Givati special forces members of the IDF and U.S. Marines conduct joint urban warfare training at the National Center for Urban Warfare Training, August 2013.

IDF and Marine forces take turns acting as assaulting and opposing forces in a simulated urban battlefield in order to facilitate the sharing of tactics, techniques, and procedures of conducting offensive combat operations in an urban environment.


Following these events.

“Are you certain?”   Seriol stared at the schematic on his desk, reaching blindly for the cut-crystal decanter.  He had told no one about the dreams; there was no one he could confide in.  He had never had friends at Auchindoun, and with Idra gone, the closest ally he had was perched on the edge of the desk frowning at the level of wine in the decanter.

“Quite.  Astriid went on about it at length.   It seems that Gamelon promised her that if the Kyreal was successful, she would lead the next project.  But he reneged on the deal.”  A slender finger with callouses that had nothing to do with the genteel work of an Auchenai tapped the data tablet, opening a new screen that showed the construct’s head design, faint lights indicating data points where the user could pull up finer detail.  “She didn’t know the working name on this one, but she was able to get the design schematics.”

Seriol’s hand trembled as he poured a glass of wine, the crystal clinking against the glass.  He knew those horns, knew that face.  He’d been seeing it almost every night in his dreams.

“Does it matter?”  Valaasca’s voice was as gentle as her hands when she took the decanter from him, setting it down on its tray with a clink.  “You should be preparing for your Trial, not mucking around with the Artificers…”  She paused, taking a deep breath.  “You’re drinking an awful lot, and you look like hell.”  Ever since the rumored death of Soulbinder Idra, he had been acting strangely, drinking more wine, murmuring to himself.  

“It matters.  Are you questioning my judgment?”  His voice was soft, and his eyes lifted to her face.  Whatever she saw there made Valaa look away, her expression tight.  

Idra’s enemies were circling, and he had to establish his own power base before they swallowed him up.   He returned his attention to the datapad, his fingers tapping on the schematic.   The face of the construct zoomed into focus, lines of neat text on either side detailing power needs, circuitry and other minutiae that held no interest for him. All of his focus was on the sightless green eyes, the ones that whispered to him in the darkness.

Why he was seeing her, he had no idea, but the connection to Idra was unmistakable.  “I need an appointment with Gamelon.”

“Your schedule for today has already been arranged.”  Her brow furrowed as she reached for the data tablet, intending to pull up his roster.

“Make it happen, Sakena.”  His voice cracked like a whip as he settled back into his chair, settling his robes around himself.  “I will see him before sundown.”  

Swallowing, she nodded, scooping up her data tablet and clearing away the schematics with a swipe of her thumb.  “Briina is assigned to the Artificer’s offices this week, I’ll go ask her to make an opening.”  

Seriol picked up his wineglass and drained it in two long swallows, ignoring his daughter as she gave him one last glance and scurried out the door.   In his mind’s eye, he could see the construct’s glowing green eyes and distinctively shaped horns.  Confiding in Valaasca on why the artificers were important never crossed his mind as an option.  She was his daughter, but she was also an Irennellar; and he could not be completely certain that the family had not gotten to her, created a conflict of loyalty.  He had grown accustomed, over the years, to this solitary existence, but there were days when it was a heavy life to lead.

Help me, I need you.

I’m coming, Idra.


vandrysse  asked:

Your character just woke up from an embarrassing dream. What was it about? #VandyPrompts

(Because this happened)

In times when Idrael desperately wished she could escape her false body, she retreated into the memories of her mind, which appeared only as clear as dreams. The Artificer’s assistant, Astral or some name of that sort, was working on a part behind her, and Idrael wanted nothing more than to sleep and avoid all of it.

“Just hush up and get me some clothes, Zimina!”

Idra watched as triumph bloomed in her apprentice’s eyes. It took far too long for Zimina to answer her mentor’s demand. Huddled behind her desk, Idra’s failed dispersion attempt had left her bereft of a single stitch of garment, and she was trapped in her office until someone – like the raven-haired woman in front of her – came to her aid.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Zimina smirked. “They’re a little small for you, but… my quarters are closer than yours and I can reach them faster.” The smaller woman laughed and loosened her collar, prompting a rush of heat to Idra’s cheeks, and neatly dispersed with a tantalizing flash of blue skin. Zimina’s empty robes crumpled to the floor.

The elder soulpriestess stared at the pile of fabric, and fought down the mad desire to yell. Zimina had abandoned her! Those tiny robes would not possibly fit!

Yet she must remain calm, and quiet, and not attract more attention. Idra slinked from behind her cover and grabbed the discarded clothing, trying valiantly to shimmy her way into them, but no amount of wiggling would resolve the fact that her hips, and the rest of her, was too bounteous for Zimina’s robes.

Frustration swelled to a boil inside Idra. She needed a new plan, and any reasonable, logical alternative to her dilemma vanished from her thoughts. All she wanted was to get out of her office and garb herself before someone else saw her. Staring at the door where Zimina’s black and violet dispersion cloud had vanished, Idra emboldened herself. She collapsed into shadow and slipped beneath the door into the hall.

Her concentration crackled as Idra bounced her incorporeal mass from room to room, dark corner to empty corridor. Once, she reassembled in what she thought was an unoccupied lodging, but when a child began to wail nearby, she quickly dispersed again and fled.

Finally, Idra emerged in quarters she recognized, and she darted behind the bed. She could at least grab a blanket or something from Zimina’s boudoir, or… Idra’s tail flicked. She heard her apprentice moving in the next room.

Anger welled up again, accompanied by another deeply heated inspiration. Oh yes, Zimina would pay for the stunt she just attempted. Rising to her full, nude height, Idra prepared to unleash a verbal – and soon to be physical – lashing her apprentice wouldn’t forget.

Her tail snapped.

Startled, the Idrael awoke and forced herself to freeze as she determined where the attack had been made on her. Something felt odd and heavy in her back, and below it.

“T-there,” Astral’s teeth chattered. “All d-done with your t-tail.”

Does she expect a thank you? Idrael waited and sensed the assistant step around into her view. Yes, she could feel all the way down to the tip of her tail now. This was excellent progress.

The apprentice peered up at her, wary. “I s-swear you just twitched at me, so… I’m d-done for the d-day. V-val’s right and I sh-shouldn’t be in here alone so m-much. It’s m-making me jumpy.”

Yes, go away now.

Turning, Astral doused the lights and surrounded the Idrael in darkness again. As soon as she heard no more hoofsteps, Idrael powered on, illuminating her segments with a green glow, and she thrashed with all her might. Her long, glorious tail impacted beautifully with a carefully-stacked set of datapads, scattered them across the floor.

With callow glee, Idrael darkened again and sank once more into her mind.

vandrysse keialaar

keialaar  asked:

"Am I so insignificant?"


By now, Seriol knew to expect that his dreams might turn dark, no matter how he settled his mind before he slipped into bed. How much of it was due to his own worries, which should have been resolved when he discovered Idra’s lost soul, and how much was due to the deceased woman projecting her mind, was still unclear.

He stood in the darkened labyrinth of the catacombs beneath Auchindoun, hoof to hoof with the Idrael. Unlike her disassembled form in reality, in his nightmares she stood whole and complete.

Different this time, no bone and flesh body of Idra lay in view. To some extent her absence relieved Seriol, because he no longer witnessed her death over and over at the hands of the construct.

“This will not end well for you, you are aware.” Green orbs flickered with malice. “There is a limit to how much use I have for you.”

Seriol bowed his head and viewed his hands. They looked paler than normal, shining in the surrounding black. “Am I so insignificant, Idra?”

“Less insignificant than others, and that is no longer my name. I will dispose of you like everyone else.”

“I do not believe it,” he replied, surprising himself with his defiance. Idra’s missing corpse and the dominant figure of the construct now alarmed him. “Whatever may have been between us while you lived, whatever I have since come to regret, you must trust me now. I will finish you as I promised.”

The Idrael tipped her horns back and raised her chin. Her artificial lips didn’t move. “And then, you will regret that you did.”


keialaar  asked:

If your character was allowed to murder one person without any consequences, who would that person be and why? - Character of your choice!


The walls of Artificer Gamelon’s private laboratory shimmered with a faint crust of ice, its temperature kept well below the living’s comfort threshold. Alone and suspended from her wires, the Idrael couldn’t shiver. She couldn’t cover herself or huddle in a corner for warmth. She couldn’t sleep to escape the cold.

To distract from the pain and the chill that numbed her, she questioned herself on matters that inflamed the deep, vengeful parts of her mind.

Her own voice answered, and she didn’t think it odd at all.

“Seriol must be the first to die. He allowed my murderers to leave with barely a protest. Proper paperwork indeed to release my property; that can all be altered and I can make him culpable.”

“He cannot be the first. I still need him.”

“The black-armored knight, then. I killed Stavros, so that rotting hulk should be no issue. Everyone has some small piece of themselves that can be nudged, to utterly crumble them from within, and I can find his weakness.”

“His axe will be a problem. I remember what it released, and what it ensnared.”

“Then I will kill Zimina. Traitors do not deserve to live and I can crush her so easily.”

“I will not make to her, past her knight or the Kyreal.”

“THEN THE KYREAL! It was supposed to be mine all along; it put its spear into my heart and killed me. I will kill it first!”

“If I kill her, I will be all alone, and the only one left of my kind.”

“It never bothered me to be alone before, and I am certain that that dilemma can be solved just like any other puzzle. I solved death.”

Silence crept up the frozen walls and black fingers twitched. Green illuminated down Idrael’s segmented back, lighting either side of her artificial spine to the partially-assembled stump of a tail.

“But I do not want to be alone. That is why I need to kill Seriol last.”

keialaar malvalen-ooc ikyreal

keialaar  asked:



“Ah, Soulpriest Seriol! I wasn’t expecting any other visitors today.” Artificer Gamelon scrambled to his hooves when the taller, robed man entered his office. If possible, Gamelon’s desk full of partial schematics and floating images looked even more chaotic than ever. Seriol noted how the Artificer rushed several risqué ones out of view.

The deep cold hadn’t changed. Seriol’s breath clouded in front of his lips as he spoke. Other visitors? “I thought I had complete permission to enter and monitor progress when I wished, Artificer,” he remarked. “Is this not a suitable time to see Idr—the model?”

Gamelon cupped his hands in front of his belly and wriggled his fingers. “Now that you mention it, I had forgotten that particular allowance. No, today would not be suitable. There are many, many detailed tests to run and it is best for the Idrael if I not pause, and re-start them solely for the convenience of a single soulpriest.”

Seriol detected a faint emphasis on his title. His Soulbinder Trial had not yet taken place, and he harbored suspicions about the source of the delay. Valaasca had offered him little, and he didn’t know if it was because she uncovered nothing, or didn’t wish to tell him. Stretching out his mind, he felt Idra’s churning presence near, on the other side of the locked laboratory door.

So close and yet, so very far. “When would it be best for me to return?”

“Oh, well, that will all depend.” Gamelon’s eyes glittered. Just that morning, he had received an inspection request from the higher ranking – and obviously more important – Soulbinder Bisnaa. Auchenai politics mattered little to him when he’d already received Seriol’s promised funding. What did it hurt if someone else, someone more powerful, expressed interest in his work? “It is all very… delicate.” Gamelon licked his lips.

Recognizing the denial, Seriol’s jaw clenched. He forced himself to nod politely to the Artificer and rattle off some pleasantries, before he turned and left the frigid office. It seemed clear to him that other players had crept into the gaming board, and he needed allies.

He needed Valaasca.


keialaar  asked:

❖ describe their hands - Your choice!


Finish me.

Idra commanded all that could hear. Unfortunately, the Artificer currently building her construct body possessed little talent for mentalism, and so Idra’s mind stretched elsewhere, anywhere it could. Her synthetic veins: threads and tubing connected from stony fabricated muscle to her crystalline power core, pulsed in the effort to move her arm.

The arm extended only in her mind as she reached down, like a ghost limb. Something belonged to her, below. Gamelon had forgotten her hand, separately assembled but complete, resting on the cold table underneath her suspended form. Idrael wanted to pick it up. To attach it to her empty wrist. To strangle the life out of that odious man with his chilly, invasive caress.

Yet still she couldn’t grasp it. The hand’s dark fingers curled beautifully, delicate-looking, but she knew that when whole, her grip could crush bone. Her hands would give her back her power. Control. Expression.


Green eyes flickered and faded as her energy faded. She was getting stronger with every new part the Artificer added, but her arm failed. She wasn’t strong enough yet. The frigid air of the laboratory sank into her artificial limbs and paralyzed her joints, frozen in a perpetual struggle against her bindings.

Come back to me soon.