Forums » Fan Fiction

Unforseen Alchemy

    • 187 posts
    February 6, 2017 6:30 PM PST

    It's early. We have little to work with. It's a challenge to stick to lore, since at the time of this beginning, there is so little of it. Please forgive me if, in a later reading, aught is found to be awry, for it was unavoidable for certain.

     

    [Ongoing work in progress. Please consider story 'continued' until otherwise noted]

     

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    Unforseen Alchemy

     

    The wood was silent and still. The brush of breeze that rippled across the canopy served to accentuate the absence of other sounds. Nesirina's breathing was harsh and ragged, tearing at her own ears in her near-panic. She was running. Again. It seemed she was always running. She had discovered a link to the Nythirian Red, and had passed not a single day's peace since.

    The Nythirian Red were all gone, they said. Just rumors, they said. They hadn't survived, they said. The things they said--they being the Great Counsel--could fill a book. A useless, stupid book that would get her killed. The Nythirians had infiltrated as far as the Counsel, and nobody knew except them and Nesirina. Now, Nesirina ran. It had taken one mistake, one simple look into the wrong place at the wrong time to turn her world upside-down.

    She'd had a cushy job. She had entertained now and then, singing for the Lords and Ladies of the various Counsels. Now? Now she was ragged and tired and alone in a forest so quiet that the breeze touching the tips of the trees sounded like distant thunder, and her own breathing sounded like the roar of the great reef at low tide when the waves crashed upon it, throwing themselves to destruction with abandon.

    She gripped a low-lying, dead branch, and pulled herself erect. The sound of hounds behind her reminded her that, this time at least, her pursuers were simple human bandits. The Nythirians had not given up, she knew; they were likely waiting to see what the humans would do. She took a deep breath and plunged onward. A deep rumble shook the world around her, and she nearly fell as the great volcano voiced displeasure at her trespass.

    "Blessed Syronai," she breathed, knowing that it the Goddess was beyond her reach, "I can go no further." The lungs the Goddess had bestowed upon her people were burning inside her like coals as she felt darkness ascending upon her vision.

    Hours later, she woke slowly, tasting her own blood in her mouth, mingled with dirt. She lifted stained and painful hands and pushed herself up to a sitting position. Gingerly, she touched her hand to her forehead. Pain made her yank it away. She looked around, and strange sounds began to penetrate her foggy mind. The forest was awake again, with birds calling to each other while small creatures scuttled through the underbrush near her.

    Wearily, she realized that a great deal of the day had passed. "Be ever wary, for the night was made for the darkness." The ancient adage ran a tremor down her spine. It would not be safe in these woods after dark, not at all. As if in agreement, the great volcano rumbled again, gently, like a friend's voice heard from another room after a long separation. Nesirina had no idea what had happened to her puruers, but she knew that the night would be as hard for them as for her. Likely they had already begun their preparations.

    The backpack she carried was unexpectedly heavy as she let it slide off of her exhausted back and onto the ground. Searching, she found the flint and steel. Relief stole over her. She had lost the tinder, so she would have to improvise, but the necessities remained. She prepared her camp quickly as the shadows gripped her with cruel fingers and spurred her efforts with cruel claws. If the humans didn't kill her, the zambias might. They feared the light, although the wolflike vulfen did not.

    Her arms shaking, she completed the process of building the fire and then began the equally tedious process of disguising her scent with the cream from her backpack. The vulfen would not attack anything that didn't attack them and also did not stink of prey. For the moment, Nesirina stunk to high heaven, and fear was her primary perfume. The cream had been expensive, but it had saved her life several times.

    At length, she crawled up a tree and dozed fitfully until sounds below her awakened her to utter chaos.

     

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    Devontir slammed both palms down on the table in front of him. "You sent humans after her? You stupid, worthless breather. Do you think I pay you to send humans to do your work?"

    The truculent Avintine jumped to his feet. "Call me a breather one more time, and Lord or not, I will destroy you utterly and completely." His hand hovered above the massive sword strapped to his hip. As a dire lord, he was a terrifying fighter, but Devontir did not fear him.

    "I will call you anything I choose, breather." He accented the last word, drawling it out and making it plain to Avintine that he did not fear him in the least. Never, at any time, did Devontir enter into business with someone he had no leverage against. "I will call you what I want, and I will use you as I see fit. You are less than the beasts that grovel at the feet of the humans. Never forget that."

    Avintine's sky blue skin shimmered with undertones of lavender as apoplectic, impotent rage seized him. Devontir took great pleasure in watching the other man struggle with his own inner demons. It was never easy for a dire lord to back down, and less so for this one, who believed himself stronger than Devontir. In the strictest physical sense, he was, of course, correct. Yet Devontir had not made it to the Counsel by allowing physical strength to be the pinnacle of his achievements.

    "You will take your men and you will find her."

    "She can't survive in there. It was nearly night when the humans returned."

    Devontir tilted his head to regard his underling with cruel purpose. "Did they return with her head?" He ended the last word on a near-roar of fury.

    Avintine, to Devontir's pleasure, actually flinched. "No." The single word was terse. "She can't survive in that wood--"

    Devontir took a deep breath, cursing Syronai automatically as he did so, "Go. Find. Her." When Avintine looked as if he would speak, Devontir lifted a hand. "You find her, and bring her to me, in pieces if necessary, or I will destroy you utterly. You will live to see yourself broken entirely."

    As the other man slammed out the door, not bothering to hide the level of his pique, Devontir sneered. He had learned long ago that any sort of attachments made a person weak. All desires except ambition could be used against you. Avintine really could squash Devontir like an insect if he really, truly tried. It was attachment that chained him. Stepping out onto the terrace, he gazed through the membrane that separated his quarters from the surrounding water.

    Its coils swirling in the darkness, the abyssal turned its hungry gaze upon Devontir. Hatred, revenge, fury... they burned from its eyes as its tentacles wove in and around each other. He had found it in its infancy and had trained it. It was held now by a small rope. Cages of steel, or even titanium, could not hold it.

    The true power was the power of its own mind to trap it.

    As he stared into hate-filled eyes and gloated, he began to ask himself the most pertinent question he had asked since the beginning of what should have been an extremely short hunt. What was Nesirina's mental trap? What was her attachment, and how could he find it and exploit it? She was such a small thing, and the Dread Myr had come so far. To have made it to the Great Counsel was akin to having climbed to the footstool of the Gods themselves.

    He would not be undone by some foolish singing trollop. He would take power and he would erase the name of Syronai from history entirely. His people would do the forbidden research to learn how to return entirely to the ocean. Many would die, that was true.

    It mattered little, though. Their sacrifice would set their people free. To die for your people was an honor. A few deaths were a small price to pay in the grand overview of saving the Myr from the horror of their half-existence. Neither truly water-borne nor truly land-borne, they were bastards. The only way to restore the glory of the past was to return to the water, free of the horrible lungs that weakened them and forced them to get actual air from time to time.

    The bard would die. He had come too far to fail.


    This post was edited by Amris at February 7, 2017 7:58 AM PST
    • Moderator
    • 9115 posts
    February 7, 2017 1:54 AM PST

    That was a good read, Amris, thanks for sharing and welcome to the community! :)

    You may like to introduce yourself in this thread and get to know the community a little better when you have a moment: https://www.pantheonmmo.com/content/forums/5/introduce-yourself 

    • 624 posts
    February 7, 2017 4:17 AM PST

    Wonderful tale Amris, you had me at "it seemed she was always running"! A bard caught up in political intrigue, an antagonist with a serious goal (not to mention scary pets both bipedal and monstrous), settings that evoke rich visuals...this is powerful writing.  Bonus points for the use of 'truculent'. Thank you for this.

    Bravo!


    This post was edited by Kumu at February 7, 2017 4:49 AM PST
    • 187 posts
    February 7, 2017 4:59 AM PST

    Kilsin said:

    That was a good read, Amris, thanks for sharing and welcome to the community! :)

    You may like to introduce yourself in this thread and get to know the community a little better when you have a moment: https://www.pantheonmmo.com/content/forums/5/introduce-yourself 

     

    Thank you! Here's hoping that I don't wander too far out of the "realm" so to speak. :p I just found Pantheon, but I've already read and watched a bunch of stuff, lol.

     

    Kumu said:

    Wonderful tale Amris, you had me at "it seemed she was always running"! A bard caught up in political intrigue, an antagonist with a serious goal (not to mention scary pets both bipedal and monstrous), settings that evoke rich visuals...this is powerful writing.  Bonus points for the use of 'truculent'. Thank you for this.

    Bravo!

     

    Thank you much! I love truculent... it contains so much information in one funny-sounding word. :)

    • 187 posts
    February 7, 2017 6:32 AM PST

    Dresh slammed another stupid zambia in the face with his sheild. Ordinarily, they wouldn't have bothered with the creatures, but a gathering such as this, so near their camp, could not be ignored. Zambias only gathered like this in two instances; if they had found prey or if they were under the control of a Revenant of some sort. Typically, it was a lower level zambia necromancer, but in rare instances, the Revenant Reapers had survived. The war might be over, but traces of it would linger, perhaps for centuries.

    "Seriously, Fancypants?" the gruff, deep voice came from Mornabelle.

    Dresh whirled, ignoring it as the silly zambia attempted to stab him with its pathetic dagger. He almost chuckled as it broke and the zambia, mindless as it was, let out an annoyed snort.

    He reached Mornabelle's side and his first punch with the shield sent the zambia attacking her flying so hard it slammed against a tree. "What are you, an elf? You won't break." He smirked as he said it, knowing how she just loved being compared to an elf, which she thought of as tall, squishy flypaper.

    The open palm of her gauntlet slapped against his backside with a loud clang. "That's one, Fancypants." He chuckled even as he deftly countered an attempt by another zambia to impale him with--was that a tree limb?

    Mornabelle kept track of how often Dresh let something attack her. She promised dire consequences if it ever got to one hundred. Dresh had no idea how many he had racked up, but he wasn't worried. Mornabelle was the most crude, crass, disgusting person he knew. She also had a heart the size of Kingsrest itself; but only towards those she cared about. It had taken years for him to realize it, but she was probably the most loyal person he had ever met.

    He turned to see the enigmatic Prezi with her hands in the air, the blank gold mask that covered her face showing nothing of her thoughts as the creatures around her stood staring blankly. Her fingers moved constantly, her body vibrating with tension and focus. One shambling zambia started towards her from the woods, and Dresh threw one of his tiny daggers at it, distracting it. He grinned as it started towards him, its sluggish amble becoming what might pass for a run.

    It was then that he saw what had drawn the zambias to this location. A humanoid something dropped out of, of all things, a Sapper tree. It landed on the ground, seeming to emerge from the darkness. Then a soft, feminine voice rose above the sounds of battle. The melody, haunting and sweet, slid across the small clearing.

    And that was when the Sapper woke up. Its branches shook, before reaching out towards the singing figure.

    "Son of a--!" Damn that Prezi. Enigmatic, unknowable, the gnome rarely made mistakes like this. Mezing a Sapper tree was one certain way to wake it up--since it was a master of the mind, itself, it was impossible to confuse it with any form of mental or psionic trickery.

    "Well, ain't that a kick in the pants," came the gravel of Mornabelle's voice beside him. "And it's a mature one, too. We won't be able to just stay out of its reach."

    Sapper trees when young were rooted in place, but as they matured, they were able to walk on their roots for some distance. While they were very slow, they were also determined. You might forget about it, thinking you had left it behind, and a few days later, it would find you. That was one of the many reasons why they were dangerous--and also rare. They had been hunted to near extinction.

    Not near enough, apparently.

    He had only a moment to see the tiny figure between him and the Sapper tree turn in shock towards the waking monster. Then he was lost to the heat of battle as he charged forward, putting all of the force of his personality into making the thing aware that he was the one to contend with. He proved himself the greatest threat by charging in where others feared to tread. The Sapper ignored him, its rage entirely focused upon the diminutive figure that had emerged from its boughs.

    Dresh spared only an instant to wonder what kind of suicidal idiot climbed willingly into a Sapper before he returned his focus to the job at hand. It took another few blows before the Sapper realized it was in serious trouble and the bard--he thought it was a bard--was forgotten.

    The only good news about the whole thing was that the Sapper was indiscriminate in its killing. Its psionic blasts, intended to incapacitate, worked on friend and foe alike.

    The human thief, Bartholomew, ignored the Sapper and focused on the vacant zambia. A poor, hapless wolbog that had been wandering past fought ferociously against another one. Prezi had pressed the ursine creature into service--will he, nill he.

    Dresh remembered to keep the few that escaped the Sapper's mind-bending blasts off of Mornabelle.

    He was impressed to note that the fool bard was at least trying to do her part. Her blades flashed and her voice was strong and true as she also helped dispatch the flock of zambia that her presence had apparently drawn to begin with. Indeed, he had to admit that she was good, as she wove harmonies together with melodies. Her song was both discordant and yet oddly harmonious. It spoke of death, and she dealt it judiciously alongside the much faster Bart.

    More of the creatures shambled in, but their numbers were easy to handle at last. Their attention turned fully back to the Sapper, they began to wear it down. Prezi's wolbog died, its body groaning as it succumbed to the final embrace of oblivion.

    It was only as the Sapper drew near death that Dresh realized their fatal mistake. The tree reached out and one of its branches caught him, and he was snared.

    He watched, helpless, roaring inside his own mind as he turned and headed straight for Prezi. The tree's will overcame his own, and he was helpless before it. He knew that Prezi would not survive his attack. He had strong mental defenses against her magic--she would not be able to stop him.

    Then a sound broke through the control. It was a sweet sound. Beautiful, evocative, it spoke to him of memories that were not his... the memories enticed him, and his body stopped, swaying in fascination as he found even his mind engrossed in the song. Such a beautiful song...

    "Come to me, beloved." His heart constricted. The tree was forgotten, and he turned, every part of his being entranced. "Come to me. Defend me. Merge with me," the song urged. Dresh had never wanted anything more in his life than to obey that sweet, sweet song...

    But then it was gone. He shook his head, a feeling of nausea and disorientation taking him for an instant. Reality slammed home and he turned on the tree with a bellow of pure, unadulterated fury. It had tried to turn him against his own people. He knew, now that his head was clear, that the bard had overcome the Sapper's entrancement of him, by entrancing him herself. It was sneaky. It was underhanded. It was... well... you just didn't DO that to a person on your own side.

    Although, it had been effective. He should forgive it. His body would have murdered Prezi while he watched, helpless. He would have gone on to slaughter everyone else.

    But egad, that voice!

    When the fight was over, either hours later, or moments--he couldn't be sure--he slumped. Leaning on his sword, he sighed. The clearing was utter carnage. The stench alone was nearly unbearable.

    He looked over to where the bard leaned against the Sapper's ragged, torn trunk. It looked strangely pathetic now that all life had gone out of it. Horrid as it was, it was strangely sad in death. The bard was almost as pitiable, but Dresh as angry at her. For so many reasons. He walked towards her, and was surprised to see her raise her weapons. Her hands shook, but she pointed the swords at him. "Don't come any closer," she warned, as if he couldn't punch her lights out over the silly swords and be done with her.

    He stood for a moment, staring at her. Lines of exhaustion showed on her blue skin. Now that he was close enough, he knew what she was. "Myr," he accused her.

    "Archai," she spat back.

    What was she doing here? He studied her for a moment. Then, "Do you mind moving? If we don't burn that thing, its seeds will spread and we'll have to do this again in a few years."

    "I don't think I'll be moving," she replied through gritted teeth.

    He almost lost his temper. This woman had caused them no end of trouble this night, and she wouldn't even move so they could complete the necessary destruction of the corpse?

    Just as he was working up a good spate of profanity, she fell straight forward, her faceguard clattering against his breastplate as she lost consciousness. He grinned a little bit as he caught her. That was going to hurt in the morning, which would serve her right.

    He stomped over and laid her beside the fire Mornabelle had started. Then he picked up a burning brand and walked over to look over the Sapper. With distaste, he removed a helm and a dagger that he found lodged in the tree, no doubt from previous victims.

    "That thing is half dead," came Prezi's irritated voice.

    He stood back, staring at the Sapper. "Pretty sure it's all dead," he replied before igniting it, using his innate affinity for fire to fan the flames higher and faster.

    "Not that," came the disgruntled response, "this." He turned to see her nudging the bard with her foot. "Can we kill it now?"

    "Why? She didn't hurt us."

    "If you gather up another stray, I'm going to gut you in your sleep." Mornabelle scratched at her five o'clock shadow as she said it.

    "I don't collect strays," Dresh objected, offended. Bart snorted, clearly amused.

    "Yeah?" Mornabelle's guttural voice rolled across the fire, "what do you call her?" She pointed her ration in Prezi's general direction.

    "Decoration, ugly old cow," Prezi replied, not even slightly ruffled.

    Dresh sighed. "I don't want to keep her, I just don't see any point to killing her. She's not a puppet, you know."

    "No, she's a Myr. Which pretty much nobody likes, because nobody's ever met a good one." Mornabelle had never been one to speak anything less than her personal viewpoint--as clearly and as succinctly as possible.

    "And she's stupid," Bart added. "Who climbs into a Sapper to sleep?"

    Dresh felt a peculiar need to defend the annoying bard. "It's safe enough until the sun's rays hit it." Then he scowled at Prezi. "Or a mez. What were you thinking?"

    "It was I," the bard said, sitting up slowly and painfully.

    "'It was me'," Bart corrected her.

    She scowled. "You're wrong."

    Dresh threw his hands up in the air in defeat. "Really? You're going to argue over grammar? Now?" He looked at the Myr woman. "What the hell were you thinking, sleeping in a Sapper tree?" A moment ago, he had wanted to defend her, now he wanted to toss her out on her behind again. Maybe after letting Prezi kill her.

    "I didn't know what it was, now did I?" she replied, but there was only resignation, no heat in her voice.

    "What are you doing, running around in a forest you know nothing about?" He crossed his arms to glare at her.

    "Running," she said. She sighed heavily. "Just running." She stood up. "I need to go. Thank you for saving me." She turned and walked away, vanishing almost immediately into the still-dark forest.

    He, Bart, Mornabelle, and Prezi stared at each other.

    "What the hell just happened?" Mornabelle asked, rhetorically.

    "Damned if I know," was all Dresh could think of to say.


    This post was edited by Amris at February 8, 2017 4:50 AM PST
    • 624 posts
    February 8, 2017 4:14 AM PST

    You're going to argue over grammar? Now?

     

    You betcha!  Bards are all about communication.  And running.  Enjoyed this second installment every bit as much as the first. Appreciated the rapid character development of the four friends (well, one Archai warrior and his three strays).  I would recognize them instantly in any tavern from just this brief encounter, and buy them a round for helping a fellow bard.

    Masterful.  Once again, my thanks.

    • 187 posts
    February 8, 2017 4:59 AM PST

    I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm really enjoying writing it, although I'm sure later on down the line people will be like, "There's no Sapper tree..." lol. As early as it is, I gotta take some liberties. :p

    I also realized that I flip-flopped the spelling of Mornabelle's name. I went back in and fixed that.

    I like the motley crew so far, and I'm already loving to hate our resident bad guy. :D This is a very fun one to write.

    By the way, thank you for the feedback. I confess that I really do appreciate knowing someone's reading it. It often otherwise feels like I'm talking to thin air and then I get discouraged. I know I'm not supposed to feel better knowing someone's reading it, but I genuinely do, because writing takes a lot of time and it sucks to do it for no reason at all.


    This post was edited by Amris at February 8, 2017 5:07 AM PST
    • 624 posts
    February 8, 2017 5:36 AM PST

    You are most welcome.  Creation is rarely easy, but something in the human condition drives us all to invoke our favorite Muse and dabble in one medium or another.

    • 151 posts
    February 8, 2017 1:24 PM PST

    Amris said:

    By the way, thank you for the feedback. I confess that I really do appreciate knowing someone's reading it. It often otherwise feels like I'm talking to thin air and then I get discouraged. I know I'm not supposed to feel better knowing someone's reading it, but I genuinely do, because writing takes a lot of time and it sucks to do it for no reason at all.

    You know that everyone here is dying for anything Pantheon. I wouldn't be surprised if most of the folks have read the fan fiction being posted here.

    • 220 posts
    February 8, 2017 4:26 PM PST

    You bet we are reading it amris! Thanks for the tale. You are very good at dialogue! I, for one can't wait for more =)

    • 187 posts
    February 8, 2017 5:27 PM PST

    The Myr trapped in the magically reinforced glass cage thrashed. Devontir stood watching as the man drowned. It was ironic to kill the man in a vat of water, he being a myr who should have been able to live in it for several more days before using up all the oxygen in the water. It was another opportunity to curse Syronia, and Devontir did not waste it.

    "The only reason that's not you," Devontir remarked amicably to Avintine, "is that I need your connections. Perhaps your son should have an accident. The young are so prone to wander too close to the water, aren't they?"

    He didn't look at him, but rather sensed Avintine's flinch. Devontir wouldn't follow through. He knew precisely how far to push his people, and Avintine was on the knife's edge of rebellion already. Yet the threat would spur him on to greater efforts.

    Avintine said nothing, disappointing Devontir slightly. He had hoped for an objection; something to show that Avintir was getting the point. Instead, it seemed he was learning to control his responses. Pity that, but good in the long term. It made the man more useful.

    Devontir turned to him. "You will undertake a new task. We need more recruits." By 'recruits', of course, he meant study subjects. "Come now," he told the man when a look of distaste snapped across his face, "how will we restore ourselves to glory if we have no one to help us? One must net a few octopi to catch a meal of sanq." Sanq were the tasty fish the upper echelons of the myr preferred, and octopi frequently got caught by the same nets used to capture the sanq. It was illegal to net octopi, because it typically killed them, knotting around their soft bodies and destroying them. That did nothing to curb the desire for roast sanq.

    "As you say." It was a response of acceptance, so Devontir did not remark on the noteworthy lack of eagerness. The man wasn't a Nythirian Red, he was blackmailed to be there. A little reluctance on his part was simply to be expected. He had no vision at all, was weak, and knew his place. He got things done.

    It was hard, however, to be alone at the top. There was no one to tell his plans to who could grasp their significance. Genius was always misunderstood. He'd read that somewhere. Perhaps Semina.

    "My Lord," a young page panted as he rushed into the room. He groveled almost appropriately, his bow slightly inferior.

    "Spit it out, boy, I have a city to run."

    As the fellow prattled on about something about whales and beachings and all that, Devontir watched Avintine. The dying man was out of the page's sight, but a single word from the dire lord would have the page running to get help. He knew Avintine would not risk his family, in spite of the fact that he had been estranged from them at the time that Devontir had 'recruited' him. Still, it wouldn't do to become sloppy. He had killed people for less.

    When he said he would be in the Counsel chamber within the hour, the page scurried off. Devontir walked around the corner to watch the dying man twitch.

    Satisfied that his warning had been recieved, he smiled sanguinely at Avintine. "There are many disenfranchised amidst the upper levels. If you can't convert them, find a different way to invite them our little soiree." He allowed his smile to become reef-shark sharp. "Don't get caught."

    Aventine snorted, dismissing the very idea. Devontir enjoyed needling him. He knew very well that Avintine knew exactly what was at stake. Devontir set things up simply. If Devontir died, everyone he was blackmailing would lose their families. It made him completely invulnerable, which was the way he liked it. One missed check-in and blood would flow; it behooved all of his subjects to protect him with everything they had.

    Satisfied that his test cells would swell before the week was out, he went to deal with whales. Or was it sharks? Some kind of useless creature that the bleeding hearts wanted to protect. He pulled his tunic more carefully into place and followed in the wake of the long vanished page.

     

    -----------------------

     

    Nesirina woke to the sound of hooves. She groaned and looked up, and up, at the blasted archai warrior.

    He slid down off of his riding beast and walked over to look down, and down again, at her. "How you doin', peaches?"

    She glared at him. "Just peachy, thanks for asking."

    He smiled slightly. "You're a terrible liar."

    "Actually, I'm an excellent liar when I'm really trying. It's a necessary skill when kissing up to ignobility."

    "Do you need a heal? I'm sure I could convince Mornabelle to come over and help you out."

    Nesirina sighed. "No. Heals won't help."

    He frowned and squatted down beside her. She jerked away from him, wincing as agony shot through her injured and cursed side.

    He ignored her, the beast, and pulled her breastplate up enough to look beneath it. "You're dying."

    She didn't need him to tell her that. "It was going to happen someday."

    He pulled a potion out of his backpack. "Not today, though."

    She shook her head. "No. Just let it go. I'd rather die this way."

    He raised one of those odd, feathery eyebrows. "Well, I guess that means that I'll have to kill you right now, then."

    She blinked in surprise. "What?"

    He shrugged and stood, pulling a sword out of its scabbard. "We can't allow your corpse to be used by a Revenant Reaper. We'll just have to get it over with so we can burn you when we're done."

    She had accepted that she would give up at this point and die. They would find her and torture and kill her, anyway. Part of her wanted to take his offer as real, though somehow she was certain he wouldn't do it. Another part of her was shocked into wakefulness by his comment. He jiggled the potion and she stared at it. He now held a potion in one hand, and a sword in the other. Her back throbbed and she let her mind roam for a second.

    She didn't want to die, but what choice did she have? The potion taunted her with its promise of life. The sword taunted her with the promise of final peace.

    "I'm perfectly willing to end your misery right here, right now."

    "You're a liar," it was her turn to say.

    He shook his head. "I have many, many vices, my dear lady, but that is not one of them."

    "I'll pay you for the potion, then." She started to reach for the pack that was just a bit too far away.

    He shook his head. "You take the potion, or the sword. No payment for either."

    She chuckled weakly, pain making the last chuckle into an arching gasp. "What is it, male pride?"

    He grinned openly now, a devilish smile that transformed his austere, firey face. "That is definitely one of my vices. Maybe my favorite one, even."

    She accepted the potion and downed the foul-tasting concoction as fast as she could. Wiping the dregs away, she spluttered. She handed the bottle back to him, and he took it without a word. "Thank you."

    "We'll escort you to the edge of the wood."

    "Apparently being bossy is one of your vices, too."

    He appeared to consider it for the space of a few heartbeats before he replied. "I'm authoritative. It's a virtue. I have plenty of those, as well." He looked at her like a sleepy cat, his eyes hooded.

    She chuckled, pain still shimmering in the now-healing wound. "I guess you think you're charming, too."

    He shook his head, helping her to her feet. "Definitely not." He moved to pick up his beast's reins and started down the path. "Of that, I'm absolutely certain."

    She found the light-hearted banter was actually easing her tension. She walked beside him briefly before she broached the subject on her mind, "I can't stay with you. We need to part ways."

    He glanced askance at her. "Trying to protect us is very noble. It's the instinct of a great warrior."

    "Thank you--" she began.

    "That wasn't a compliment. You're not a warrior."

    "You know that you're a jerk, right?"

    "Someone told me that once. I'm pretty sure I killed him." He looked at her then, his eyes burning like coals. "That's one of my virtues, in case you're keeping track."

    Piqued for reasons she couldn't possibly have understood in that moment, she demanded, "Being a killer is a virtue?"

    His face saddened and then hardened into a mask far too cold for such a fiery man. "Not in everyone." They walked for some time before he asked, "Who's trying to kill you, and why?"

    "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

    "You'll never know unless you try."

    A voice ahead saved her, because an impulse had come over her to blurt the truth, to share the burden, even if only briefly.

    "Damn it all, you went and got the stray." The dwarf woman turned to the thief. "Pay up, buttercup."

    A smile tried with all its might to break its way free of Nesirina's typically restrained personality.


    This post was edited by Amris at February 8, 2017 5:35 PM PST
    • 2886 posts
    February 9, 2017 10:04 AM PST

    Wow nice!

    • 220 posts
    February 9, 2017 7:32 PM PST
    I'm quite impressed with the ability to write two stories at the same time. I also think you nailed the Myr psyche I am looking forward to see how they develop further in your story.
    • 294 posts
    February 12, 2017 8:34 AM PST

    Simply loved all three Amris. I enjoyed the story lines, the imagination and detail.

    • 187 posts
    February 12, 2017 1:16 PM PST

    Thanks, guys! Hoping that you'll see how it all ties in together as time goes by. :)

    -----------------------------

     

    Syrisi pulled Nicisio closer to her side. His small body shivered in the too-dry conditions that made everything too cold. He coughed again, a hacking, cruel sound that ripped Syrisi's heart out of her chest with every rough repetition. She cursed Ermos, the name of the uncaring, filthy god who had stood by and watched in uncaring spite as Syronia was brutally murdered.

    Avintine. She felt a tear trying to escape as she thought his name. They had been working out the details of their split when she and Nicisio had been taken. Avintine had many problems, many flaws--but she could now remember so few of them. The brutes that ran this place told her frequently that he had sold her and Nicisio to them. They took great pleasure in doing so, but if there was one thing that Syrisi knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was that they were lying outright.

    Avintine was angry all the time. It had upset her, and it had at times made their lives hard. He had never raised a hand to her or Nicisio, but out there, out in the world, he was quick with his fists--and even quicker to draw a sword. Something had happened to him, some darkness had overtaken him, and he fought it every single day since. He had nightmares of some dreadful events that left him shaking and dried out from nocturnal exertions to control whatever it was that kept him so greatly and deeply scarred.

    Syrisi had fougth with him so often over it. Go to a doctor, she had urged. Get some help, she had demanded. Find someone who understands, she had wheedled. In his turn, he had asked her to understand, but she hadn't.

    Now, as the woman with the sword at her side walked past their 'bedchamber' again, hardly even a cell in actuality, she did understand. She knew that darkness now, and felt it growing inside of her, too. "Syronai, guide his hand," she whispered into Nicisio's hair. \

    Syronai was dead, and she knew that in her mind, but the goddess would never die in her heart. And to whom else could she cry out? The traitorous Ermos? Nythir, whose monstrous followers had slaughtered Syronai as she lay helpless?

    Nythir, whose crest was everywhere in this wretched place... Nay, never that.

    The guard sneered in at her as she walked past, "He will die soon."

    Syrisi smiled. It was a smile that rose from that horrible, growing darkness within. All Myr knew darkness, of course, but this was a different sort of darkness. This was beyond the racial bitterness, beyond the horrible feeling of betrayal. This was rage for the love of rage alone.

    "And when he does, I will be free to rip your head off and destroy you. I promise that I will do it slowly, so that you may fully enjoy every excruciating moment of it while I gut you with great care."

    Blind joy rose within her when the myr woman took an involuntary step away from her, narrowing her eyes.

    "You're useless. You can barely haul fish, you're not capable of hurting me." The words lacked the tone of conviction that her first ones had held.

    Syrisi's smile turned feral and base. "I will put you into one of that man's glass barrels and I will stand over you as it burns away what life remains in you when I have finished disembowling you with great focus and concentration. I will savor your gurgling death as much as I will savor your hoarsest screams."

    The woman's hand went to her sword, but she laughed. "Good luck following through on that, darlin'." She strolled away, but her laugh had been somewhat hysterical. She must have seen something in Syrisi's face that told her that she was deathly serious.

    Five hours later, an alchemist visited them. It was a mere hour after that before a potion was delivered and Nicisio forced to drink it. Syrisi never saw that myr woman again, and she was almost disappointed. She had greatly enjoyed making her flinch in fear. It was a power she had never had before. The next morning in the common holding area, she began to lay plans. She and Nicisio must stay alive.

    Avintine would find them. He would find them and he would save them, and everything would be different.

    It would all change between them, because now Syrisi understood. The darkness was growing inside her, expanding day after day. It was a hungry madness that ate at her. It was a living, breathing thing that felt beside her. It horrified her on a very deep level, at the same time that it seduced her with a depth that words could not express.

    Nightmares of the people that her captors had killed rose before her in the night, and as her feeling of helplessness, of powerlessness, grew... so, too, did that beautiful, exquisite, wretched darkness...

    • 213 posts
    February 12, 2017 1:28 PM PST

    Great addition!  Looking forward to the next post!

    • 187 posts
    February 13, 2017 8:18 AM PST

    Thank you! :)

    You're in luck, then, because we're having a blizzard around these parts. :p

    --------------------

     

    "Just as well tell us. I ain't risking my neck for some stupid stray when I don't even know why." Mornabelle waved her knife at Nesirina, a piece of apple still impaled on it. The last few words of her final sentence were muffled as she stuffed it into her mouth.

    "I didn't ask for your help," Nesirina snapped back. "Your archai abducted me and dragged me along like he was doing me a big favor."

    The archai in question barked a laugh, while the human thief had the gall to burst out in a full-fledged guffaw.

    "Grateful wench, ain't she." The dry voice of the dwarf cleric was still barely understandable as she masticated an apple with her mouth wide open.

    Nesirina sighed. "I can take care of myself."

    "Certainly you can," the gnome enchantress put in. "Sleeping in Sappers is definitely the first step in a very long life, indeed."

    "I didn't know what it was." It was hardly her fault she had no idea what a Sapper tree was. It wasn't like she'd had time to stop and chit-chat with the locals. The very locals who had been  hired by her own people to kill her... A social call was unlikely to have netted her life-saving information.

    Dresh-that was the archai's name, she'd learned-stood up and went to his riding beast. "Stay here, then. Or run off and get yourself killed. It offends my honor to hear you say that I abducted you." So his laugh had not been amusement as much as incredulity. He began to saddle the beast, his back to them, stiff and distant.

    She sighed. It was true that he hadn't forced her to come along with him. It wasn't really a fair statement, but at the same time, he had openly admitted that he was blackmailing her--take the potion for free or die. And really, what did she have to lose by telling these strangers the truth? None of her own people would listen or believe her, so where was it any different?

    "I work with our highest Counsel. I entertain among other things. I've been deeply involved in most of the intrigue of the chambers for years. In spite of this, I hadn't realized how deeply the Nytherian Red had infiltrated our people. We've been told that they're all gone, that at best, there are completely disorganized bands of them. I discovered by accident that this isn't true."

    The group had gone silent and still, even the grossly exaggerated chewing sounds from the dwarf had ceased.

    They were all staring at her, and Nesirina felt her gills trying ineffectually to take in extra water--a certain sign that she was feeling embarrassed. A human might call it 'blushing', though of course, the mechanics for myr were different entirely. She'd thought it wouldn't matter, she'd thought she could say it and face their scorn and be off. Instead, she was finding that it actually felt... bad. That was it, it felt bad.

    "Well?" the gnome demanded in an imperious voice.

    "Well what?"

    "Well," the gnome, exasperated now, elaborated, "what did you see or hear that convinced you of that?"

    Of all the things Nesirina had expected, that wasn't on the list. Outright derision she could have dealt with, but this simple, obvious question threw her off entirely. It was a logical question, but it expressed and open-mindedness that she had never encountered before from anyone.

    "Well..." confused, she glanced at Dresh, feeling as if she'd just gotten sucked into a tidal surge, struggling mentally to break free. He nodded at her, no expression on his face. Still floundering, she began the tale she'd lived, but never told before.

    "My father is on the High Counsel. He disowned me years ago, but he uses my services as a bard frequently--"

    "Your father? Who's your father?"

    Hating to admit it, but knowing it was central to the story, she gritted out, "Devontir N'Ciss."

    A slight ruffle through the camp was all that implied their response to the news. "Well," Dresh drawled, "he's a right bastard, he is."

    Nesirina nodded. "Yes." She took a deep breath and continued. "I arrived at his rooms early that day. He had asked me for a meeting, without actually setting one up ahead of time. It was, 'I need your services, be here at 8 to discuss it'. I had something to do at 8, so I came early to get it out of the way." She closed her eyes against the memory, but instead, it flashed against her inner lids with vivid clarity. "He was in his bedchamber. I knew he had been up for hours, so I opened the door. I've never been there before, so I didn't know what was there. It was filled with symbols of Nythir. That wasn't the worst of it, though. There were empty glass chambers, but..." She struggled to find words. "Two of them weren't empty. There were people in them. Myr. The water was burning them as they writhed in agony."

    She sat still for a moment, now staring into the dying embers of the fire in front of her. "I heard voices behind me, so I hid. I knew already that Devontir wouldn't want me to know what he was doing. It was monstrous. He came into the room with another Counsel member. I listened as he blackmailed him. He has Cherliss' son as a prisoner. If Cherliss doesn't vote according to Devontir's demands, he'll kill his son in front of him. Cherliss asked him why, and Devontir admitted it... the Nytherian Red will return and restore the myr to 'former glory' in his eyes."

    "And now your father hunts you with the full intent to kill you. How did he find out you were there?" Dresh asked, his voice quiet as if afraid he would scare her into the trees if he spoke too loudly. He was probably right, she acknowledged.

    "They left the room, and I released the two dying myr. I was helping them escape when he saw us. He came after us, but I got us out. They both died, anyway. Now I'm a fugitive and they're dead."

    They were silent for a while, each in their own thoughts.

    "Where were you going?" Dresh asked her, his gleaming eyes studying her.

    She didn't want to answer the question. She didn't want to tell him, "I have no idea, I was just running." Eventually, though, coming up with no truer answer, she said just that.

    "Great plan," Bart, the thief, interjected. "Just as well kill yourself and be done with it, with a plan like that."

    "They've followed me everywhere I've gone. This time, they hired locals to track me. They're never going to stop until I'm dead. It's not like there's a place I can go where they can't hire any locals to kill me." She knew he was right--she just as well die now. Some deep instinct inside her made her take the potion and try to live, anyway. That same instinct drove her to keep running, running, running. She was compelled from within to protect her own life even knowing that she would surely die before the week was out.

    "You just as well come with us, then. It's as good as going anywhere else." A collective groan from the others went up in the wake of Dresh's calm statement.

    She shook her head immediately. "You won't be safe. No one around me is safe now."

    To her surprise, Dresh laughed. "Nobility from a myr? Isn't that a fish out of water." The others laughed, but he continued, sobering almost immediately. "Look around you, my dear lady. Nobody is safe in this wood to begin with. You won't exactly be taking us out of our rose-petal strewn picnic." Someone snorted another laugh.

    "So you want to make it that much more dangerous? I'm being hunted by people who are willing to kill anyone and everyone."

    "You're a witness to something that cannot be allowed to go unanswered. Devontir plans genocide of your people. We need you to prove it."

    She drew back. "Genocide? No. I mean, he's evil, but he wants to restore the original empire under Nythir worship--"

    Dresh was shaking his head. "We know what's going on. Our government has captured and interrogated some of these Nytherian Red followers. They don't want to restore anything. They believe that your people should have died and followed Nythir into whatever realm they think he went to when he perished."

    She openly gaped at him. "But that's insane, even for Devontir."

    He simply stared levelly at her until she had to look away. Defeat fell across her like a dark shadow. "Very well. I'll come with you."

    He chuckled darkly. "You look like you're ready to sing a funeral dirge instead of going on an adventure with the best companions on Terminus."

    She glowered and he just laughed again.

    • 2886 posts
    February 13, 2017 8:28 AM PST

    A blizzard? You must not be that far from me haha. Nice part two for snow day reading.

    • 187 posts
    February 13, 2017 8:45 AM PST

    I live in NH. It's hitting pretty much all of New England. I just went out to brush off the car... I thought I was okay, but my finger are burning now that I'm back indoors, yikes!

    • 294 posts
    February 13, 2017 3:35 PM PST

    I'm right next door to ya Amris. I live in Maine... and I'm a little tired of shoveling snow today.

     

    • 213 posts
    February 17, 2017 5:14 AM PST

    Where is the next chapter!!  =P

    I wan't to know where this adventure leads!

    • 187 posts
    February 18, 2017 8:13 PM PST

    Soon! I had some craziness arise in RL. I'm actually a witness in a police investigation, and they interviewed me, plus my daughter has diabetes and her pump went kablooey... but then the replacement was delayed over a week and it was a nightmare. Life sort of got in the way, lol.