“You’re leaving yourself wide open.” Dairon stated with a frown and stepped forward to lift Catisa’s elbow as she stood ready with a pair of short swords. “Better! Now, try to hit me.” Practice like this had been going on between the two for hours. Every time she adjusted her stance Dairon had her try to hit her again and again, and every time she would miss. The mage’s growing frustration was evident upon her features as she struggled to keep up with the monk who had years of combat training on her.
“It’s no use!” Catisa sighed and slumped her shoulders, “At least when I could cast spells I was useful, but now I’m just a burden to everyone.”
“Come on with that,” Her partner interrupted her and placed her hands on her hips like a scolding parent. “I told you that my training will tolerate no negativity! Besides, you’re getting closer every time. Give it another shot!” Dairon took her stance with her blade raised, an old soldier’s sword and a relic from her past that Catisa had only seen when she was training or meditating. Her movements always mesmerized her when she did manage to see it, so fluid and graceful like a swan at the center of a still lake on a warm and sunny afternoon.
Catisa’s grip tightened around the hilts of the blades as she nodded and readied herself once more, repeating the steps and movements taught to her as the basics of swordplay. Mentally she counted off the forms and attempted strikes, uniform and executed to near perfection as the woman would have it no other way. Ever since her changes she had been unable to cast a spell, despite the Director working with her extensively. This was her only way of ensuring she could take care of herself when they delved into the inevitable dangers they always faced.
Despite her partner’s lessons she found herself drawing upon her frustration, she used it to focus her strikes, one after another missed and her anger grew. She would not be useless, she refused to be dead weight confined to the walls of the Estate and helpless to save her friends in need. Just then she felt the vibration of metal on metal like a chill through her arm and was caught off guard by the strained expression of her partner and the audible clang.
The mage drew back, shocked as she regarded her and exclaimed, “Are you alright?!” To which Dairon simply smirked and nodded.
“Why did you choose those blades?” She asked Catisa after a moment of thought.
“Well, I’ve never really been that strong so I figured lighter weapons would suit me and I doubt I could withstand the force of someone slamming down on a shield.” She offered with a helpless shrug, “Why?”
“Wait here.” Dairon instructed and left the puzzled woman to stand in the courtyard while she disappeared into the armory. Moments later she reappeared with an immense broadsword and held it out for Catisa to take. “You’re stronger than you think.”
“Wha- I-” She started to protest and held her hand out to take the hilt, when suddenly Dairon let it go. The weight of the haft that hit her palm was surprisingly light as her fingers instinctively wrapped around the leather handgrip and she stood stunned. Catisa held the blade up with ease as her partner stepped back and allowed her to swing it about to get a feel for it. The weight registered with her, she felt the density of the object in hand, but what surprised her most was that she now had the strength to wield it. Before she was frozen she wouldn’t have even been able to lift such a thing let alone heft it about as though it were an illusion.
Within the Violet Bastion Estate’s personal chambers, a dim light flickered beneath a single chamber door. This late at night most were already asleep, though Catisa was up late burning the midnight oil with a stack of papers upon her desk. Even in the dim lighting it was painfully obvious she had barely unpacked her belongings, a suitcase on top of the dresser had clothes hanging out where they hadn’t been put away. Among those were a mask and goggles she had obtained in preparation for the excavation in Uldum. The Scrying Orb seemed to be the only bit of personal belongings unpacked, the only thing she had left of her mother.
She smiled each time she looked at it and from time to time, despite herself, she found she spoke to it as if her mother could still hear her through it. The aspiring Sorceress scanned page after page, a side assignment she had picked up from Ilrygon Wyrmdust in an attempt to prove her worth. One of many, she was sure. Next to her rest a stack of books, most pertaining to studies of ley lines, which was one of her weaker subjects. Occasionally she had to check herself and ensure she was correct in grading the students of Master Wyrmdust. It wouldn’t do to have her marking them incorrectly.
“I’m glad I have new friends that are willing to reassure me I’m not pathetic for seeking an opportunity to prove myself and further my teachings. In fact they encourage it. You would like them, mama. They’re a little odd and drink to excess, but they’re good people. Papa always told me what a good judge of character you are. I hope I got your judgement.” She giggled to herself as she continued to grade with an occasional glance over to the Orb. “In fact they gave me the courage to admit who I am to myself and to the world. I only hope my experiences with the Director and any other tutors she appoints, depending on what she decides, is so encouraging. I want to impress them, but I am also here to learn.”
With a light sigh she turned over the last of the pages. Finally, she thought, How many students does Ilrygon have, anyway? Catisa smirked to herself and stacked them up neatly to be taken to Ilrygon’s office first thing in the morning before she went to blow the candle out, only pausing to look at the Orb once more and say, “Goodnight, mama and papa.”
Construction equipment and piles of wood were littered about the land and most of the charred remains of her home had been removed. Everything was cleared out to make way for new structures, except for the area where the house once stood. It had been marked off with wooden stakes so one would take notice before falling into the basement, the only remnants of the building that survived the tragedy. Her father had burned alive inside and the one place she had never hoped to see again had come into view as she sat perched atop the wagon she had brought with her.
Part of her didn’t want to even bother with looking, but a tiny piece of curiosity kept her on edge. Why hadn’t she known about this basement? At last she pushed herself free and wandered over to the edge of the stairway to gaze down into the darkness. Judging by the positioning and the depth, she assumed it was wider than the actual above ground structure was and the entryway must have been underneath the dining room table. Had that always been there? Did her father even know?
Somewhere in the distance she heard bushes rustling and snapped her gaze over to look as her palms ignited with flame, though she saw nothing. Perhaps it was just the wind, she surmised and pushed forward. With one hand raised to illuminate her surroundings she descended into the darkness one charred step at a time. They creaked from the strain after so many long years as her eye was immediately caught by deep markings all around the entryway. It was as though someone or something had tried to dig its way out and escape. The further she descended the more evidence there was.
Within the stone basement appeared to have been an entire workshop, or what had once been one at least. Broken beakers and vials were scattered all over the tables and floor, the contents of which had long since dried up. Empty cans of rations looked as though an animal had pried them open and a far corner of the musty room contained the excrement from whatever it was. She traced some of the markings by the entrance with a light touch from her free hand and winced as a sharp pain shot through her skull. Images flashed before her eyes of a dark beast with violet eyes on a rampage.
Claws ripped through flesh with ease on a dark and rainy night accompanied by screams, followed by a large raven with its wings spread wide to take flight into the abyss of the night sky. Just as quickly as they flashed before her eyes they had passed and the pain along with it. “What was that?” She murmured to herself and shook it off. More daytime nightmares wouldn’t stop her from investigating further. Most of the drawers she tried were jammed or burnt to a crisp, save one she found after pulling on a few. Inside was an inkwell and quill, which drew a frown of disappointment to her lips. Some sign of what had been going on down there would have been fantastic, but of course… That was when she noticed something else further back, a dark leather-bound journal. Catisa quickly flipped it open and began to scan the pages, but they were blank, all except for a few toward the back.
To my Darling Elise,
My only regret is that I could not save you from the poison that coursed through your veins. I hope that I will see you on the other side when my time comes, and it looks as though my time may soon be up. Our daughter reminds me so much of you, I did everything I could to raise her the way I knew you would want, but it’s like she just knew even without me telling her. Right down to her sweet smile. I’m glad I made the choice to save her while we could, I only wish I could have had more time to find the antidote. I swear if I ever get the chance I’ll make them pay for what they did to our family. You are missed each and every day that passes.
Yours Forever,
What looked to be tear stains marred the bottom of the page and the signature, but she was certain it was her father’s handwriting. Her blood boiled as she reread the lines over and over again, the insinuation that her mother’s death was foul play burning in her mind. Nothing else looked salvageable in the ruddy old basement, at least not any more. A few more drawers opened, but the contents had been charred black beyond recognition.
An ear-splitting blood-curdling scream cut through the air from somewhere across town and interrupted her train of thought. This was more town trouble she did not want to get involved in, she decided, and tucked the journal away to dart up the stairs. Outside, the moon had risen and appeared blood red in color as it loomed overhead like a watchful eye. The horses at the wagon grew restless and stamped about from the commotion, though the aspiring sorceress quickly calmed them before taking the reins to get as far away from this bloody town as she possibly could.
Wagon wheels bucked and creaked as the horses dragged it along with the petite sorceress perched atop. Her expression was one of pure boredom, remembering how dull traveling by conventional means for such a distance was. Only the sight of familiar buildings from underneath the forest trees brightened her features as she finally neared her destination: A small no name village just outside of Gilneas.
Just in time, too. The sun had already been down for quite some time and it had become increasingly difficult to see. Dim street lights illuminated the path through the center of the village and tavern whose doors were always kept open. She smirked to herself, some things never changed. After she led the wagon over to the stablehand she tossed him a coin for his trouble and made her way inside where she heard the typically raucous sounds of a night well celebrated. Nostalgia washed over her, the many nights she remembered sitting in her father’s lap while they joked and told their stories. It had been so long no one would likely recognize her or really care about her presence given the drab and ragged garb she had worn for the trip.
Simple brown robes and an equally unassuming cloak whisked through the doors and slid some coin across the counter when the noise suddenly died down and she felt her back start to burn as if all the eyes in the tavern were on her.
“Eh? Trav’lers this time o’ year? Ye sure picked quite a time ta do’t!” A slightly familiar voice boomed forth from across the tavern. Her shoulders visibly winced at the attention brought to her and she looked helplessly to the tavern keep.
“A room for the night, please…” She practically whispered as fear of being recognized practically paralyzed her. Fortunately the tavern keep recognized good coin when he saw it and quickly snatched it up before he tossed her a key in return.
“Furthest room back.” Came his cool reply with a nod as he moved on to his next customer, some older woman that wanted a drink.
As she disappeared up the stairs she heard the noise begin to pick back up. Typical small village mentality, outsiders don’t need to know their business after all and as long as she wasn’t recognized she wouldn’t get dragged into it. People like this tend to think one can simply solve world hunger with conjured mana buns and while she tried reasoning with them once it just ended up being a futile public lecture on how conjuration works. In her experience, she found it best to simply avoid the subject all together.
Catisa slid the key into the lock of the farthest door back and turned it when she heard that familiar voice echo down the hallway as though he were just around the corner speaking to the tavern keep.
“‘Oo were tha’, mate?”
“I don’t know,” She heard the reply and noted it sounded like it was in fact the same tavern keep she had an exchange with.
“‘F I didn’ know better, ‘n I surely do, ‘d say that were Wells’s old woman. But ye an’ I know better’n’at now don’ we?”
Her heart raced in her ears, what was she hearing?
“Jesse, you’re clearly drunk off your ass and seeing things, we all know the Wells’s are all dead aside from the girl. Now go get yourself cleaned up or your wife’s gonna get mine all riled up again.”
Footsteps thudded up the steps slowly but surely and she fumbled with the doorknob. She barely made it inside only to slam the door behind her and quickly do the latch before she braced herself against it. Safely inside, her heart slammed into her ears again and again as the adrenaline ebbed and fatigue won over at last. This had already been a very long trip, and it had barely started.
