down and out pilot and gave me the chance to get out there, along side those racers id only ever dreamed of seeing, and dared never speak to myself before. He wants to meet, double check our ships, that kind of thing. I undock the second we get clearance. Confined to a pod i wont be able to shake his hand, but i respect the man ive never met, and the chance to see him in his ship is too great to miss.

I head out to a designated point and wait. I “watch” him approach through the signal gain on the comm’s a slow steady gain, with sudden jumps where a gate brings him closer in an instant.

And then he is upon me, and i laugh. I laugh long and hard and clear, and stare at a ship not too different from mine. Its a Jaguar, better condition, for sure, a testament to better care, better parts and far more time spent on the track, but its a Jaguar, and as we begin our flight tests i see what i hope to become. I know nothing of the man, still dont, but i feel he did it the same way i did, hard work, graft, blood sweat and tears. There but for the grace of a few years was a man who could have been me. It was inspiring.

As we trained, the comms around us picked up. Slowly the other pilots were making their way to the starting line. Some new pilots, like myself, who found themselves coming from the shadows to the bright lights of the ISGC, dazzled by the sights of heroes past and present and the crowds of fans.

We made our final preparations together, the docking bays of that station in Ghesis must have sounded like armageddon. 35 of the galaxies fastest ships under one roof, engines roaring fire drenched gehenna. The floors shook as did many of the pilots.

The Race

“Counting Down”
came the voice of Gyra over the comms. By way of reply the whine of the engines increased noticably, and those of us not already gritting our teeth with the strain of holding back a billion horsepower of turbo charged death shouted good luck to one another.

I barely heard the countdown, but for an instant it was like all the sound died at once. Kat claims it was the dock depressurising ready to release us, the lack of air taking away the sound, but i dont know a pilot that would agree. It was like the universe held its breath for a second, before the words we had all waited to hear came over the comms.

“GO GO GO” shouted Gyra, and as if in unison, 35 ships screamed for release.

I dont know what happened next. Anyone who has trained martial arts or acrobatics knows the sensation. You let go your concious self, and are for a moment, pure instinct. You arent aware of every movement you make as you perform that backflip, you just decide to do it, your instincts take over and take you for the ride and you watch yourself perform the trick.
It was like that. As we vaulted out of the docks we dodged and darted between ships like they were standing still, pure instinct at the helm. I remember being aware of our first destination being announced, and suddenly i was back in the seat, the ship at hard warp for the nearest gate.
Over the comms i heard people complaining about their auto-nav’s and i remember smiling. All those hours of memorising the routes, I hadnt needed to auto plot it, i knew the route and had entered it without even thinking it, buying me valuable seconds headstart.

We reached the first jump point in no time, and quickly locked on to the waypoint container, already surrounded by the much faster interceptors. The ship lurched as i triggered the microwarp drives, and then screamed as we struggled to avoid an asteroid that had gone unseen.

And then it went wrong. We broadcast the codes needed to release our next waypoint and waited. Eventually the signal was sent, but corrupted. Kat and I both knew the destination, but the data was so bad we had to try again. And again.

8 times we tried, before giving up and warping on to waypoint 2. Kaz was scant seconds behind us and almost no one in front, it didnt seem like a big deal. As we jumped, i spoke to Kaz about the problem.

“Del, go back, my friend, go back, you MUST retrive a valid copy of that data!”

His message came in like a torpedo to the head, i was devastated. The ship cried out like a wounded animal as i spun it around far faster than i should, nearly shearing one of the engine pylons in the process, and then i slammed it into the hard burn back two jumps to retrieve the data. I watched in dismay as ship after ship screamed past, my dreams dying back more and more with each passing pilot. Then i noticed in comms, i wasnt the only one to make this mistake. Infact as i reached the waypoint for the second time, there were nearly as many ships around it as before, lots of us had missed it the first time.

Then a dismayed voice spoke in my ear and gave me the news i needed to really spur me on.

“Del, its Kaz, i missed the data too, im heading back.”

I cant describe the sensation i felt then. It was like having your body fill up from the core with burning emotion. It wasnt anger, it wasnt some desire for revenge, it was more like raw need, like needing your next booster fix. I needed to get back in the game for Kaz and me.

For a third time i wheeled the ship around, and drove it so fast the sensor feedback filled my mind with electic needles of pain, and overwhelmed my senses.

Slowly i clawed back what time i could, pausing for a minute at each waypoint, hoping i could provide an anchor for kazuo to gain back some time, each time being told to press on.

At waypoint 6, we were little more than a giant guided missile, shouting back encouragement to Kaz, i never noticed the belt rats, or the frigate till they were upon me. The frigate i almost collided with as i sent the Jaguar in to a high energy orbit around the waypoint, spinning around that spot like water in a drain. Darren…. I dont remember much, but it was a darren, or darran, id seen them at the starting line, with the others. He was to be my pace setter, always just ahead of me, beckoning me on, reminding me i could still catch someone. As i tried to remember the pilot, waiting for the data-squirt that would tell me where to head next, the first missile ripped into my shields.

Or would have. A week before, a missile that might have crippled me, was turned aside by my many shield modifications like it had never been there. More came, and yet more after that, and slowly my shields started to wither. As a third of my shield had been stripped, the data came, and we were away, entering warp barely milliseconds before a couple of missiles exploded at the point we had once occupied. We were safe, and we were away.

As the race continued, we spent more and more time in proximity to Darren, my frigate meat shield. At any jump where someone lay in wait for us, they were there, scant seconds before, drawing the fire, and we almost felt pity for them. For us Darren was always just ahead, always getting closer, but impossible to get past. For them, it seemed, all there was was unending attacks from pirates, and the desperate need to keep ahead of the nearing assault frigate.

As we entered the Bordan system, Kat picked up Dougalar’s transponder at the same gate. As we progressed around the system we hoped we had caught up, and shouted back to Kaz
“Dougalar is here, we’re gaining on them!”
But asides from that one encounter, we never saw him again on the track. As we approached waypoint 12, we caught sight of another racer, Sera, and we quickly send a greeting to them as we waited for the data burst that would see us on our way, before heading towards waypoint 13

Which wasnt there.

We had barely entered Peyiri when the race coordinators broadcast the message, waypoint 13 is gone, fly directly to point 14 at Gensela. Within moments we plotted the course and were underway, praying we were closing on the competition.
At Gensela we caught up with some of the stragglers, who were in the process of leaving as we arrived. We threw caution to the wind and burned the engines harder than ever before, taxing every possible micronewton of extra power we could out of the drives to catch them, but for nothing. We saw them at waypoint 15, heading off into the distance as we approached, and that was the last we saw of them before docking at Ghesis, the finish line.

“Welcome Delusion” shouted Gyra over the comms, and i heard cheers from the crowd in the viewing galleries around the docks. They werent the loud cheers of a podium place, but they were cheers. For me. In the big leagues.

Shaking with exhaustion, i extracted myself from my pod and my ship, leaving the tasks of standing the vessel down to Kat. I stood before my trusty vessel, gazing up at the twin intakes with pride. For the perfect moment all there was to my world was myself and the ship and the knowledge we had made it.
Barely able to hold myself up any longer, i rested my head against my Jaguars hull, closed my eyes and let the world around me fade into nothingness.

Shortly after, word came over the comm that Kazuo was incoming, and fighting every inch of the way with another pilot. Rather than interrupt him on our private channel, i joined the crowd, chanting his name, urging him on with what strength i had left, and soon he was screaming through the airlock as i had, scant minutes before, and i joined the crowd in cheering for him as Gyra announced “Welcome Kazuo”.

As he began shutting down his ship, I let the crowd carry me to the pilots bar, planning to meet him there, but sadly he chose not to come. Instead i joined the other pilots in drink after drink.

I hadnt won the race, and it was only through technicality i even made it to the podium for the Assault Frigate class. But for me, i felt every bit the champion that the race winner probably felt. Id survived, and i hadnt let my team down. My name was next to those of my heroes on the roster of pilots and there were people asking for my own autograph!

Dutifully i signed every pad, every peice of paper and proffered limb. As i was turned around again and again by the crowd, and at one point I noticed a young man, barely old enough to have his pilots rating, at the back of the crowd, staring at me. He looked down and out, burning out on boosters, a little short on luck and shorter on ISK. He looked like me, a decade ago, as i remember looking at the racing heroes back in my childhood. I knew if i moved towards him, hed melt into the crowd like a ghost, so i merely held his gaze for a moment, and nodded to him silently. Stick with it kid, hang in there, work hard and one day youll earn your shot. Just like me.

The air was crisp and cool on her skin. Her breath clouded the air, as the early morning dew settled around her, glistening droplets of precious water forming like a sparkling second skin on the ground around her.

In the camp around her, the soldiers stirred quietly, grim determination in their actions as they broke their fast with the meager rations they had with them. The last remaining camp fires were put out, earth kicked over them to douse the sputtering flames and starve the smouldering embers of air.

No effort was made to break camp. Scouts had reported the night before a column was approaching from the south. They would be here soon, and not one of the soldiers gathered at the camp expected to survive to see the night. They were too few, too exposed on the rocky plain, and too far from the mountains and valleys that might protect them.

The air was still. Even the birds had fled to the safety of the woods some miles west. They would return in time, to feast upon the fallen. Disease ridden carrion, fat and glutted with the feasts of a hundred battles over the years, they were the true victors in any engagement. They always returned home, always full, content and satisfied in the knowledge that with the dawn there would always be more fallen on which to gorge.

There was no breeze yet, the waking sun was still climbing from his rest below the mountains in the east, his warmth and light yet to stir the wind as he rose, the sky overhead growing brighter in greeting as he came.

She hissed silently with alarm, startled by the sudden rasp of metal. Rising slowly she turned towards the noise, and saw a comrade sitting cross legged before the remains of a fire, drawing a whetstone across the edge of his blade. A final, desperate preparation, sharpening his blade, in the hopes a keen edge would serve the frail inexperienced warrior in the battle to come.

He turned his eyes towards her, a far away look in his eyes. Like many of them she realised, he no longer looked upon the world. Already he looked beyond it, knowing as they all did, that his last hours were upon him before he departed the land forever. She smiled and nodded at him reassuringly, a final kindness in the dawn before their death. He returned her nod and returned to his efforts to sharpen the blade as she surveyed the camp and studied the rise beyond it, to the south, where soon the bringers of death would muster.

Silently she greeted the land around her with her gaze, and silently she bade it farewell. Tall and still, a grim reflection of a statue raised in memorial to the dead, she was as the rock, grim, resolute, prepared and accepting of what was to come.

Across the camp came the faint sounds of crying, a womans voice lamenting their fate, the sounds of other women trying to comfort her, taking turns to hold and comfort her and dress her in the armour that was to become her burial gown.

The woman turned her head from the scene, unmoved. She had done her crying. All her life she had cried like that, and this time she was no longer capable of feeling the pain her comrades felt.

As a child she had seen the raiders come, her parents taken from her home and slaughtered before her cruelly as she cowered in some bushes outside. She watched them torch her home, and mutilate the corpses. When the others had found her she was black and crimson all over, stained with the blood of loved ones, covered in soot and ash. Clasping to the arms of a limp parent pleading for it to speak and hold her and take away the fear as the world she had known bled and burned around her.

Later her foster parents met a similar end, and she watched with horrid fascination as her step brothers and sisters were speared and slain defending their home as she hid in the rafters. That time she had earned scars that would never fade. Knowing it would be death to leave the house while the raiders waited outside, she had remained, her nostrils full of the scent of her burning flesh as the house burned around her. When the raiders had finally gone, she made her way to a nearby village and was taken in again, one of the few surviving refugees from her homelands. She was taken in by the village crone, a wisened woman of countless years, who tended the burns she had suffered for many months until she healed. The crone taught her of herb lore, of animal crafts and of secret spells that would bring rain, or allow dead soil to bring forth fertile crops.

When the crone had passed on, she took over the role of village doctor, tending sick people and animals alike. As she came of age, she grew to know love. A young suitor, not put off by the stories told by the villagers of the crones, doted on her and cared for her. Their love blossomed, and after a time, they were to be betrothed. The villagers celebrated their union, preparing fine foods and drinks, the partnership of the village medicine woman and one of their most influential families was seen as a good omen. The lands, it was felt, would prosper and grow like never before.

They danced, and they sang, music filling the air and the bright village lights illuminating the land for miles around. They feasted and were merry and they said their vows before their god to always be there for each other till death do they part.

Later that night she lay holding her stomach, knowing as only a medicine woman could, that she already bore life, and she wept. She drifted off to sleep holding him close weeping as his blood spilled out over her the night sky alight above her, a bitter mirror of the burning village beneath as the wails of the dying cried out, and she knew the lands would prosper and grow, fed as it would be by those that had died when the raiders came, drawn in by the bright lights meant to celebrate her union with the dead thing she now held close in her marriage bed. She felt the life inside her and knew it was not her husbands, but rather the vile seed of those who had raped her and left her for dead on her wedding night.

She lived out self imposed exile, as many crones before her had. This time hidden from the village she served for her children rather than for her secrets, as the villagers would taunt and beat them terribly, as the half-orc children she had born served only to remind them of the evils of the raiders that came from time to time, seeking nothing but the deaths of her and her people.

And soon she had not even her children. One grim winter night, as a storm raged in the air above, they were slain defending the village that had spurned them, as she worked her magics to control the storm and drive off the invaders.

Yes, she had done her lifes weeping. She had cried and bled until she could cry and bleed no more. She was a rock now, without sorrow or feeling, a bitter calm, all the rage she had felt long since burned away. Her final loss had brought her back to the villagers, who accepted her again for the deeds of her children. Her family honor redeemed, she stood to fight the invaders this last time, as they came in force across the land, messages of all the towns and villages that fell before them, and left trampled to dust in their wake.

Their finest warriors already gone, drafted by the army to serve in the war, all that were left were the villagers, a cadre of soldiers unused to war. They would fight, for there was nothing else left to do.

The first rays of light from the rising sun touched on the camp and swept across her features, smoothing the lines from her face, making her seem younger than her years as she stood and felt the last warmth she could ever feel in this life. She drank in the sunlight, letting it invigorate her as the people mustered around her, waiting for her to give them guidance, their wise, all knowing crone.

Someone passed her her spear. An ancient thing, edges worn and chipped, its haft tightly bound in leather and wire mesh, the sun glinting brightly from its tip. She stared at it like it was an alien thing, unfamiliar in hands more used to holding tools than weapons.

It came through the ground first. A vibration that moved through the ground and up through her feet and up her bones and spine like a hammer. Her chest grew tight in anticipation, and she shuffled uneasily in her ill fitting armour, barely covering her in places, made for a man many years younger than the old woman it now adorned.

They were coming. The rhythmic beat moved through the earth like the beating of a leviathan heart, filling her mind with a throbbing sensation that was like some noise more felt than heard. As the sun rose higher it shone reflected from metal in the distance to the south. The raiders grew near, the time was at hand.

She gathered the people, and stood before them atop a crate. She gave them words of courage, and painted tales of valour and victory and blessed them with those charms and spells she knew, the sun burning bright behind her as she held her spear aloft and urged them to give their all, her mismatched armour hanging oddly from her gaunt frame.

And then she climbed down to face the enemy, holding her spear ready as she waited, wordlessly muttering charms of good fortune for her people and spitting curses at the invaders. The people formed up around her, facing their foe as the village captain of the guard, the closest thing to a general, walked the line before them, throwing himself into a rallying speech that was felt by all and heard by none, their attention turned fully upon the growing column of silver and steel that grew before them like a tidal wave of blades and death.

The air went dark, the first arrow exchange blotting out the sun, as the invaders and villagers fired at each other, and suddenly there was no time. They charged as one, towards battle and death, silently for none of them felt the stirring that would bring forth a battle cry.

As they closed on the invaders, she wished the military hadnt taken the warriors, that they had been able to send a regiment to protect them rather than forcing the villagers to fight. She looked upon the faces of the evil ones and she saw the faces of those who had taken all she ever loved, and she gave herself to hatred then.

She remembered her parents, when she was young and her heart quickened and became more determined, finding strength she had forgotten and screaming a wordless blood thirsty curse upon her foes that chilled to the bone.

She remembered her children and ran now towards them and the death that would bring them together again, moving ahead of her comrades at a pace that belied her years.

She remembered the flames as she burned when she was young, and she drew the fire from her memory back into herself and screamed again, her limited power making the flames real and ensheathing her spear in a blazing inferno that made the air around it waver and burned the eyes of those who looked upon it.

She saw the enemy champion high atop his mount call out to her as he ordered his men to hold and as he charged her she knew the villagers had stopped their charge a long way behind her and she grinned.

A battle of champions then, decided by the two of them, her village may be saved after all, she ran on faster then, possessed by some demon of her own making towards the mounted monster.

She would protect her village with her life, as her husband had protected her with his own that night so long ago. The distance shortened, 50 feet, 40, 30, and she could see the wild eyes of the beast before her atop his steed.

She drew that final memory into her mind. That night when her lover had died beside her as she tensed herself like a spring as the horse drew ever nearer, and remembered the blood and the pain.

She jumped in to the air like an arrow, her blazing spear held forward, her whole body a weapon of hatred for the monsterous horde before her and she recalled the rape as she lay in a pool of her lovers blood.

The man was unprepared for the assault, his guard too low to counter it, and he brought his shield up too slowly to protect himself. She drove the spear through the humans skull, his hair errupting in flame as a scream bubbled and died in his throat, all her weight and hatred behind the blow, driving her in to him, and onto the blade he had tried to raise to sheild himself, taking them both off his horse.

She pulled herself from him, his blade still locked in her stomach and his blood sizzling on her spear. Behind her the orcs stirred and charged once more, ahead the human ranks shuffled and the humans cried out in fear of the old orc woman who had felled their mighty champion with a single blow…

The carrion birds feasted as they always had, and the lands grew thick and luscious with the blood and remains of the fallen. The once parched field was green again, except for a single stain, a black circle at its heart, where the plants withered and died as if some great fire raged there long after the battle had passed from all memory. The lands lasting testament and memorial to the crone.