Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...
Baram moved back toward the shadows. She stooped and her form began to roil and change. I watched for a moment, repelled and transfixed at the same time as she began to shrink as her shoulders spread and arms thickened and sprouted wings. Her bones cracked like warming ice and I had to look away for the other noises in the cavern were reaching a crescendo.
I heard Merrick's hoarse breathing and mumbled incantations. The air crackled with energy. Seymuhr sang in a tongue I could not immediately recognize as his maces shattered the shuffling forms in front of him. Broo Fang Tane yowled and barked sharp vicious war cries as he laid ruin to the mass of undead that pushed through the cavern toward us.
The witchwood blade pulsed in my palm. warm and smooth, as if it still carried the current of life that seeped up from the very center of Korin. Witchwood trees were scattered throughout the land; their origins were lost in the knowledge of the ancient races but they were imbued with strange properties and hidden strengths and, some said, an intelligence of their own. I had never seen one, nor felt their magic before. It was astonishing; I felt a connection to the rock beneath my feet and, very faintly, the tortured souls of the shambling horde that sought to destroy us.
The blade drew me toward Abilene's malevolent presence and I sensed that she was aware of its existence. I felt a trickle of fear in her as she paused and turned her attention to me. The witchwood sang in me and propelled me forward. I was at peace.
"You...?" The witch was terrible to behold. All vestiges of its youthful beauty had been blasted away or merely discarded. The perfect skin we had seen moments ago hung in red strips from her jaws. Rotted teeth curved like fangs. Her full, red hair was nothing but twisted dirty ropes that writhed like snakes. And her eyes...despite the magic of the witchwood blade, I could not meet her gaze. One look into those black pits and I knew, blade or not, that my soul would be blasted and lost.
Baram's bird form swooped from the darkness above. It screeched, talons extended, and tore more flesh from Abilene's skull. She shrieked and I saw Merrick fall forward, landing on his knees. He gripped his staff and it might have been the only thing that kept him upright. He wheezed and slumped forward. My heart called to him.
Somehow, I was standing in front of the witch. The knife grew hot in my hand. Its warmth spread up my arm and enveloped me, a sensation so primal it tickled my teeth. She bared her teeth in a fearsome grimace and I could feel her hatred boiling toward me, a black disdain for all life and I thought I was screaming, not yelling in defiance or anger of my own, but screaming in utter horror as I plunged the blade into the side of her ancient skull.
I can scarcely describe what happened next. It was as if a storm descended from the sky and covered us all. My ears were filled with an explosion of sound, like a crack of thunder that spun me around and flung me to the hard floor. A yawning void opened and a bizarre, dank wind assailed us all and carried all sound from the chamber. I thought I had gone deaf until the silence gradually eased. I heard rocks pattering to the ground, Baram moaning softly and someone taking a hoarse breath. That was all.
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Battle under the mountain
Previously: Freelance historian Esmiralda and her companions--Merrick, a member of the Ministry of Human Preservation (MOHP), Broo-Fang Tane, an Optimist Monk, and Seymuhr, a brutish but somewhat dim-witted warrior called the Skullsquasher, have fought their way into the lair of the mountain witch to uproot her evil, once and for all...
Broo Fang Tane let loose another stone that ripped through the air and bounced off the witch's cheek. This time, the impact loosened the flesh on her face like a ripple in a still pond: the skin roiled and dropped and fell, revealing a curved jaw studded with pointed, blackened teeth. Her eyes turned black and cold and an inhuman shriek filled the chamber, so ghastly and shrill that I covered my ears--nearly stabbing myself with my knife in the process.
A wave of cold energy swept over me and knocked me to the ground. For a second I couldn't breathe--it felt like snakes made of ice were wriggling up my nose. I rolled, spat and coughed. My companions had fared better. Merrick was still on his feet, although the wave of cold had knocked him a few steps backward. Tane had joined Seymuhr, who battled the horde of shuffling dead things that cut off our escape. They were violence and destruction personified--Seymuhr with his two maces causing ruin wherever they landed and Tane a one-man storm of chaotic precision. His fists and feet scattered liquefied brains and putrefied flesh wherever they landed. His eyes were wide with rage and nearly every blow was punctuated by his bizarre, high-pitched war cry. Both of them were coated with gore.
"On your feet, woman!" Merrick hissed at me. His face was red, his eyes puffing and his chest heaving. He growled some form on incantation and cocked his fingers in what looked like a painful fashion, but the mountain witch only cackled at his attempt to overcome her own magic.
I rolled, grabbed my knife again and said a prayer. My heart raced and I tasted dirt and stone. What could I do? I could be no help to Seymuhr or Broo Fang Tane--they appeared to be holding their own. It was Merrick who was failing. He was clearly overmatched. I crawled off to the side of the cavern, where the shadows were deeper, and made my way laboriously around the cavern. Maybe Merrick could distract Abilene long enough for me to strike her. If my simple blade would have any effect, I did not know.
The air sizzled with arcane energy and stank of rot. Sounds unlike any I had ever heard assailed my ears, horrible syllables that awakened in me an icy panic. I am shamed to admit it now, but I found myself cowering in the shadows, covering my head with my arms in a futile attempt to block those repulsive noises. I whimpered and tried to will my body to move to help, to stand and strike, but could not. My fingers felt for the Traveling Stone that rested between my bosom. Escape was so close; I could call on its magic and be free almost instantly.
Merrick shouted in pain just then, and I pulled my hand away. Tears burned in the corner of my eye. I felt dirty and small. I forced myself to my elbows and crawled forward--until I saw a ragged pair of boots in front of me. Baram. With a tremendous effort, I lifted my head and saw her gazing down on me.
"What?" I gasped and spat. "Have you come now to finish your work, witch?"
"Yes," she said. She half-opened a hand, revealing a twisted piece of wood that I first mistook for a broken shard of bark. The she twisted it and I saw it was a slender blade, not carved, I somehow knew, but shaped through some other means. I was unfamiliar with the making of it, but I recognized it for what it was and I could scarcely believe it--even after Baram ran a thumb over its edge and her bright blood spilled in a straight, thin line.
"Is that...witchwood?"
She nodded once and pressed the blade into my palm. At once I felt its warmth, like I was enveloped in an invigorating bath. I stood.
"We must hurry," she said. "Our time here wanes."
Next: The Witchwood Blade
Broo Fang Tane let loose another stone that ripped through the air and bounced off the witch's cheek. This time, the impact loosened the flesh on her face like a ripple in a still pond: the skin roiled and dropped and fell, revealing a curved jaw studded with pointed, blackened teeth. Her eyes turned black and cold and an inhuman shriek filled the chamber, so ghastly and shrill that I covered my ears--nearly stabbing myself with my knife in the process.
A wave of cold energy swept over me and knocked me to the ground. For a second I couldn't breathe--it felt like snakes made of ice were wriggling up my nose. I rolled, spat and coughed. My companions had fared better. Merrick was still on his feet, although the wave of cold had knocked him a few steps backward. Tane had joined Seymuhr, who battled the horde of shuffling dead things that cut off our escape. They were violence and destruction personified--Seymuhr with his two maces causing ruin wherever they landed and Tane a one-man storm of chaotic precision. His fists and feet scattered liquefied brains and putrefied flesh wherever they landed. His eyes were wide with rage and nearly every blow was punctuated by his bizarre, high-pitched war cry. Both of them were coated with gore.
"On your feet, woman!" Merrick hissed at me. His face was red, his eyes puffing and his chest heaving. He growled some form on incantation and cocked his fingers in what looked like a painful fashion, but the mountain witch only cackled at his attempt to overcome her own magic.
I rolled, grabbed my knife again and said a prayer. My heart raced and I tasted dirt and stone. What could I do? I could be no help to Seymuhr or Broo Fang Tane--they appeared to be holding their own. It was Merrick who was failing. He was clearly overmatched. I crawled off to the side of the cavern, where the shadows were deeper, and made my way laboriously around the cavern. Maybe Merrick could distract Abilene long enough for me to strike her. If my simple blade would have any effect, I did not know.
The air sizzled with arcane energy and stank of rot. Sounds unlike any I had ever heard assailed my ears, horrible syllables that awakened in me an icy panic. I am shamed to admit it now, but I found myself cowering in the shadows, covering my head with my arms in a futile attempt to block those repulsive noises. I whimpered and tried to will my body to move to help, to stand and strike, but could not. My fingers felt for the Traveling Stone that rested between my bosom. Escape was so close; I could call on its magic and be free almost instantly.
Merrick shouted in pain just then, and I pulled my hand away. Tears burned in the corner of my eye. I felt dirty and small. I forced myself to my elbows and crawled forward--until I saw a ragged pair of boots in front of me. Baram. With a tremendous effort, I lifted my head and saw her gazing down on me.
"What?" I gasped and spat. "Have you come now to finish your work, witch?"
"Yes," she said. She half-opened a hand, revealing a twisted piece of wood that I first mistook for a broken shard of bark. The she twisted it and I saw it was a slender blade, not carved, I somehow knew, but shaped through some other means. I was unfamiliar with the making of it, but I recognized it for what it was and I could scarcely believe it--even after Baram ran a thumb over its edge and her bright blood spilled in a straight, thin line.
"Is that...witchwood?"
She nodded once and pressed the blade into my palm. At once I felt its warmth, like I was enveloped in an invigorating bath. I stood.
"We must hurry," she said. "Our time here wanes."
Next: The Witchwood Blade
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