41 - Comfort food(tw for blood, violence, and murder.)Avarrocka is so much bigger than I remember it…I realize, looking at a teenage girl in dirty clothes, struggling to chop downa tree near the mine.Great city walls in place of the laughable, occasional wooden barricades.The terrified child looks so tired, throwing glances around her, no doubt worriedabout the bears nearby.The smells of ale replacing those of livestock… loud cheer replacing worriedwhispers.The tree falls, and before long, so does the girl who brought it down. Butunlike the tree, the child starts screaming.I give her a sad smile and shake my head.These terrified screams, however… They never change.She’s begging now, pleading me to let her go. As if that will save her from thebig, bad monster.And the taste never changes either. Rich, warm, soothing and bittersweet. Just the way I know it. Just the way I like it.The girl’s screams never ceased. No matter, they’re comforting. They remind meof a simpler time.The woods outside Avarrocka were familiar territory. My personal little hunting ground since the days of my childhood…I am unchallenged here.The human’s struggling lessened now, and she started coughing and shaking.Looks like I have a body to bury…Well, once I’m done with it, of course.
He’s been buying them ever since I can remember.Every now and again, he’d say he wanted to restock in Lletya, even if we had enough supplies.When we’d be on our way again, aside from more food in his bag, he’d have - in a side pocket - a small amount of candles; wrapped in soft cloth with delicate care.Eudav and Oronwen made them, setting them aside especially for him.They had no wax to work with, so they made them from the tar Eudav gathered. Oronwen would mix some lighter green and blue dyes with the tar, the results similar in color to the Tirannwn forest clearings. And every so often, when the stars came out, he’d sit down, take one of the candles, hold it carefully in a leaf or two, and light it.The way he looked at the little light sources…It made me look away.It was an innocent, intimate scene.Like a priest, praying at an altar.Like parent, holding their newborn child.Like a traveller, stepping into their hometown for the first time in decades.
And well, absolutely rarest of all, he’d start humming.A quiet, almost inaudible lullaby of sorts, with a doleful tune that never failed making me wonder, each time I heard it-Was it from his childhood, or did he come up with it on his own?
He never seemed to mind me listening.Assuming he even noticed in the first place.I could never tell. I’ll ask him later, I suppose. When the candles burn out.Someday.
You know...
I love breaking my own heart...
As well as everyone else’s...
Tragic elves, anyone?
For the third time that hour, Prifddinas shook. The not-so-gentle shivering of every building wasn’t difficult to see. The tumult of crystals, adamantly struggling against whatever held them back, disturbing materials and magical fields alike seemed to attract the attention of every elf that happened to be outside their house.
Most elves were scared and confused, dreading the possibility of their beloved city tearing itself to shreds. Islwyn Cadarn was amongst those. He felt rather helpless and feared the worst. He didn’t like the thought of a crumbling Prifddinas. It took him a while to get used to the fabled city, but he grew to like it eventually. As of today, the city was his home, and the last thing he wanted was to lose it.
So naturally, the worried elf went to confide in his dearest friend.
Eluned, however, didn’t seem worried at all. On the contrary- she was oh so excited, happily talking about the crystals being drawn to the tower of voices and stating that she felt it was the time.
The time to reassemble their goddess.
She talked in great detail about how special this day was going to be, about returning everything to its former glory, about getting to meet Seren…
He listened intently, letting Eluned’s genuine enthusiasm calm him down like it always did.
She promised to be there to help bring Seren back.
She promised she’d tell him every moment of the event.
And she promised she’ll be the first to run down the stairs of the tower of voices and drag him back up with her to personally introduce him to the goddess before anyone else had the chance of even welcome her back.
But that was several hours ago.
Now, Islwyn didn’t mind the waiting. Not that much, anyway. What did bother him, was seeing the human climbing down the stairs with a terrified expression on their face, holding… a rather tall looking being dressed in light blue.
…Was that Seren?
Islwyn didn’t have time to wonder much, as the human quickly vanished.
Odd…
He shook his head, looking back at the staircase. Some of the clan leaders were climbing down silently, heads downcast.
Lady Trahaearn
No,
Lady Hefin,
Still no,
Lord Amlodd...
Where was she?
Lady Ithell was next. Upon seeing her, Islwyn visibly calmed down.
Eluned will follow, he knew. Any second now, and she would join the clan leaders in their sad and quiet conversation at the base of the stairs.
But the seconds passed him by,
and Eluned did not.
What’s going on?
He wanted to ask lady Ithell a question, but no voice came out when he turned to her. He tried again, but she didn’t notice. He shook his head, trying to ignore his growing fear.
The elf took a deep breath, and started climbing up the stairs, nearly reaching the room above only to halt again at the sound of approaching footsteps, quieter than his own.
“Eluned?” he asked hopefully.
No such luck.
Lord Crwys looked at him from the top of the stairs.
Islwyn flinched.
“Oh. I… I’m sorry,” he muttered, “is Eluned upstairs, too?”
The lord lowered his head and sighed.
“I’m sorry, Islwyn,” came the reply, “She was one of Seren’s shards.”
The younger elf blinked several times and shook his head. He didn’t like the sound of that.
“Lady Trahaearn and I, we tried talking her out of it, but she ended up following the human’s advice. She believed that in sacrificing herself, she’ll complete Seren.”
Islwyn wasn’t ready for the explanation that followed
the sudden harsh scratch like noise broke the silence. He slipped again, and was now gripping the banister of the stairs for support, struggling to remain upright.
He tore one arm from the banister and wiped his eyes with his sleeve when he felt his vision blurring. He wondered why he even bothered. It wasn’t as if falling down the stairs or crying would amplify the pain. It may ease him out of it, if anything.
When he finally made it downstairs, it was most likely by the might of some miracle, as it sure wasn’t thanks to his fading willpower.
He took a shaky breath, walking away.
A hand on his shoulder stopped him.
“Hey, you don’t have to worry!” a cheery voice called.
Turning a little, he just barely stopped himself from sighing loudly.
Amlodd. Ever so optimistic, even when all else expect the worst.
“I know Seren seemed off, but she’s going to be alright, I know it! The human went to Freneskae, and Seren will be just fine when they return!”
Islwyn jumped away from the lord, shaking harder.
Of course Seren was going to be alright!
That wasn’t up for debate.
That wasn’t the issue.
The lord lowered his head.
“Look, I know Eluned and you were close.” He stated, clasping his hands together.
“But she did the right thing, Islwyn. I don’t know if we would’ve been able to form Seren without her. What she did was for the greater good.”
“It’s always for the greater good, isn’t it?” the silver-haired elf snapped. He was shaking at this point, clenching his hands at his sides.
“It’s for your good. For your comfort, your and other close-minded clan leaders who stopped viewing her as a living elf,” he added, raising his voice.
“Islwyn”, Amlodd replied, a warning in his tone.
“Lord Crwys told me everything.” The other interrupted. “And Seren did well enough, for years, without Eluned around. And she could’ve done just as well this time around.”
But can I?
Islwyn wiped his face again.
“You knew this, and still you sent her away forever, just in case.”
-“It’s not that simple, Islwyn…”
“Oh, but it is. For you and the other leaders, the choice was obvious!” Islwyn shouted before turning back around and walking away as fast as he could manage without risking collapsing on the ground for all to see.
He didn’t make it very far, either.
Somewhere between the Crwys sector and the Cadarn one, he couldn’t walk anymore. He clung to the railing and sat down, burying his face crook of his elbow. Crying and sobbing uncontrollably.
What was the point? The tears offered him no relief, so why even cry at all?
He tore his head away and shut his eyes tighter, gasping.
Eluned was gone. He couldn’t breathe. He was suffocating, and the breeze wasn’t helping. He felt like there was no air left in his close proximity. Eluned was gone and she wasn’t coming back. He held tighter to the railing and shook weakly, trying to scream, which only resulted in more crying.
He couldn’t breathe. She was gone, and there’s nothing he could do. He never got to say goodbye. He didn’t tell her often enough how much she meant to him, and now he’ll never get the chance, because she was gone and he couldn’t breathe so soon enough he would be gone too.
And even then he wouldn’t get the chance to see her again.
And he never would.
He felt torn apart, just like Prifddinas did, mere hours ago, but for opposite reasons.
Prifddinas was about to gain its soul back, while Islwyn was about to lose his.
His soul.
His friend.
His clarity.
But it didn’t matter, and it never would.
A few victims were passable, when the result was for the benefit of the many. for the benefit of the “greater good.”
The books and legends of Efaritay Hallow claim that she kneeled to the Drakans to save her husband Ascertes. But what if there’s more to it?
(Decided to take a break from writing about my OCs to bend RuneScape’s canon. Contains blood, injuries, a meaningless title and Vanescula being Vanescula... I hope.)
Misinformation. It was misinformation, Vanescula knew, that led the Drakans to believe that capturing a human and presenting him to the icyene queen of hallowvale would persuade her to surrender. But she didn’t. It was a pathetic mistake on her brother’s part, believing that holding hostage an icyene’s partner would have that much of an impact. But it was to be expected- Ranis was never the sharpest claw in the Drakan death-grasp. But Neither she nor Lowerniel trusted their overconfident, smug and illogical brother to efficiently fix the mistake he managed to make. Obviously, someone else would have to search the hallow palace, locate the queen, and force her to stand down, dead or alive.
And so, Vanescula entered the palace.
At that very moment, the large mahogany doors across the entrance hall opened as well, and a sole winged figure dressed in blue stepped forward, her golden-orange wings flaring menacingly, her ice-blue eyes a contrast to the absolute waste of fabric that were the warmly colored flags and tapestries all over the walls.
“What is it with vampyres and showing up uninvited?”
Vanescula grinned, tilting her head to the side.
“Well, that’s some hospitality! My, and I thought icyenes were kind and welcoming of strangers from distant lands!”
“Of course,” the queen deadpanned, “But I’m afraid that destruction-land natives are excluded.”
Vanescula ignored the jab, clasping her hands together, concentrating some basic old magics into her claws and fingertips.
“So what are you doing this fine hour? Enjoying the last minutes of your regime, your majesty?” the vampyre mockingly inquired, “I’m afraid you’ll have to hurry. I’m here to escort you outside.”
“That won’t be necessary”, the other replied, “I did not plan a ceremony for passing my throne to any vampyric abomination lately.”
“If that is the case, it’s a good thing I’m here to help you reconsider” the vyre offered sarcastically before lunging forward.
Efaritay moved to the side, barely avoiding contact with blood-colored, smoke-oozing claws. She quickly clenched her hands, reopening them to reveal bright flames.
Hurling the magical fire on the Drakan before her, she quietly scolded herself under her breath when the other gracefully maneuvered herself past half dozen fireballs.
Her airborne opponent surprised her yet again with a swift kick to the solar plexus, throwing her off balance and sending her a few feet back from her attacker.
Not wasting time, the vyre steadied herself in the air, concentrating and lifting both hands apart, high into the air. Efaritay’s arms momentarily lost sensation, and then a dull ache started spreading in random points throughout her arms, as did small lumps that were pushing against her skin.
Blood magic? already? Typical vampyric decision.
The Icyene narrowed her eyes, quickly summoning a few yellow-striped wooden stakes and directed them at the other with her mind’s power alone, catching the semi-distracted vyre by surprise.
Vanescula let out a small hiss, lowering her arms and removing two stakes that actually managed to wound her. An entertained expression crept onto her face and she laughed, the sound coming out as an unsteady, high pitched shriek.
This was just too much fun.
With a quickly forming red bubble in her palm, she continued the battle.
It didn’t take the fighting royals very long to turn the entrance hall into a mess- slippery blood stains, torn fabrics from the previously elegant rugs and tapestries and woodchips from the doors were all over the place, not to mention the marble chunks from the walls and floor. No matter where you’d step- you’d be bound to slip or trip over one of the spread out obstacles. The royals knew it too, since both were up in the air for a few minutes now, when Vanescula suddenly engulfed the room in total darkness. The powerful shadow magic has slipped past the broken doors, taking hold of other parts of the palace. Vanescula was about to dive down and break the confused icyene, when a quiet noise has caught her attention.
Was that a sob?
It was definitely too quiet to have been produced by the icyene queen. In fact, the queen didn’t seem to have heard anything, as there were no involuntary movements towards or away from it.
Now that the noise has caught the vampyre’s interest, she quietly glided down and out of the hall, following the faint sound of crying.
She found herself a few rooms into the palace, her eyes more than well-adjusted to darkness, unlike the icyene who didn’t even bother following her yet.
The vyre walked some more, then came to a halt when she saw a small creature sitting under a table in the corner of the room, looking around and sobbing. She approached the table and lowered herself to the creature’s eye level to get a better look.
The little being- probably a toddler- looked almost too human to be anything else, but they had an aura about them, not unlike that of a certain icyene she just left behind a few rooms back. She reached a hand to pick the toddler, feeling a sphere around it, a resistance. Surprised, she withdrew her shadow powers, her surroundings immediately lighting up.
The toddler jumped at the sudden change, the sphere seemed to dissipate for a few moments. Grabbing the toddler and standing up, it looked at her with wide icy-blue eyes.
The toddler seemed confused and displeased. It blinked at her several times…
…And then it began to wail.
Vanescula flinched, then hissed at the noise.
She was about to lower the toddler to the table, intending to study it from a safer distance for her already suffering ears-
“Put. Him. Down.”
-and the toddler’s wailing seems to have died down, the humanoid instead resorting to squirming and turning to the queen, mumbling what sounded like “mamamama”.
So NOW the queen followed. It seems like those feathered fools were absolutely dysfunctional in the dark. The vampyre entertained the thought of bringing the darkness back, but was set off when the squirming toddler started making noises again. Vanescula did not need any damage to her hears, so she held the noisy thing at arm’s length. Judging by the look on her face, she might have also anticipated the kid to spit acid on her.
“I won’t say that again, Drakan” the icyene was growing impatient. Her voice was on the verge of breaking, her heart pounding loudly enough for the vyre to hear. She probably sprinted into the room, but seemed to have grabbed a hold of a big crossbow, made from the same wood as the stakes, but with silver in it, too.
Vanescula turned around, holding the kid in front of her, smirking.
“What, this thing? You know, Hallow, I think I’ll hold on to it for a while. Don’t worry though, you can pick that off my hands when I’m done studying its magic. And its blood, of course.”
“Don’t you DARE!”
Despite her outburst, the icyene was clearly weighing her options. She even lowered her crossbow, but Vanescula was having none of that.
“Right. Maybe I’ll pass the little party favor to my brothers, then.” She said dryly, narrowing her eyes.
“Drakan, wait!”
“Yes, Hallow?”
She clearly had a very important bargaining chip on her hands.
Or rather, in her hands.
She could smash that child in a moment, she knew.
And it would seem like the other woman knew that as well.
“Please don’t do this… they mustn’t know! They’ll kill him without second thought!”
Now this was getting way too entertaining.
“And why should I care? That’s not my problem now, is it?”
The icyene took a deep breath, her autumn-colored wings (which were flared above her until this moment as a cheap intimidation technique no doubt) were coming down, folding behind her back.
“I surrender.”
This caught Vanescula by surprise.
“I will publicly pass my crown to you or any of your brothers, if that’s what it takes.” The queen quickly added. “Please, they mustn’t know. I sent for my loyalists, he was to be taken away… Maybe the messengers were attacked…” she started.
Vanescula considered this, readjusting her grip on the toddler when it was showing intention to whine again.
“I can have you bowing down regardless of the kid’s… heartbeat status” she threatened.
“I know. But please, please spare him. You’ll have me at your behest for as long as I live. Information, blood… anything. Just… Just don’t hurt him.”
Vanescula looked skeptical, but set the toddler on the table anyway, looking at it to make sure it doesn’t fall over, then cast a teleblocking spell on the icyene queen.
Sure, more strategic advantage would be nice. And sure, it was entertaining to watch someone else so terrified, that they’d stutter and beg and do anything.
And then again, icyene blood was not easy to come across.
Nor were icyenes who could be emotionally controlled without having any say in the matter. And judging by the toddler’s fussy behavior and lack of wings, it was nowhere near pure icyene.
Oh well…
She turned to the other female, crossing her arms.
“For your information, one wrong move and I will still blast this chamber. And no amount of icyene magic will save your offspring. I’m watching you, send it away.”
Vanescula watched as the icyene queen focused on a contact spell, followed by a teleportation for the kid. She took that time to blast the blisterwood crossbow that lay on the floor, shattering it.
When her brothers and some of the other vyres who led the charge entered the palace, they found Vanescula standing upright, a few feet from a seemingly emotionless, half sitting-half petrified Efaritay Hallow.
“Icyene blood, anyone?”
this is a sad little drabble I came up with. Idk why I wrote it I just thought I’d also save it in here sooo yeah. there.
Also, a TW for death mentions. Just a heads up.
~
The first time I saw her as a child. Back then she was joyful and carefree, untainted by the evils of this world. I could feel her aura, pure and enthused, innocent and energetic, as a child’s aura should be. She ran barefoot in the field, smiling and giggling. At some point she noticed me, and waved, her smile never leaving her face. She was happy.
Our next encounter was years later, when she was barely a fledgling adventurer. She still ran around, her eager eyes looking around her in a gaze of admiring and astonishment, trying to measure her surroundings, searching for something. They still had that shining light within them, that childlike innocence from before. She even looked at me for a moment and smiled at me before returning her attention to whatever her little adventure required of her.
The third time we met, she had a serious expression. She was walking somewhere, her head held up high, and her hand grasping a weapon. She has grown since the last time, her adventures made her stronger, more mature… and more distant, it would seem. Her eyes lost that lively spark they used to hold. She stopped walking and turned to me. Something was wrong, I could feel it. Her aura has changed- no longer pure or energetic or enthused, but goal driven- motivated instead. Her stare was colder than I remember. Perhaps that was to be expected, she was an adult now. I had to avert my gaze. A few voices called her from afar. “Adventurer” they all spoke. She went to them. Is that her new goal and purpose?
The next time I saw her, she just stood on the spot, her one hand against the stone wall of a building, the other hand over her mouth. She was shaking, her eyes were shining again, but this time it was different. It wasn’t of innocent joy, these were unshed tears. I couldn’t even tell whether she wanted to cry but they won’t fall, or she tried to hold them back. Her eyes were a pale, lifeless shade of the pure living hue they held before. Her armour looked rusty and cracked, but it held no importance to her in her current state of mind. “World guardian!” someone called, approached by swift footsteps. Her head snapped and she looked in the general direction the call came from. I swear I could hear her mumble ‘this title again?’ as if she was tired. Perhaps she missed hearing her own name instead of ever-changing titles. I was about to leave then, and I hoped she didn’t notice me this time. I looked back at her again, and of course she noticed. She always did. She looked like she was pleading for help, but the footsteps grew closer, and she turned away from me.
And now I see her again. Or at least, I think it’s her, but I’m not sure. I stood there for at least ten minutes, looking at the unrecognizable mess she has become. She is sitting on the ground, her head grasped in her hands. She looks like she was tearing out her hair, the remainder of which looks lank. Her clothes are tattered and bloodstained, and she has accumulated a worrying number of cuts, scars and bruises. She looks sickly thin and pale, her sunken, lifeless eyes displaying no emotions at all. She isn’t shaking or crying, but she doesn’t look like she’s breathing either. She doesn’t move. I tried calling her. First by her name, then by all these titles I remembered she has, but she wouldn’t respond to me. She would usually see me, and now she can’t even hear me either. I can’t even tell if she’s still alive; she could have very well passed away and I wouldn’t know, because she is unresponsive, and her aura is gone.
I saw her before, many times. I saw how she rejoiced, how she discovered, how she accepted responsibilities, and how she finally crumbled beneath their weight; the result is heartbreaking to see. And now, as I stand before her, calling her name and offering her my hand to help her get up, I realize that we might’ve just lost. She was there to fight our battles for us, losing those she cared for one by one along the way, until she lost herself and there was no one left to fight her own battles for her, or our battles for us.
