FFxivWrite22 Entry #2: Bolt
FFxivWrite 2022 Prompt #2: Bolt Through the deserts of Thanalan in the cover of a sandstorm, the ragtag group of adventurers trekked from the Sleeping Sands toward the ruins of Mhach where Honour’s Lament awaited them, Victor’s aetherial shield protecting them from the grains of sand and debris swirling in the air around them. Faye felt the ground beneath her boots begin to change as they walked on, from soft and shifting sand to something more solid and… squirming, the toe of her boot kicking into something in front of her. She looked downward to see rising from the sand beneath their feet a giant, writhing mass of bodies. The animated corpses were from all different eras as evident by their decaying clothing, some fresh corpses and others long since rotted to bone. A myriad of decrepit faces stared up with wide and brilliant smiles, hands reaching upward to grasp at feet or ankles or clothing, whatever they could grip. They tugged downward, intent on burying the party with them, consuming them into the mass that flowed beneath their feet like a river. All the while, the Ashkin all silently mouthed a single word: ‘Friend.’ Faye grimaced and tugged her legs free, angrily kicking at the hands that gripped needily at her boots and ankles. "Ashkin! These certainly weren't here in my day! My word... victims of hers?" Xalredo remarked, the magicked plushie looking down at the mass of bodies swirling at their feet. As she kicked and stomped the groping hands and ever-smiling faces underfoot, Faye realized some of the fresher faces were familiar. But how? She didn’t know them. Slowly, the recognition set in… no, they weren’t her friends, or even acquaintances, most not even anyone she knew by name. They were patrons of Shroudrose Teahouse, men and women who had walked through her doors. None had visited for quite some time, and now it was glaringly obvious why. How long had the Blissweaver made the Shroudrose her nest? Suddenly, Faye remembered the woman in the whites robes and the mask… how had she not realized? She'd known the Blissweaver's presence was there that day Samara's fell to the Void's influence... but she had never considered that the Voidsent had lingered so long, making the Shroudrose her hunting ground. One might have expected a reaction of sadness, or some semblance of horror at the sight of her ill-fated patrons... she skipped straight past those, fair features twisting in annoyance and anger. "My patrons... from my teahouse..." she growled between gritted teeth. They continued to grab at that party, pulling them down with all their might. Without sounds they mouthed the words, but somehow she still understood. ‘Friend. Dance with us. Spin with us. Sleep with us. We have pillows of sand... so rest…’ But Faye didn’t feel like resting. No, she felt the fire of rage burning hotter inside her gut. Rage swelling, she placed a hand upon the hilt of her rapier that still rested at her hip, the runes upon the thin blade glowing to life. She took advantage of the lightning crackling around their sandstorm thanks to Naheal’s spell of coverage, the static electricity that charged the air around them raising the ends of her as she drew in the levin aether, the sky above their heads darkening ominously. “Oh… Oh, you fucked up now,” Victor’s words and the cackling laugh that followed reached her, but just barely, sounding so distant through the intoxication of her anger. The spell she channeled continued growing exponentially, and she realized it was just not her own aether being fed into it, icy blue eyes cutting toward Victor briefly to see the fellow mage also lent his aether to the runes upon her rapier. There was a certain spark in her expression then, the anticipation and satisfaction of the destruction she knew was sure to follow, the knowledge of the power she knew she held within her hand at that moment. She loosed the spell, directing it downward as a blinding bolt of lightning to shock the pile of writhing corpses beneath their feet, accompanied by the crackle of electricity and a deafening crack of thunder. The lightning arced from body to body, jumping from one corpse to another, shocking and jolting each of them. The Ashkin shrunk away, their smiles at last fading instead to terror, writhing and fearful. They ceased their grabbing. One’s voice rang out from somewhere in the mass of bodies. “W-Why?” he whimpered defensively. They all gazed up in shock at the hostile reception they received. Then the swelling of corpses began to retreat back into the ground, beneath the sands. “Never mind. We’ll have the rest of time…” “…To get to know each other…” @sharp-cast-sharper-words