On a side, and then the other, symmetrical reflection, one divided into two
A line drawn betwixt, opposition in mountains, a proverbial ocean
Kept within sights, each studies, in quiet, in gentle scrutiny, with eyes so blue
Bodies small, hearts large, inclined towards their separated devotion
In older days, they saw the same, their minds single, in this they shared a life
Traditions and values, outdated, archaic, beneath societal eye
One was quiet, ever agreeable, the other in muted agony and strife
Where once together bound, strands in a braid, now altogether entirely too shy
Victims of fate, ill circumstance, suns and moons, and the turning of each day
The armour-clad was strong, faced challenge with resilience and valour
Time was cruel, unrelentless, lacking compassion, so tranquillity did fray
One without armour, crushed beneath reality’s wheel, weak in her pallor
In madness, claws took their hold, against the back did find an edge
Of memories, of failures, a loss of self, slender, pretty hands covered in red
Promises broken, a withering love, musical pieces, a dishonoured pledge
Down she fell, hair like moon, such aspirations the same as she—dead
Years proceed, nightmares creep, for the one remaining, slumbers unkind
Each dream identical, reliving a moment, inescapable, chiselled in stone
Gripped by delusion, chained to truth, her crimes the other did bind
A tablet about the neck, a weight, a punishment til truth to her was shown
Thus here it is we stand, in moving world, closing the chapter on this gruesome tale
Its story not yet complete, for words still be written, on these, the twins of Luridveil
The clamor of arms and armor echoed throughout the halls as the fighting continued. A billhook sliced through one of the flowers with ease as it collapses into a head of thrashing weeds, the puckered bud gasping and thrashing with it's feelers into the fetid air of the sewer.
"Buggers just don't know when ta quit!" Roared the mercenary with a cackle, that is before he was sprayed with the sap of the flower. It coated his mail hauberk quickly and sent it to a sizzle before dropping his hook. Hands would scramble at the mail as it burned through the cloth of his tunic and between the chainmail quilting. "Get it off get it off!"
A strong pair of hands with a sharp knife quickly ripped away the melting cloth and tossed it aside. The woman standing over him with the knife was grim and splattered with grime upon a face that could have been called almost pretty. Handsome was the preferable term for her. "Pick up that hook! We haven't got time for you to be sloppy."
"Aye ma'am," gasped the fallen man as he patted at his chest a moment a sigh finding that the dirty tunic had taken the brunt of the sap. Turning away the knight would march among the men as they held the line against the Hag's garden. Her long knife was still wet with sap from her own pruning but it would hardly be the last as she surveyed the tide. The plants just kept coming.
"How long has this been going?" she asked quietly to what she thought was herself.
"Years," the knight would turn quickly to find the creaking step of the witcher, Eldridge. His face could have been a mirror to her own considering the circumstances surrounding them. He looked tired but also determined as he came to stand beside her. "Status?"
"We are under siege from all sides except with how we came thankfully," she responded with a faint hint of satisfaction in her men. They weren't the Knights of the Rose or heroes from any story, but they were stalwart and knew their business. Though their business was less about clearing fields and more about murder usually. "We will hold and push forward."
The witcher did not respond as he watched the mercenaries swing their pole-arms in the open room. In the tunnels the hooks were practically useless for how and they had to travel along the rancid canals but here is where they were meant to shine. Keep the archespore at bay. Avoid the sap. Pray the numbers would thin.
Kill the Hag.
"Where is Paxrin?" The lady would ask curiously, as she looked back where they had come from. She had asked the question but she could clearly see him, he was standing at least right now despite his ruined face and wide eyes behind the bandages. Arms wrapped about his body he rocked back and forth watching the events unfolding around him with a mixture of terror and a strange level of calm. Eld would nod toward him.
"I've got him sedated at the moment, but I'm unsure of how long it will last." The witcher spoke low still despite the chaos growing around them, his yellow eyes would leave the bard to see the carnage growing around them. "They're growing wilder."
The knight would nod softly as she adjusted her belt, the strap tightening as she frowned. "Where are they all coming from?"
"Judging from the right and left tunnels here it would suggest the Hag has set her nest in one of these spots. Which has yet to be determined but," Eld watched the left tunnel with a grimace as he fingered the hilt of his Griffin pommeled sword. "We can't fight these all day."
As if on cue the line to the right broke. A wide swing of one of the hooks went to wide and clipped the other mercenary in the hip causing him to cry out in pain as he dropped his weapon. It was all the spores needed to rush forward with the killing field broke. The man who had missed had all of a moment to say 'I'm sorry mate' before the vines had him. Thorns rushed through him like knifes as they constricted on him, sucking and rending into the body with the ferocity of a starving dog. He didn't even have a chance to scream.
His wounded companion did.
10 men had come down with the witcher, knight, and bard armed for a an eye rolling battle against the flora of the undercity. It was laughable to think flowers were as dire as imagined. But after Paxrin's tale and look, they had sobered before they came down. Now with two men being feasted upon by the cannibals of the sewer, heads were perking up and glances growing far more fearful.
The witcher was first to act as he limped forward with his long creaking step, his right ripping the silvered sword from it's wide scabbard to brandish the hacking weapon. His left hand was curling quickly in an odd formation. Thumb out. Index in. Two and four spread. The fifth curled to form a cup. The flames swept the archespore quickly and brought hot mercy to the dying.
"Reform the line! Back up! Reform the line!" The knight cried as she rushed forward, waving her knife in the air to rally her men to close up ranks. Hearty and well versed the eight others back up, swinging their poleaxes at the monsters as they began to press in. Eld began to back up along with them, swinging his silver sword with a flash to lop off vines and burn the rest. He was glad that the poisons running through his veins were feeding him so, with this much fire called he doubted he could hold out as long as he would be needed to.
But there wasn't going to be enough time.
Closing his fist to silence the fire, Eld would fall back further letting the hook men do their work as they threshed the maddened plants. Paxrin had run back up now and was on the ground cowering in the middle of the round of soldiers. The sedation was running out again as he held himself rocking back and forth.
"There's whiskey in the jar. There's whiskey in the jar. There's whiskey in the jar."
Eld grimaced hearing the haunted words, guilt was beginning to fester in his heart for bringing the man back down here. It had been a poor choice.
He needed to get the Hag.
"I need to get to the Hag," Eld spoke loudly for the knight to hear. The woman looked back at the witcher, her face speaking volumes of what good his obvious need was.
"What do you want to do?" She spoke now, frustration in her words. The fallen had been her men, she didn't want to bury anyone down here.
The witcher licked his lips in thought as he looked from the left tunnel and right tunnel. Two choices. Choose wisely.
"We split up."
Brows arched hearing that, the knight curious and dubious at the same time. "You want to split the party?"
"We can't last this siege, there's to many of them. We take the gardener though and we stem the tide of archespore. Right or left?" Eld pointed toward where the line had originally broken and where it still held strong.
"It won't work," the knight replied. "There's to many for four men to handle on either side. So unless you're gonna torch your way through it all, gonna need a different plan."
Nearby the vines began to grow wilder as they fought back on the left side, the hooks flashing in the low light and still burning remains to the right. They were mad but they seemed to pressing harder to reach the center. The mercenaries were fighting hard and holding but the flowers seemed to be ignoring the killing blows for them almost as if they were eye their true prey.
Cold fear grasped the witcher as he felt his mouth go slack as he looked to the center of their hold-fast. Paxrin. They wanted the bard. He was marked by them and they needed meant to finish their meal. Eld looked to the knight who was already coming to realization as well to what was happening and what needed to be done.
"Left," she spoke softly. "Take three and I'll take five. We go left. You go right."
"Why left?"
The knight shrugged. "I don't want to step over my burnt brothers."
"I'm sorry," Eld grimaced and nodded. "I didn't know their names. I don't even know yours."
"Would it matter?" She replied softly before moving past him.
Nodding was common for the those with lives of violence, it saved on time as well as breath. She gave him only two more. "Get moving."
She knelt beside Paxrin and gently lifted him up to his feet, her gloved hands gently rubbing his arms as she spoke softly. The bard would nod to her. Eld hoped she had told the man the truth, but he knew he'd be lying to himself as much as she was to him. The knight had the bait and he was the hook now.
The knight was urging Paxrin on as he gave a look around him, whispering again to himself the same words over and over again.
"There's whiskey in the jar. There's whiskey in the jar."
"There's whiskey in the jar," Eld whispered softly as the pair continued down the tunnel away from the oncoming battle and into the maelstrom that could only be the hive. Eld was in front, his hand outstretched in the same formation as earlier. Thumb in. Sign of Three. Fifth bent. Quen. The shield before them used as almost a battering ram to push through whatever archespore go in their way as the sign's magic pushed those it touched away. Those that did not steer away were soon caught in a very surprising power all it's own.
Crossbow slung over his back with lantern held in front of him, Janus had his own hand cocked in a formation as well. Thumb out. Index up. Middle bent. Ring stands. Fifth out.
"Aard!" The bard's voice rising above the squirming and thrashing masses of flowers, a short burst of kinetic energy blasting forth to push one back into the wall that had come up the canal. A grin was plastered to Janus's face as he watched it slam into it with a splat and plaster of sap to the stone. "Not bad huh?"
"You don't have to say it each time," Eld spoke as he pressed on, concentrating to hold his shield as he pushed down the hall.
"Oh I know but ya know, adds to the drama ya know? Quen! Igni! Fongu!" Janus laughed as he kept his lantern raised, his mirth a clever way to mask the fear of diving head first into the hornets nest.
Eldridge felt like he should reprimand him for his joking at a time like this, but despite his downing of his potions earlier he dared not lose his focus on reaching the end of the left tunnel. This all had to end today.
The march forward was hard but fortunately not slow or as long as anticipated as they at last arrived in the what could only be the lair of the archespore. To call it shocking would be an understatement.
Much like the Hag's lair this too was a small alcove of a room, the canal from the tunnel arriving to an old grate at the base of the western wall likely leading further into the sewers or even outside the city. Above the grate was a landing and the horror truly began there. The stone floor which had been a mossy and lichen encrusted mess from entrance on into the old sewer was teeming with black roots here. Vines pulsing and undulating with a life all their own, hundreds of the baubles that had been seen on the archespores elsewhere were quaking as the seeds festered with a sickly green glow. As the floor writhed with the roots of the monstrosity so to did the walls and the ceiling, half grown flowers pushing forth from thicker roots to squirm in their spot as they begged to flourish. But all roots came back to one spot, just as the Hag silhouette had been tattooed to the wall so had this figure.
It's arms were lashed to the wall by the roots, it's belly a grotesque bloated planters box of the roots and vines that might have been thought to the strung out innards of a man. In a way they were as they rose through the corpse as it shivered against the wall. It's face hang loose with a rotted jaw hanging opened, small red flowers growing from between bare bone as they quivered to match that of the gold baubles every few moments. Eye sockets as well produced a pair of the same archespore that grew on the walls, the red petals burning bright in the green glow of it's seedlings. Flesh had long since melted from the corpse but it's strange chest still seemed to rise and fall with the root system boring out from it's midsection. The hands hung like a prisoners as it lay pinned to the wall, one hand full of bone fingers hanging limply. The other only held half a middle and ring finger.
"Tymora," Janus whispered staring at the horrific effigy.
Eld grimaced and bowed his head as he felt his shield fall in a scatter of ember dust. "Pax."
"What?" Janus gaped as he looked from his uncle to the thing hanging on the wall. "The survivor?"
The witcher nodded softly as only men of violence understood. Or rather of shame.
"Well what do we do?" Janus looked back down the tunnel, the walls starting to move again with what they had pushed to get here. Beyond that he could hear the sounds of fighting again. The boundary was down.
A deep breath was taken and released as he looked back up to the trapped Paxrin, his flowered gaze staring back at him. He'd damned the poor man by sacrificing him to get to the prey for his job. In the long run, the bard's demise had been worth it to save the city. But it didn't change the fact that he'd betrayed him and left him to die here. Eld's eyes drifted beside the trapped troubadour to see a soft glint of rusted metal beside him, a pauldron long since wasted. At least he hadn't been alone.
"I'm sorry Paxrin, truly. I am sorry," Eld's voice spoke evenly as he looked to the pair of crimson flowers, locking eyes with the dead. He doubted there could be forgiveness for what had happened, but there would be rest.
A sudden shake to his shoulder brought him out of reverie as Eld looked back to Janus, the green eyes wide with fear. "Eld they're here! I can't hear Al or Duncan. What do we do?"
Eld grimaced and looked to his nephew before looking back down the hall at the squirming massive plants inching their way toward them. The witcher moved in front of his godson and took up a position with his hands fixed. "We burn it. We burn it all."
Thumb out.
Janus started to breath heavily as he held the lantern, his eyes wild as he looked about the vile room.
Index bent.
Eld extended his hands as he began to see in the soft green glow the large petals of crimson inching into the eerie light.
Middle straight.
Flowered eyes began to quake as a slack rotted jaw jiggled with a wet rattle.
Ring spread.
The vines began to whip about as three of the archespore passed the final portal into the hive room, the buds within petals wide open with hungry thorn riddle teeth.
Fifth curled to form the bowl.
"Go to hell ya lily livered shit!" Janus roared as he reared his arm back and chucked the lantern at the growing corpse. The metal cage spinning through the air as Janus lifted his hand quickly in the formation of Aard, teeth bared as he felt the surge blow through his spine and up through his palm. Kinetic force slammed into the lantern as the metal smashed into the chest of Paxrin covering it in the lantern oil and sparking it to flame. Quickly the flames spread over it and began to follow the path of the dripping oil as they began to lick at the base of the roots of the archespore hive. Behind him, Janus could already begin to feel the heat as see the light as Eld let loose his own flames.
Daily Writing Challenge February 2025 - Day 7 - Rage (Mention of Death | Blood | )
"Mother!" Ema cried out as she desperately searched for her among the refuges now flooding Silvermoon. Her father and brothers were out there fighting back the invasion as Ema and her younger sister remained in the city. She had been helping with the wounded as they are brought in.
She searched each person, hoping that one of them was her mother and older sister. As much as she desperately wanted to go out there and search for them both, she remains with in the city to tend to the wounded and watch Alistra.
The alarm woke Ema up from a uneasy sleep early that morning. The Guardians of the city could be heard shouting outside her apartment. She had jumped out of bed to check in on her mother and two sisters. Alistra was crying and huddled up under her blankets when Ema ran into her room.
After making sure Alistra was safe, she ran into her mothers room. But she was not in the room, and neither was Vereesa. The shouting outside had grown louder, followed with the screams of frightened people. She had left Alistra with a trusted friend, before rushing out into the streets of Silvermoon.
There was already wounded being taken to the near by hospitals and clinics, and Ema convinced herself that her mother and sister are most likely doing the same thing she was doing, tended to the wounded, claiming down those in pure hysteric's. She remained clam, her hands steady.
It was now much later in the evening, and by this point Ema was getting frantic to find her mother and sister. She had not seen them tending to the wounded. Her clothing stained with blood, her hair had fallen out of the bun she normally kept it in when she was working. Ever now and then she heard reports on what had happened outside of the city.
Even inside the city the scent of death filled the air. But she worked tirelessly. Sore, tired. She searched and searched. But still no sign of either of them. She was kneeling down next to a patient when she noticed her twin brother Sylastor. After making sure the patient was taken care of, she jumps up and ran to him. Throwing her arms around his neck, she held him so tightly.
He was battle worn, blood coated his armor. The scent of smoke and death lingering on him. She slowly pulled away from him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Sy..." she searches his eyes. It was then she knew the true horror of what was happening out there. She peers over his shoulder, searching for their father and Daspien.
"Have you seen mother or Vereesa? I can't find either one of them." Sy just stood there, and deep down inside she could feel his pain, his rage, his anger. Being twins gave them a special connection. They had always been able to feel each others emotions. "Sy...What is it?"
Soon she had her answer. Even though Sy tried so hard to keep her attention on him, and not behind him. In a single moment her whole world came crumbling down around her. She had fought so hard to remain strong. She watched as her father and Das walk toward her.
"No.......no..no..." Ema sunk to her knees, Sy quickly picking her up in his arms. She did not have to ask who they carried. Both showed so much grief in their eyes. "NO!" she screamed as her fists slams into Sy's chest over and over again, "No...please...no.." her voice became raw as she was over taken with raw pain.
Her mother and Vereesa bodies were taken into the building set up to take on those who had not made it. Ema some how managed to find her feet and followed her father and brother inside. Why had they gone out? Why did they not remain in the safety of the city? She watched as they are laid down. There she knelt between the two of them. How could she tell Alistra? She was so young.
Her father and brothers stood behind her, letting her have time alone. Hours later she held her baby sister in her arms as she to cried. After bathing, she had went right to Alistra. Now they both laid there as Ema did her best to remain strong for her.
Daily Writing Challenge
February 2025
Day 7: Rage / Loyalty
A single page from Mason's notebook, a reflection from a time of grief:
Sing, spirits of fire, of rage:
How you have oft kindled it in the breast,
Thought and Memory sent aloft,
Adrift on singed wings.
Sing, spirits of earth, of devotion:
How you have oft steadied the flagging heart,
Steeled against harsh, biting tides,
Constancy of purpose.
Sing, again, spirits of fire, of rage:
How you have oft burst free, uncaged from ribs,
Boiled away the ravaging sea,
Devotion unscathed.
Sing, again, spirits of earth, of devotion:
How you have oft been steadied yourself,
Wreathed in flames of fury unthinking,
Felt in heart alone.
For what is, O spirits, rage but losing the self?
For what is, O spirits, devotion but losing the self?
How, O spirits, can one claim to love,
If unwilling to burn himself on its pyre?
Tinnaire had always thought it cliche that people associated fire magics with rage. Yes, infernos were destructive and overwhelming. But a flame could warm a hearth or reheat your tea, too! Bonfires could be centerpieces for beach parties and a flicker could light a candle. Embers warmed the darkness of the night.
She ran hot. Always had, likely always would. It had gotten worse in those bad years of fel fire, and maybe--definitely--she had strayed into rage, lust, and other destructive, excessive emotions.
There was still a little seed of it left in her, she knew. She hoped her fire would always burn clean now, never letting that little fel fire seed sprout. Her spirit knew the taste of rage and fury, and it corrupted. She intended to keep it contained, and she had a plan for those moments of temptation. A way to remind her of the devastation the addictions had roared through her life. The unshakable had been toppled and loyalties had been violated.
It was a bitter truth, and the one that sobered her. She had burned her life to smoking ash before, and she still tasted the regret and consequence. She would, for the rest of her life, have to fight to prove her loyalties to herself and the people she loved.
But she wouldn’t go into her future with deception as weight around her neck.
"Janus to the side!" Eld cried as he planted his foot and turned his hand, teeth gritted as he felt the familiar pain of drawing out the energies into his hand. Thumb out, index in, middle out, ring off a few degrees, and cone with the fifth finger to curve his hand into a bowl of heat. Igni. That familiar burn started in his palm and worked it's way out in a jet of bright crimson flames rushed forth at his call to consume the bright flower hanging from above. Pustules burst like popped corn and one could swear they could hear the plant scream as the flames at away at it's pea soup flesh.
The bard was diving to the side as he covered his head watching the flames span up into the ceiling, gaping as his godfather unleashed the elemental forces of his sign. Fire crept and crawled along the vines that had swallowed the stone of the tunnel eating away at the hungry archespore the same ferocity the hellish cannibal plant had shown to many victims before. Watching the burn was almost beautiful as it sparkled and burned through the vegetation to create a starry sky of embers. The falling ran of flesh eating sap was another thing to worry about, as Janus grabbed his coat and tried to pull it over his head as quickly as he could to avoid ruining one of his best attributes.
But no drops burned his coat as he peeked back up to find Eld now standing over him, the true power of Eldridge coming to bear from his years at study. A broken boy could not learn as other members of his school so the magi had turned to other ways of weaponizing even the hurt. Eld's other hand was outstretched as he turned his flame to face the wall blasting it to curve the flames beyond, his other hand already twisting.
Thumb in. Sign of three. Fifth in. Quen.
Droplets of sap sputtered and burned away as they struck the invisible shield above them. Never even taking a moment even bead off it as the heat of the witcher's flames burned off any of deadly moisture that threatened the pair of them. Yellow eyes could not break concentration as he directed the shield and began to move, but his voice hoped it would break to the younger man at his feet. "Janus, up! We need to go! Now!"
Janus Klaudin did not need any more coercion as he scrambled up to his feet, grabbing hold of the crossbow and lantern in his hands before running down the tunnel they had come originally come from. The witcher continued on, turning his body and hands to deflect the awful sap with his left hand while he slowly closed off his right. A weariness flooded his arm as he ended the first sign but continued to keep his other sign going to protect himself and Janus as they ran from the smoldering rain of death.
"Alfred!" Janus called as he ran already spotting ahead where his brother and the vampire were doing their fine work.
The mustachioed brother quickly side stepped a thrashing tentacle as he swiped his mother's rapier through the air to wound the creature, lopping off the squirming appendage down into the murky depths of the sewer canal. Alfred's body held loose and at the fencer's stance continued to dodge the wild swipes of the newest flower creature, the flow of them never seeming to cease as they crawled from the ceiling and the depths. He'd complained initially as they came down into the sewers about the amount of clothing he'd had to wear and how hot he was but after the first spray of sap that had struck his layered chest he'd make sure to thank his godfather for the warning.
A strong parry worked both in and out of Klaudin's favor as the tentacle vine clipped itself. Whipping about it sprayed it's clear acid like blood about the murky stones before a heavy swipe from behind sent the deadly blossom spinning back into the canal followed by it's limp 'body'. Duncan breathed heavily from his nose as he flipped his gladius about in one hand to turn to face the next monster that would come to them.
Alfred was a dancer with his sword, flitting from space to space as he dodge relying on his speed and accuracy to deal death to those who came close to his blade. Duncan was the complete opposite. He was a soldier. Fighting was not about flare or showmanship, it was about killing. And the vampire knew his business.
Hundreds of years ago, Waycrest had found creatures of all manner from the dark. Wicker beasts of red leafed forests. Bone and flesh monsters formed of comrades in search of means of bolstering their own armies. Even the very earth had risen against his people to slay them in the name of a corrupt god who had taken route in their island. Massacres were an understatement as the war waged on. But Duncan fought, killed, and survived.
Until he didn't.
But today was not to be his day to repeat that fateful day of his curse. Today was a day of solving problems and protecting those he called friends. As the short wide blade hacked through another flower, his bare hand caught a tentacle and ripped hard to bring the archespore close before clipping another bulb. Dull pain blossomed in his palm and on his feet, but it all was superficial to a creature such as him. To the vampire, the flesh need not be strong only everlasting.
Janus reached his brother just as Duncan had finished off the one they faced, keeping his hands well away from the fighter as he knew 'this' brother's business. "Alfred, we're here but there more coming."
"Funny you should mention that," the younger Klaudin motioned ahead of them toward the cross room they were striving to reach. Ahead another pair of the spores were squirming along the ceiling along the track of vines that gripped it. Janus stared up with a look of dismay.
"Tymora for fuck's sake, how many of these things are there?" Janus tried his best not to whine but failed as he looked back to find his godfather limping up behind them at a hurried pace.
"Too many," Eld grumbled, his face ashen as he put a hand to the wall to steady himself. "Duncan?"
The vampire nodded and motioned to Alfred. "Come, Klaudin. Day is not over yet. Janus, help your uncle we're almost there."
The swordsmen went back to weeding as the four inched onward through the pruning.
~
The right tunnel had been a mistake.
There had been nothing but the memories of some forty years prior in the former den of the Hag of the South Quarter.
The quartet had crept their way through the sewer without incident, the vines above and on the walls laying dormant as they passed beneath their gaze. Duncan had reached the room first, his soft glowing eyes peering easily through the dark as he motioned for the three to follow inside with relative safety. With the blooms above, safety was always questionable.
Eld had followed in next, his yellow eyes peering about the room as he looked to the rotten hovel that housed the creature. He could still feel her there. The Hag had been here for years, stewing and simmering with rage at the former who king who had ruled Jamurlak with such a cruel hand. There had a been a moment where the witcher had felt a slight pang of guilt for her when she began to tell him her story.
Born in the wrong place and definitely the wrong time, the Hag had been part of a loving family of forest folk who lived for the most part a quiet life in wilds beyond the burgeoning city. A chance time to bring in trade to the city had lead to a mugging and murder of her father followed by the kidnapping of a mother and sibling. She'd been left on the street to scrounge and survive amongst the downtrodden. It was a funny thing to imagine a new city already struggling with the homeless and downtrodden at such an infancy stage of it's building blocks. Such was civilization.
Despite being but a child she was still a child of the wilds and knew things that could just as easily aid her as hinder her. With a secular king upon the throne the hindrance was all to clear to follow. The cruelty of the powerful was rampant in those days and the Hag learned first hand what it was to be the weaker of those sides. She dared not speak of what happened to her in those times or the years spent as a prisoner for her skill as much as her body. The nightmare only ended when she finally escaped and prayed for a true end to her life in the undercity of Jamurlak.
But her rage would not let her die. Nor would the wild.
Festering and growing like a rotted apple the girl would live. The woman would grow and learn. The elder would plot. The Hag would plant.
How she had lived for so many years in the sewers like this was only a testament to her hatred. She would never give up. She didn't care who died or why they died in her path, only that the city would fall and with it the memory of old king Abrad. It could man or woman or child, as long as Jamurlak suffered she would smile. As long the city moaned and cried out in terror at how her pretty flowers grew in a row, she would cackle.
And so she burned. It all burned.
The Archefire.
Eld's fingers gently traced the blackened stone where she had stood, her silhouette forever burned into the wall from where had set her to blaze. His head bowed softly as he let his hand drop as he heard something softly on the wind.
'Mush-aring dumb-a do duma-da, Whack fall the daddy-o, whack fall the daddy-o.'
The witcher's head shot up hearing the song as he whipped about to look at his milling companions. Alfred on watch with a nervous hand at his sword hilt, Duncan inspecting some rotten book shelves, and Janus.
"What are you singing?" Eld asked quietly.
"What?" Janus replied arching a brow at his godfather. "I'm not singing."
"You're not?"
Janus shook his head looking confused and worried, which did not suit his usual grinning handsome face. "No, why would I sing down here? This."
He waved his hand about the room with a sad sigh, his green eyes coming to rest on the older man again. "This is terrible."
'There's whiskey.'
Eld's eyes widened as he heard it.
'There's whiskey in the jar.'
"We need to go. Now!" Eld yelled as he reached down to tighten his brace with a crank and twist, his limping run already propelling him past the startled bard and toward Alfred at the entrance way.
No one had a chance to ask why before the walls came to life with floundering hell.
~
Eld leaned on the wall again as they finally reached the crossroads of the sewer system, the familiar layout and walls almost clear as Alfred and Duncan continued to met out death to the vegetation. The witcher was getting tired. Age and work at the smithy had kept up his bodily strength, but the vigor required to pull on magic this way was taxing in a much different way. His spirit ached. Eld was out of practice and at this point a worry was setting in that maybe he was not ready for such a task like this. The witcher closed his eyes as he tried to steady his breath.
"Janus," Eld called out as the bard came back up to him.
"Ya?" Janus asked as he leaned down before looking back over the shoulder of the witcher at the still burning tunnel they had come out of. Flames were not the only thing stirring back that way.
The witcher took in a deep breath and stood up straight again. His hand slipping to his belt and drawing out a trio of vials, blue, purple and green. Popping the top of the purple one and letting the cork fall away as he drank deeply of the Tawny. The familiar burn felt like the fire he expelled racing down his gullet and into his belly, eyes closing as he felt the numbness begin to leave him as he shook his head to squaring his shoulders better. "We need to go down the left hall. I need you with me."
"Me? Why me?" Janus asked as he looked back down the hall and to his brother who had finished off his dance with the last archespore in a flurry of cuts. "I'm no good in a fight."
"Exactly."
Janus frowned. "Thanks."
Eld smiled slightly as he clapped his nephew on the shoulder. "I need you with me because you have skills I have taught you already. Skills I hope you've not forgotten."
The bard frowned more before flexing his hand into a fist and uncurling it. "I'm not that great at it."
"Better than Al still?"
That caused the older brother to turn his frown upside down as he shrugged. "He's got swords and I got my fingers."
There was a hard squeeze as he nodded to Janus. "Get the bow and the lantern. I'm gonna see if I can hold this for them while we move on ahead."
Klaudin looked like he was going to say something but shook his head as he ran off to gather as he was instructed. Eld turned back to the hall they had escape, seeing clearly the movements in the shadows as well. Sighing he eyed the other vials and nodded, everything was about to hurt. Tipping back green first he could feel the fire in his belly grow as he felt the weariness leave his bones even more and an energy of a weeks rest fill him. Invigorating was an understatement.
The blue bottle was the real worry though. It would be his last to be able to use in this. Looking over his shoulder, Eld regarding his friends and looked back to the bottle. He trusted them. The philter bit hard as it swam down his throat and caused his teeth to itch. His eyes widened and his hands loosened more as he smiled forgetting how much he secretly enjoyed this swarm of intensity to flood him. He felt cocky despite the sloshing in his stomach and itch through his veins.
Lifting his hands he began to the motions for an old Griffin trick that was taught a long time ago. Thumb in. Sign of Three. Fifth in. Quen. The power flooded out of him in the familiar invisible shield as he raised his left hand and spread his fingers. Fold the middle. Part the sea. Trace the horizon. Vorg.
The portal to the tunnel shimmered softly as the shield extended and filled the space that he traced with his left hand. A grim smile came to his face as he nodded to the magical shield, the boundary strong as he could for them. Turning Eld would stalk back to his companions, his fingers flex and cracking from the expenditure of power.
"How are you doing?" The witcher asked as he looked between Duncan and Alfred. Alfred flicked his sword and shrugged softly, doing his best to keep his heaving chest in check while Duncan stood with dripping blade still.
"It's been quite a dance, uncle." Alfred commented as he looked back toward the tunnel they had come down. "Are we clear?"
Eld shook his head. "I've given you a bit of time to recover, I don't know how long the boundary will hold but it is something for you."
Duncan would nod softly as he marched toward the tunnel. "I'm guessing you're going to the left then."
"We are."
Duncan nodded again. "Very good. Tides be with you, my friend."
Eld would tilt his head. "Tides?"
The vampire would shrug offering a coy smile. "You're not the only one who's living a memory."
A soldier's salute as Duncan motioned to Alfred. "Come, Klaudin. Our work is not yet done."
Alfred would hesitate a moment as he looked after Duncan before looking to Eld and then Janus. As much as the youngest member of their party would try for bravado there had always been a serious and grim mindset to the duelist. Especially when it came to protecting his older brother.
"Go on, Wally. I'm with the witcher, I'm a lot safer than you." Janus could see the worry in his brother's green eyes and despite the laugh he gave with a flippant wave of his hand, the older brother couldn't hide his own trepidation of leaving Alfred behind. All he could do was lift the lantern and start for the left hall. "Shall we?"
A fantasy story for @daily-writing-challenge event February 2025 day 7 rage.
A mother dragon return to her nest to find her children have been killed by a band of evil adventurers and and she become enraged by this horrible act that she burn them alive. Soon, the anger mother dragon fly out of her nest and start burning everything she see in her rage and wish to let the world burn for the death of her children.
February DWC Daily Challenge 2025
Day 7: Feb 15 Rage/Loyalty
Elu went about her days learning from the lore walker and even Desertaira as she mastered her new abilities and learned to keep the whispers under control. The dreams continued, but she understood them now. She understood they were trying to tell her things, warn her. It was her own subconscious that had tried getting through to her. This one, the one that knew in order to move forward, she had to accept those parts of her that didn’t shine as brightly.
Sia was coming around. Her loyalty was stronger than her not understanding, though she had been in a rage when she had realized what she had done. Elu couldn’t really blame her. They had never made such big decisions without consulting the other. But Sia was strong, and she knew they were diverging on their paths. They had just been in denial for some time. Elu knew though her sister was strong and a part of her was a loner. Elu had been the only exception to that. Perhaps her sister had her own path to find. Whatever it was, Elu knew she would support her in any way she could.
Elu had decided to return to her shadow priest training. As much as she loved being the huntress, she felt her path was as a priestess. Balancing between the light and dark, understanding one didn’t exist without the other. Desertaira said she knew the perfect person to help her down that path and that she would contact her to set up a meeting.
Elu sat, her diary in her hand as she wrote. Shiloh, her brother of all people, recommended that she write her thoughts and feelings to help her understand her thoughts from those whispers that plagued her pretty much night and day. As though, in the past, she pushed them down. She finally closes the book and puts away her writing tools.
Tonight, she plans to go to the Broken Chalice and sing her heart out. She would find out who needed to be saved tomorrow because somebody was always out there needing help. That hadn’t changed. She would always fight for those who couldn’t fight for themselves, but she was happy where this new chapter was going.
