Fantasy The Lost Grimoire [Closed]

The pine decking the walls of the old inn glimmered with gaily sparkling embers. It was as though the sun had died choking in the smoke rising from the village, as the darkness was only cut through by the flames left behind by the riders.

In the tight chamber where she hid, the air was getting thicker by the second, grey and bitter on her tongue as she struggled to breathe. The dirtied ball of fur that she held so tightly to her chest dug deep lines into her shoulders and back. She could feel it tremble below her chin, and the beat of her heart was close to mirroring the feline’s shudder. The pain soothed her. At least it offered the reassurance that at least one of the two beings in her care was alive. One being that she fought to keep with her as she desperately sought a crack to crawl through in order to escape.

“Vaia,” the other soul next to her murmured. Blythe’s words came out coarse and wretched, yet loud enough to cut through the shouts outside the building. “Vaia,” she reiterated. “We have to go... We have to go...”

The door that lead into the hall was open; frankly, half of it had burnt to ashes, leaving enough space for a small individual to crawl through into the other room. Yet Vaia could not bear to even peek that way, for as soon as she did, the sickening scent of burnt flesh touched her nostrils and gripped at her heart and stomach with beastly claws. In that moment, the thought of stepping on the floor imbued with her family’s blood felt far worse than choking with smoke in a narrow chamber away from the sight of it all.

“Vaia,” Blythe called again, and this time, she felt another pair of claws pull at her other shoulder in an attempt to drag her away. The cat in her embrace growled, digging deeper into the wounds. “Now. We have to leave, now.”

She could still hear the riders somewhere in the distance, but far enough to allow for an unheard skulking through the front door with a bit of luck. They had not gone yet; it seemed that the villagers were either putting up a fight, or the criminals were only jauntily taking their time. Blythe’s voice resonated like an echo in the back of her mind, barely heard over the thoughts that urged her to stay. Vaia wanted to listen and follow, yet something held the soles of her shoes pinned to the ground.

The movement of her own feet came as a surprise. The air closer to the ceiling was even utterly stiffling, stinging her eyes and the exposed flesh of her shoulders. Blythe’s hand gripped her sleeve tightly as she pulled her towards the cracked door and, with a forceful nudge, urged her through the opening first. Vaia wrapped her left tighter around the animal clawing at her side and used the other to pull herself away from the door to make room for Blythe.

“There,” she coughed out before resuming her hold and treading down through the hall with her back bent and her palm covering her mouth. Vaia followed, hiding her nose in the cat’s dirtied fur as she followed with small but hasty steps.

It felt strange looking upon it then. The violet fire had eaten away at its doors and fragments of the parquet. The image it painted was vastly different from what she had seen that morning. The souls it once brimmed with were long gone, lost in the thick smoke that imbued the room, and their voices of joy had been replaced by shouts of despair and the sound of death. She could still hear her mother’s laughter like a specter reverberating in her ears, then her trembling warning for she and Blythe to run and hide. And, mindlessly, she had, knowing there was no time to run across the hall to save both their lives.

The door before them opened into a tight alleyway behind the inn’s stables. Outside, thick clouds of smoke veiled the sun, and the faint sounds of fighting rung even louder. Vaia followed the gently waving dark locks of Blythe’s hair as she trotted silently along the path; from the back, she almost seemed peaceful, yet she knew that her eyes were filled with tears of terror. Despite being hidden from her sight, she could almost see as her sister scoured their surroundings, listening like a hare during the hunting season.

Two of the three horses tied to the poles still breathed when they reached around the timber walls to find them. The other, a dappled mare, had fallen prey to the smoke, whilst the others pulled at the rope in a desperate attempt to free themselves from their stalls. “Up!” Blythe reminded her sister as she hurried over to the side of the largest. It was not as well fed as her own mare, black of fur and dirtied with a dark viscous liquid on its nape.

“The others...”

“Already dead. Do you have a wish to join them?”

Vaia shuddered, but quickly floated next to the other mount. With a less than gentle pull, she managed to dislodge the slowly breathing creature from her shoulder and slipped it into the leather bag tied to the saddle. It landed on something bulky but soft, and before it could crawl out in fear, she closed the flap over the opening and hopped onto the back of the horse. It would try to move, she knew, but it would have to wait until they made it out of the village. The stables faced the main road, now trodden and imbued with blood and ashes, but momentarily lacking the sentinels or rogues that had passed it only moments before.

With a quick jerk, Blythe eventually untied the knot keeping the reins attached to the pole. The horse shook its head and whined loudly, earning a kick between the ribs as the woman urged it forward. It seemed to stir the deathly solitude, as in the next moment, the sound of hooves that followed was not that of her horse, but two umber steeds, their riders shrouded with dark capes as their popped from around the corner of the inn. Each held glimmering steel stuck to their sides, almost as bright as the simper that touched their glare as it landed on the two outcasts.

“Lucky ones,” one spoke, urging the horse closer towards them. The voice belonged to a man, steady but quiet, barely a murur over the crackling of the fire crawling on the walls beside them. “Left untouched... The Gods must have gotten tired of you, now.”

Vaia’s fingers fought to untie the reins of her steed as Blythe looked around in terror. They could not turn back, nor ride the other way and bump into the remainder of the wave. The first rider stirred his mount forward and, with a flick of his wrist, hunched Blythe’s spine and sent her biting the earth. Vaia let out a quick shriek as her sister fought to pull herself back up, her chest heaving with the sudden flush of pain that had flashed through her. Before she could find her balance back on her feet, the shrouded rider hurtled forward and gripped her by her hair, pulling her up just enough for her knees to float above the dirt.

“Blythe!” Vaia managed as the reins came undone, and for the fraction of a moment, her eyes seemed to catch ablaze as a line of fire spread like a vein from the burning wall, separating her from her sister and the two rogues. It bursted and crackled menacingly, pushing the dark steeds back, with the frightened woman crawling beside them. Blythe’s dampened eyes remained etched on her sister, and although silent, her lips ordered her to ride away. As the flames rose higher, Vaia could only see the tops of their heads and hear their horses whimper and trot around the fire.

She could taste both tears and pain as her eyes pathetically searched for a gateway through the flames. In the back of her mind, she knew there was naught she could do but run. Run and find help, be it for a village whose people were nothing but ashes. And she knew it had not been the Gods who had shielded her from danger, but her own doing, for there were no Gods if they had allowed such carnage upon their worshippers. If she were to run, she would not pray for her sister’s life on her way to safety, but curse those who had dared take her away.

By the time the tears drained from her eyes, her steed had already taken her deep into the woods rimming the crumbling village.

It was a waning moon just out of its half stage overhead. Black clouds seemed to part their way or miss the moon entirely, but the light was sufficient enough for the forest most nights. Yet the sounds among such a tranquil untouched area were not heard. The din of a dark and desolate scene was taking place. Illuminated not by moonlight, but by torches being held by two soldiers as a group of four struggled desperately against a group of robed figures in the dark. Already, a group had been established in the battle. One torch wielding soldier and their torch-less companion.

This group faced up against a company of six. Each dark figure wore the same robes, but two stood back holding their hands out while the phrase, "Carne enim praeter plura de vita et facti sunt" oozed out of their lips in baritone male voices on repeat like a broken record. One stood at alert as the other two held out swords with parts of their cloak dotted in a black violet metal. Nothing was clear to make out among the paltry company of four as they stood by a few trees.

Each time one of the frontline in the company attempt to approach or push against the men guarding the torch holding soldiers they were pushed back with relative ease, but each time the four tried to make a step towards the robed assailants they were interrupted as the one in the center flung strange red orbs crackling with crimson magic in their direction. The result of such energy was clear as a former member of the four's party stood singed by the magic with no light sitting in their eyes. The brave soul sat between the gap and clearly had attempted a charge to the back line of the enemy.

One particular man slashed at one of the assailing swordsmen with a long sword. The blade connected with the opponent's, but after the connection the man's sword slid down his assailant's and he forced his energy back up, making an opening from the stagger. The man made a wide slash and it connected with the robe, but the force seemed to have merely forced his opponent down. The man clicked his tongue in annoyance upon the realization that the enemy probably wore slash resilient armor under their robes.

"Fools, give in already. Your lives have little purpose for your kind, is it not your dream to become something more in death? We can promise you that you will indeed be something more," the central figure said in a raspy voice that sounded neither old nor young. Clearly he had been growing impatient with the game. His voice oozed menacingly with contempt for the fighters while being laced with false compassion.

"As if you dirty mage!" the second torch guarding fighter spat at the central figure with a clear sense of hatred in his voice. The soldier behind him looked concerned at the vulgar man, but for what could only be determined by those two. The man who had made the statement looked to the second torch holding soldier and nodded with a grin. He turned back to the dark robed men and shouted, "If you want it to end so badly then fine, let's end this damn fight!"

The man who barked fiercely charged forward with a battle cry as he dodged a strike from the obviously incompetent sword wielder and stabbed the man in the back who merely grunted in pain despite having a sword being struck through his abdomen. The central figure was about to unleash a spell when the torch wielding soldier charged for him holding the torch out to the cloth on the hand being held out.

All the while, the man charging finally managed to get to the chanters and lopped the head of one clean off with an ax. The other kept chanting as their sword wielding companion turned his back on the other two targets to defend the back line. The man with the long sword was about to charge forward due to the fatal opening, but the torch wielding soldier grabbed his arm and they ran. All the while the man looked back for the last time at the two men who had valiantly given their lives for an escape. He didn't want to accept it, not like that. Ken had been like a brother, and he refused to say good bye.

"Let me go, Horace! They left an opening! Why are we running like rabbits?!" the man yelled at the soldier as he struggled to break free. Unlike the soldier in professionally made chain mail and plate hybrid armor, the foolish man who wished to risk his life wore little more than a yellowish brown tunic with leather puffing up his figure which could be glimpsed at through the various tears in the dirty tunic.

"You idiot! Don't go back for Ken. He's resigned himself to his foolish fate. If you want to do your brother in arms a favor, make his sacrifice valid by living. Now turn around before they catch on to us, Caelin!" the soldier shouted as he pulled his ally off further into the woods. Once they were sure of their escape the two rested against a tree.

They rested there for a few spells before the sound of footsteps alerted them. Horace and Caelin looked at the figure barely illuminated by the moonlight with both hope and unease as it slowly walked towards their location. When the torchlight finally connected to the figure, a cloak matted with tiny bits of armor could be made out. Horace stood between Caelin and the lone mage. Caelin drew his sword and tried to walk beside Horace, but the soldier cut him off. He looked back to Caelin and smiled warmly. "Live, or your mother is going to find a way to kill me after I'm dead."

Caelin bit his lips for a moment in conflict, but the image of Ken was still burning strong in his mind. He wasn't about to lose Horace as well. The mage stared at them with a chilling glare as he continued to walk forward with his hands barely hidden in his cloak. Horace took his broadsword and attempted to slam it onto the mage's head, but an arm stood in the way. Horace looked in shock as the mage blocked the blow with his bare hands. The upper arm was shown and it looked as though no muscle or fat surrounded the bone to make a healthy rounded arm. The hand oozed black awful smelling blood. It was as if the arm didn't belong to the mage at all.

In a flash though, the arm was severed and the mage looked at it as if he were inspecting a flesh wound, insignificant. In his other hand was a black obsidian-like dagger with the grim imagery of an eye with a garnet iris. The dagger was well cut and ornamented for such a grim tool, but it was clear the intention would have been to stab Horace. Caelin stood above the arm now sitting on the ground. Horace looked at him fiercely and was about to bark orders when a red ball of crackling energy made contact with him and he cried out in agony. The mage stepped up to Horace and sent his dagger into Horace's chest. The garnet glowed briefly and the mage pulled it out after a few seconds.

Caelin attempted to stab the mage with his sword, but the dagger swiftly turned on him and was sent deep into his abdomen, but Caelin kept pushing until the mage was on stabbed onto the ground. The mage let go of the dagger before the garnet could begin glowing and Caelin backed up to pull the strange tool out of his abdomen. Caelin took the dagger and walked up the mage who was attempting to take the sword out of him, but proved unsuccessful with his bony arms.

The mage looked at Caelin with a wide eyed empty expression and Caelin sent the dagger deep into his throat. Caelin soon pulled his sword out and began staggering further into the woods until he leaned up against a tree with a trail of blood leading to his location. He chuckled grimly to himself and said dryly, "Sorry Horace. My mom's probably gonna kill you twice as promised. At least you two get to meet again, right?" Caelin felt oddly content sitting under the tree. As time marched on his body began to feel colder ever so slightly. Unless an animal found him first, it would take Caelin a good while to meet his end.

Vaia could taste the sting of blood in her mouth. She had been gritting her teeth from the cold and managed to bite the inside of her cheek more than once with the movement of the horse beneath her. The rain had not poured as plentifully within the woods, yet as she found herself at the very edge rimmed only by young shrubs and dry bushes, it seemed as though the sky was either unleashing its wrath upon her, or deeming her in need of a good bath.

The cottage before her overlooked a small river rippling across her path, with a makeshift bridge built out of wood that barely withheld against the current. It was not as imposing as any of the homes in her village, but much rather resembled a larder with one window towards the woods, and the other towards the water. There was a small garden delimited by rocks carefully placed in the shape of a fence filled with bushes of various hues of green and violet, wolfsbane and nightshade rimming one side.

There was a reticence within her at the thought of advancing. It had been a day and a night since fleeing the burning village, and even there and then, she felt uneasy, as if looking behind, she would see the two robed mages striding towards her with their daggers stained with her sister’s blood.

A noise disturbed the music of the rain, short and acute, as the door of the cottage cracked just enough for a small, dark figure to crawl out of it. The woman resembled something akin to a strange mushroom: she wore dark garments, oddly sewn together in strange shapes bulging out around her shoulders and elbows and a wide hat with laces that tied right below the chin. Her face was pale and spent, ribbed by deep wrinkles, but even from afar, she could tell the eyes were younger than the shell.

“I di’n’t expect visitors!” a trembling voice shouted to reach the side of the opening where Vaia stood. “Well, come in! I’m not coming’ there to get you!”

Turning around, she left the door cracked behind her as she disappeared into the larder. Vaia could feel Snout shake and scratch at the linen below her leg. They were both hungry, yet the thought of stepping into the unknown held her back. ‘What else do I have to lose?’ Her family had been turned to ashes, and her sister had likely joined them soon after her escape. The Lords would receive word of the attack with or without her input, and with a dash of luck, other villages would not be turned into sites of carnage before the rogues’s deeds were brought to an end.

With a quick jolt, Vaia dismounted her horse and lead it towards one of the poles supporting the roof of the porch. The ground was soft beneath her feet and felt as though it would swallow her whole if she did not move. With the reins tied, she gave the steed a gentle pat and gently untied the leather bag containing Snout from the side of the saddle. The cat poked its nose through a small opening in the flap and peeked at whom had dared to disturb it, although with a slight touch of contentment. Holding it tight to her chest, she stepped through the crack and closed the door behind her.

Within the room, a gush of warmth washed over her entirety. The walls were plated with walnut wood and decorated with dried herbs either pinned down or hanging from braided strings. It was tight, but filled to the brim with trinkets the old woman seemed to gave gathered along the years. Close to the window overlooking the woods, a fire was burning below a cauldron, sending an amalgam of scents from bitter smoke to caramelized onions and parsley.

The woman had been waiting for her by the side of her boiling meal. “Take a seat, let that beast out,” she chuckled dryly as she gestured towards the sole chair at the table in the middle of the chamber. “It’s warm here, yes, but you should still let that pretty dress of yours dry. Looks like fine cotton... One would what a Lady like you would be doing lost in the woods, eh? But I don’t. It’s dark times, my child... Dark times.”

“You ought to leave soon,” Vaia spoke as Snout happily crawled out of the bag and hopped onto the floor. “There are riders coming your way. Mages. They turned my home to ashes, they -“

“Oh, dear,” the woman sighed theatrically. “War has nothing to do with an old woman. They have nothing to take from me. But do not worry. They will not come looking for you here.”

She began stirring the pot leisurely, as though Vaia was merely a child telling tales that popped into her last night’s dreams. “They have my sister,” she said. “I managed to flee, but they have her.”

“Flee? You think you managed to escape? Naïve, dear. No... They let you go. If it was mages, indeed, then otherwise fire would not have stopped them from taking your soul as well. Had they wanted to have you... Then you would not have been here talking to me.”

Vaia’s stomach clenched at the woman’s words. She was their messenger, it seemed, and they knew she would try to come back for her sister. Murderers had simple desires but were far from simple beings. She had not bothered to ask of the strange mention of fire; one would not take much to guess after the mention of ashes, but the old woman did appear to know more than she showed. Close to the leg of her chair, Snout seemed to be just as cautious about its surroundings, carefully sniffling the floor and the petals fallen from the ceiling.

As the host turned, she placed a hearty bowl of stew before her on the table, and drudgingly turned to grab a second, as well as a handful of dried bread. Her stomach clenched yet again, this time in hunger; she had not eaten in too long and had barely stopped a few sips of water. Her lips were dry and her eyes sunken, almost blurred with fatigue. “I have nothing to pay you with,” Vaia muttered, despite the distracting rumbling of her gut, to which the woman simply raised her palm.

“Pays to be good. And honest.” She gave her a warm smile and, bringing a log beneath her, settled herself ontop of it across the table. “Though, I could use something to take care of the mice... There ain’t no charm for that, I’m afraid. And the cat might not mind a place to run around rather than a bag as old as I am.”

Vaia pursed her lips, but did not hesitate before accepting. She had considered letting Snout go in the woods, but she had not had the heart to do so. A warm shed was nowhere as luxurious as an inn, but better than the exposure of the woods. Perhaps she would come back to get it once everything returned to normal and she could call a place her home again, with or without Blythe. Weeping and praying had not yet brought her back, but there could be other ways.


Dawn came as sudden as she had fallen asleep on the makeshift bed on the floor of the old woman’s kitchen. It had been a relief to rest against dry ground, in dry clothes. The gown had not been a perfect fit, but comfortable enough if tied around the middle with a lace to keep it from twisting about in her sleep. She had tied her hair in a braid tight to her scalp, and as she moved her hand to undo the knot, she felt her dark locks spring into newly shaped curls that brought a certain sense of safety.

Once upon a time, when the state of her hair had been a priority as she woke up in the morning, ready to greet the guests and get the inn ready alongside her mother.

It had been strangely difficult to wish the old woman a good life. Despite her previous reassuring, Vaia knew there was always a chance that the mages would make a turn and find the cottage just as she had. She was unsure which way they had gone after the attack, yet perhaps the Gods had not been as merciless in keeping her own path safe until then.

Snout had not bothered to bid its farewell. That morning, the rain had ceased enough for critters of the earth to surface and offer the feline a new sort of entertainment. It was only her steed that seemed to be eager to leave, for as soon as it saw her, it whined and pulled at the reins tied to the pole. As soon as Vaia undid the knot and hopped on the saddle, it took a few giddy steps back and shook its mane, spraying cold droplets around it.

The woman had made sure to pack the now empty bag with a few goods for her travels - a few slices of dried ham, a kitchen knife, half of an old blanket and a bundle of soaproot, ontop of the thin garments of its old possessor. They made for a comfortable cushion for her leg against the staddle, yet the other still seemed to have begun to chafe. By the time she dived deeper into the woods, the pain slowly became more noticeable, but something she decided to overlook for the time being.

The dryness did not last long. Through the thick leaf ceiling, Vaia could soon feel droplets of rain accompanying the sound of it hitting the flora. The silence, otherwise, was deafening; it was almost strange how she had not found any creature on her path, but could not have been more thankful. She had nothing to defend herself with but fire, and barely that if the skies began pouring even louder.

Yet the tranquility of the painting did not last for long. As the sun went down after its peak, the thickness of the clouds sent the woods into darkness. In that part of the forest, the trees were more scarce, signaling a field nearby, an opening she would have to ride around. She had left the river long behind, but a constant rustling seemed to follow her that did not belong to her steed’s hooves. She felt her heart clench, trembling against her chest as she advanced on the path drawn in her mind, and the deeper she delved, the louder the rustling got.

It was almost as though another breathed near her side. Within her chest, she could feel another heart reverberate. She was moving, but the source of the sound stagnated. Taking in a deep breath, she dug into the leather bag by her side and clenched her fingers around the hilt of the blunt knife.

“Who goes there?” she spoke and waited. She could hear her heart drumming in her ears, but her steed was calm and contained. ‘Had it been wolves, it would have panicked and turned its ears.’ It was the least she could say to soothe her fears. “Who’s there?” she called again, and this time stirred her horse towards the murmuring darkness.

The rain had been a blessing in disguise for Caelin as much as curse as he groaned at how cold he was beginning to feel thanks to the damnable water pouring from the heavens over the night. It washed off some of the blood, and insects such as flies would not be trying to lay their eggs in the wound. That wouldn't help though as the loss of blood had reduced Caelin's over all ability to retain heat. A fever was slowly setting in as the wound began stinging more and more as time went on. The searing hot pain was now only a sharp sting which Caelin didn't like.

Caelin had only received minimal rest over the night. He kept reminding himself how if he fell asleep now, he may never wake up again. Bora would definitely find a way to punish him for death. Caelin grimaced at the thought of his godfather's wrath should he fail to return. When the rain finally slowed, Caelin managed to earn some rest until a fever woke him and he began cursing through his teeth as he looked at the wound with dried blood surrounding it. Caelin hadn't brought any bandages from their camp and now he wanted to punch himself for it. Camp was abandoned and there was no way he was returning in this condition.

The wound began opening up again as Caelin tried to shift his posture on the tree. His heavy breathing and hissing groans didn't allow him to hear the hooves nearby until he fell over after a female voice called, "Who's there?" Caelin felt himself stumble back against the tree and cried out in pain as the wound opened up into a steady stream of blood again.

"Can you not make a person with a hole in their gut f-" Caelin tried speaking, but speaking sent searing pain into his body and he began hissing. Several vulgar curses were squeezed out of Caelin when he began saying, "There's a...burnt out campsite slightly to the...north. Grab some...bandages and horrid smelling salve from nearby a bearskin bedroll. If you dare...steal it or anything else I'm going to make sure to haunt you when I croak."

Caelin didn't really want to care who the person was, so he could only threaten them with a haunting. If this person was a bandit of any kind, Caelin hoped they were cowardly enough to actually believe his threat. Caelin would've crawled there himself if he didn't have a throbbing wound that could get infected by dragging it along the filthy ground. Caelin had seen what rotting gut holes looked like, and he did not want to become another one of those people. Caelin had some faith though, since he was near a village. This person was likely one of the residents, and that in of itself made Caelin hopeful he was near civilization.

It was a man’s voice that had been haunting Vaia’s ears as she urged her horse farther. The forest creaked as the rain began pouring with an irrefragable force, slashing through the leaves like a shroud of lucent arrows. She could not see much through the water stinging her eyes, but judging my the volume of the noise, he was somewhere in the close distance. Close enough to reach her if failed to keep her eyes open against the dampness.

A wave of fear washed through her then, boiling and aching, and she felt herself begin to shudder. Perhaps it was a sort of wicked trickery to lure her in. Had the mages found her so easily in the depths of the forest? She could almost hear Blythe’s groan as the rogue had pulled at her hair and dragged her across the ground, and could not help but picture herself in the same image.

Soon, the droplets of rain tainting her vision were replaced by tears of fear. She clenched her fingers around the knife, the steel digging painfully into her flesh and bones. It was of no use, she knew, for it took nothing more than a glare to send her into agony or set her mount ablaze. The horse moved, and so did the ground beneath her, slow and steady, until it brought her to a small valley below a formation of oaks bending over the hollow.

A silhouette trembled against the trunk of a tree, barely able to articulate a threat. His voice seemed to grow weaker as it urged her to find help. Lowering herself into the valley, Vaia lead her steed closer to the stranger and hit her heels against its sides to stop it. With a careful hop, she dismounted and let her feet sink into the ground not too far from her only escape.

“Is this a trick?” Vaia grunted, lifting her weapon towards him menacingly. The man did not move. Beneath locks stuck to the sweat dripping on his forehead and the dirt darkening his cheeks, she could not discern his features or his age. He lacked a banner, but one could tell he was no mere farmer. A dark, viscous liquid stained the leather beneath his tunic dirtied with mud and rust. It glimmered in the faint light that still managed to peek from behind the leaves, and dripped down to his side.

Vaia’s stomach turned at the sight and scent of blood. She felt her own sink down to her toes, her face pale and her green orbs darkening in fear and disgust. It was the scent of death - the same scent she had felt when passing through the hall where her family had met their end. And she had felt it on her tongue upon seeing the mages take her Blythe away, her only anchor to the earth that the Gods had put her in.

“What happened to you?” Whoever had done it could be near. The wound looked fresh, but the smell gave away that it had only just opened yet again. Regardless, she had no wish to leave seeking for bandages, nonetheless in a mercenary’s camp.

For a moment of her weakness, she did feel empowered. This once, she was the one standing, whilst the stranger was at a disadvantage. She was the one breathing, whilst the other fought to do so, choking on his words before her. In her mind there was mercy, and there was suspicion; there was compassion, and there was fear. If the former got the best of her, then all her efforts to survive had been futile... for nothing.

The thought of the mages having found their way there terrified her. Back home, all they had left behind was fire, and it looked to be a pattern in their craft. Forcing her hand to cease trembling, Vaia let out a breath and took a step towards the wounded. The knife in her hand started glowing in a deafened hue of scarlet and pointed it towards the bleeding open cut.

“Tell me who you are,” she ordered, “or I will carve you deeper than your enemy already has.” There were tears in her eyes, tears she struggled to fight back that chipped away at the harshness of her own threats. The knife emanated a pleasant warmth into her palm, whilst the tip sparkled with embers. Fire burnt, indeed, but it was faster than some stinking salve or tepid bandage. The scent would be just as delightful as the pain, she thought, but if the man refused to speak, she might never get to know it.

Oh great, it was a crazy one. Caelin looked at the woman with his younger face of mid twenties and dirt brown eyes through messy dark blonde hair. He watched in terror as he saw the blade magically spark to life with the fire element and his eyes widened. A sudden urge of adrenaline shot through his veins and he began crawling. Ignoring the pain as the dirt penetrated and burnt his gaping wound. He made an impressive meter before he collapsed and rolled over pulling at his long sword in futility and shouted, "There were more of you?! You damn mages, what the hell do you want?!"

Caelin reached for the dagger he had stolen from the lead mage and stabbed it into the ground with a panicked expression. He forcefully pulled himself up on a tree and drew his long sword in one hand. During the process blood began spilling from his abdomen at a far faster rate than the steady gushing. Caelin picked up his long sword and struggled to maintain his composure. He held the sword up impressively for someone at death's door. He looked at the woman in the eyes and then felt delirious.

Caelin collapsed on his back and breathed heavily. This was the end so he might as well answer her question, "Caelin Studis. Satisfied? Couldn't you mages have let Ken and Horace die with some damn dignity or am I the exception?" Caelin began pushing himself up with his face turning pale. He looked at the glowing blade and said, "Ugh, at least I can die warm I guess. I gotta apologize to Horace when I see him." Caelin began chuckling grimly to himself He then pointed to his neck and finished off with, "Could you at least make it quick? I'm sick of waiting for the reaper now."

Caelin then let go of his sword and closed his eyes feeling his mind beginning to drift off. By now he was tired, maybe falling asleep would be less painful. Caelin felt his mind grow numb and succumbed to sleep. Ironically he was snoring slightly, and it had only been around twenty seconds since he had collapsed.

It was true then, the rogues had indeed found their way to others, and seemed to be closer to her than she had hoped. As Vaia’s eyes scoured the man before her, she could tell that he had nothing to do with those who had murdered her family; if anything, he was but a victim, one just as frightened for his life as she had been the moment she had heard the first shriek of death only a few nights before.

She bit his lip and stood back as the man made the futile attempt to stabilize himself on his feet and seize his weapon. He was a warrior, but she could not fear him. Despite knowing no spells, it only took the side of a boiling blade to his cheek to bring him back down on his knees and quench his drive. It was only her steed that whined and shook its head, startled by the sudden movements and shouts, and Vaia simply grazed its temple with the back of her palm to soothe it.

‘I am not one of them.’ She wished to find the courage to part her lips, but the man was already slipping into unconsciousness by the time he spilled his last word. The wound was still gushing blood, staining his tunic darker - a sign that his heart was, at least, still beating at a worryingly slow rate. The movement of his limbs and the effort of speaking was merely sending him in and out of his mind.

Taking in a deep breath of the damp air, she lowered herself on her knees and, grabbing the rim of his tunic, lifted it just enough to expose the wound and blood it had been stuck to. Vaia lowered the glowing knife onto the wound and pressed into it with short bursts, whilst kicking the sword in the man’s hand with her foot. The blade rolled off into a puddle, hitting the ground with a loud clink as the dagger slipped from his now flaccid hand and kissed the earth.

“If you dare hurt me when you wake up,” she whispered, holding her breath, “I will make sure the next time I touch you with this knife, it won’t be to help you.”

She knew he could not hear her. Or, perhaps he could, but was too weak to be able to respond. Either way, their common enemy had at least made sure to drain any strength from him before abandoning him in the woods, for they knew he would have perished on his own. It was their signature, it seemed, to toy with their victims and feast on their pain like it alleviated some of their own. Or, perhaps it did. Perhaps it was why their craft was so much frowned upon by others.

When the knife cooled down, Vaia lifted it from the man’s abdomen to reveal a perfectly seared wound. She rose from her place and went to grab the thin ivory shirt that the old owner of the bag had jammed into it and, with a strong pull, managed to rip a patch rimming the very bottom. Then, she brought it to her rain dampened hair and squeezed to moisten it, before slowly beginning to scrub away at the blood surrounding it, but leaving the scar untouched. It would hurt when he woke up, she knew, but he would take the pain over death, for he had fought it for too long to give up near the shore.

As the night came down upon the woods, the winds blew colder, sending tendrils of ice through her flesh and bones. The thought of returning to the old woman’s house was tempting, but she was not strong enough to lift the man on her shoulders and atop her horse, certainly not without reopening the seared cut, and she could not find it within her to leave him there as food for the wolves. Out of the many wounds she had helped her mother treat, such had seemed like nothing, yet the pain would carry thrice the weight of the initial blow.


The hints of dawn found her still awake by the fire she had managed to kindle through the night. Plenty of dry leaves and twigs had kept it aglow, yet it had barely been enough to ensure warmth. The half of a blanket the old woman had so kindly given her now lay ontop of the wounded, barely there to cover the burn and a portion of his legs and torso. Every now and then, she made sure to check on his breathing, if only to know when to leave if his heart no longer beat. He still smelled of blood, perhaps reeked of it for the sensitive nostrils of the beasts within the forest, but the fire had managed to keep them away until then.

Every other moment, she expected for the mages to return. There seemed to have been sentinels sent to scour about, which meant that the group which had burnt her village to the ground could have been naught but a fragment of their stark power. The thought frightened her; she would never be truly safe until she passed through the forest and found the closest stronghold, and perhaps even there she would not be truly safe. It was no wonder only hunters and soldiers dared to venture so far East, close to the marshes and rocks of the once secluded’s lair.

Yet there was a chance that, if she did stumble upon them again, they would have Blythe. That the Gods had not truly been absent altogether. They knew that Vaia was a mage, for they had witnessed it with their own eyes; if it was her baited return that they desired and if she had the sole fragment of certainty that her sister was alive, then they might have the pleasure to see eachother again.

Caelin groaned as his consciousness began returning to him. A fever dream had accompanied him into his slumber, and his body began feeling warmer than it should. It was only slight, but when he finally gained his senses to realize something soft sat on his abdomen and a fire cracked nearby that he dismissed the idea of an infection. Caelin had recovered some strength in his sleep, but it was still waning. The body had finally managed to do some healing and he felt that in his abdomen. The searing sting was slowly being replaced with great discomfort, so something was being done. Caelin leaned up and removed the blanket to see a burn wound where the stab was before and clicked his tongue in annoyance. He would have to open it back up later, but at least the wound was closed for now.

Caelin turned his head to see his savior, the same girl who had threatened him with a burning knife. Caelin groaned as he finally sat up carefully and looked around. He was in the same spot. Caelin felt his stomach and winced as he placed his hand on it. Caelin looked off to the north and internally whined about his situation. Caelin had been injured badly before, but he had never had to treat himself off in the middle of nowhere with no one around.

Caelin looked over to the girl who had saved him and decided to speak. The first words to come out of his mouth were, "Thanks." Caelin looked around briefly for his long sword and pulled it up to his side attempting to see if he could prop himself up. Caelin stumbled back down lightly before sighing and looking at the fire. "If possible, I would really like that horrid smelling salve. It'll be far more effective than attempting to burn it shut. I can attest to its effectiveness. It's creator is very talented after all."

Caelin looked towards the horse and eyes it slightly. He turned his head away then tried to climb back to his feet. Caelin shrieked under his breath as he finally sent his body upward and was well on his legs. Hobbling northwards would be a ten minute trip, but if Caelin could get a way to stabilize his journey it could be seven. Caelin looked to his sword and pressed the sheathed blade into the ground like a cane. Caelin grinned slightly to himself as he inched his way forward and then accidentally twisted his gut a little. Caelin cried out in pain, but he leaned on a nearby tree and kept looking forward. The wound didn't reopen yet, so Caelin could guess that it clotted. All that was left was agonizing pain.

"Sorry to ask you again, but I really need to get to my stinking encampment. No worries, everyone that should be there is most definitely dead."

The night had passed far too slowly. As light began to slowly seep through the forest roof again, Vaia was thankful for some of the languor to fade away. Her eyelids had gotten so heavy that she feared they would soon enough close, sending her into a deep slumber from which she might not wake up if the creatures of the wild found the trace of blood left behind by the mercenary.

When the man began to shift, Vaia mentally prepared herself for him to put up a fight, yet the first word that came out of his mouth was one of a strangely peaceful gratitude. “Thanks?” She had expected him to fear her or doubt the reasons she had chosen to help him for. “I saved your life... Your meaningless life... And all you say to me is thanks?”

For to her, a stranger, it was meaningless. In that moment, she felt both a boiling rage and relief wash over her, at the thought that, at least, he had not tried to turn on her. Her own leniency had surprised her, almost as much as the man’s carelessness in that moment. It was clear that he struggled to speak as though nothing was wrong, yet deep within his voice she could hear the pain that he so much fought to keep hidden. The wound would not heal so soon, he should have known.

Pulling herself up from her nest, she grabbed the blanket and folded it to fit back into her leather bag. “The wound is better left alone for the next day... I doubt any foul smelling salve could do anything more.” Frankly, she had no desire to ride into unknown territory. For all she knew, the mages left from his battle could still be there, along with the bodies of his mercenary companions. Indeed, she had heard the ache in his voice at the nonchalant mention of their deaths, but a part of her knew that he cared, given he was half sane.

“I have done my charity deeds for the day,” she said then, as she hopped atop her steed after untying its reins from around a tree trunk. “I do not know my way better than you do. I will only give you a ride to the edge of the woods, nothing more. You are no help to me wounded.” It was bitter, but necessary. She had to reach Belgrund as quick as possible before the rogues managed to bring more helpless villages to ashes. Caring for a fully grown man in the process did not seem as favourable as riding alone.

Though, at the sight of him, her heart did clench painfully. She had never been brought into such a state, yet she could imagine the pain he was enduring. The two of them seemed to have lost enough time getting their tracks washed away in that forest, and they had a common tragedy tying them in a way. “Where are you headed now?” she thought to add, a question that came to the tip of her tongue before she could think it through.

His comrades were gone, and whatever dirty deed he had been sent to do certainly did not pay the price of death. She had not been able to look around at the bodies scattered on the floor of her home, nor tainting the ground of her village, and it made her wonder if he would be able to dig through the dead to find his much coveted salve. If he would sleep there, among them, until he found the strength to set off again. If the riders were gone, it was likely that so were their horses.

‘Damn those who named the land of my home so far away.’ It would take at least another day riding to reach Belgrund, if the skies were kind and did not pour upon her anymore. The attack had taken place at the very edge where the lip of the Kingdom kissed the rocky marshes, and it had spread out fast. It made her wonder how much force it would take for them to reach the nearest town.

Caelin took a moment to himself as he leaned against a tree and took a moment to let the words the woman had said sink in. It was true she had saved his life, but he didn't really feel the need to serve her since she had threatened him when he had been fatally wounded and offered to only take him to the edge of the woods. As far as Caelin was concerned, he would be in much better shape pulling together the shared food supplies and holing up in his bearskin bedroll which would do more than enough to keep animals away. Allister's salve would get him back into traveling condition within the week, presuming he could get to it. Returning to Belgrund after that would be his priority.

"Dumping me at the end of the woods isn't my idea of safe. I'm heading to get my stuff, and rest in my bearskin roll until I can get over to Belgrund and inform the court mage, Allister. He's going to want to know what happened. There should be enough food, it was enough for five people, so I should be able to recover off of that," Caelin explained since the woman had asked her question. His sheathed sword continued to act as his cane as he limped off to the north. Before he was out of earshot he turned back and asked, "What's your name? You know mine, but I have no idea who you are. If you want me to properly repay you someday that would be useful information."

Caelin was grateful, but he had more pressing worries than owing a person his life when they had threatened him and was willing to dump him in a more open area while he was still injured. He thought his alternative heading north, back to the camp would work. All the other mages should be dead, it would be doubtful Ken would've let them live if he was making an escape opportunity. The injured mercenary also wondered how much trouble Allister would get into sending three soldiers to their death. Allister hadn't really stated whether the lord or the court had approved his decision.

Personally, Caelin would have rather been in a safer place to recover, but the edge of the woods sounded far worse if the mage riders decided to still ride around. Horses were cumbersome in wooded areas. Perhaps he could find one of the horses the mages left behind when they were in the woods. Such a discovery would be a great assistance, but for now the man could barely walk let alone climb upon and ride a steed.

It took a blind man to not see Caelin’s pain, and even then, one might hear him grunt and crawl as he struggled to move out of the nest he had bled in through the night. Frankly, it was impressive that he could still walk after all the blood he had lost on the way. Many wounded travelers had passed through Vaia’s hands, yet most of them had not made it out alive due to drainage. It was almost as though, for one reason or another, the Gods really did favour him.

That night had been such a strange occurrence that she had wondered whether she had fallen asleep more than once along the way. The danger had moved quickly from one place to the other, hurling and breaking everything in its path. It was not long until it reached them again, but long until the both of then recovered from the terror and pain. After all, the man had seen his own comrades meet their ends, as well.

She pursed her lips as she watched him, her gaze holding both worry and discontent. “You will not make it out alone,” she shouted back at him. “The wolves will get to you soon.” He likely reeked of blood to their sensitive snouts from a mile away. Belgrund was a long way from there for a man who had been bleeding for days on end, nevertheless one who did not own a mount.

‘A suicide mission,’ she sighed in her mind. ‘He must be as stupid as he is brave.’

Her heart jolted when she heard him mention Belgrund. It seemed like he was more than a mercenary, then, one sent by the Lord of the city to carry out an important deed. It was a pity it had turned into a bloody disaster. Vaia held her breath for a moment, before stirring her horse in his direction. She kept her hands tight around the reins as she slipped a bit closer to the steed’s mane, enough to make room in the back. “Your saviour, then... Hop on, if you can.”

The words left her tongue, but they did not seem like they truly belonged to her. A wounded man was a burden, whether or not they were heading in the same direction. If a man or a beast were to follow them, Caelin would not be able to defend himself, nevertheless protect her. Every inch of her being urged her to leave, but a fragment of her heart begged for her to leave, but bring him along.

No, she could not let him die on his own in the woods. Odds had it that he would reopen his wounds before he even got to his miraculous salve. If it was true and the attack had indeed managed to wipe out the entirety of his party, then she had no stray mage to worry about. She doubted it was food and shelter that they were after; the camp was likely clear, and even with an exception, with a bit of luck, they could ride out of there before Hell broke loose again.

“But my name is Vaia,” she continued. “You will owe me quite a bit after this, I reckon.” Frankly, she could use some rest on a proper bedroll rather than the solid, dirty ground. She feared sleep, if only for the dreams of the carnage she had witnessed which the Gods would never truly let her forget. Yet in those dreams, she hoped that, at the very least, she would find her sister and bring her to safety for good.

Caelin sighed with relief as he watched Vaia push forward on her horse to make room for him. The injured man pulled himself up to the steed with clear groans of pain being audible. He eventually managed to latch onto the horses back with his feet and was breathing with increasingly taxed effort as he stabilized himself. When he heard Vaia say how he owed her he gave a brief chuckle and said, "I guess I do. I'm not getting away with 'I'll buy you a drink' this time. Don't worry, I'll make sure after all that's happened you'll be generously rewarded."

Pointing the way to the encampment to the north, they arrived in around seven minutes on the horse's steady pace they arrived. A set of five bedrolls sat around an empty fire with abandoned knapsacks scattered around. It was a simple encampment and over by the fire near a tree towards a stream was a bearskin roll. It's soft fluffiness looked greatly safe, but despite the fact that food laid in each of the knapsacks, no footprints or signs of animals. That's what the mercenary liked about having something as dangerous as a bear making his bedroll skin, the smell drove almost all other animals away. Once the horse came to a dead stop, Caelin hopped off and walked over towards the knapsack in his bedroll and began shuffling through his supplies.

Caelin smiled as he pulled out a knife and a small tray with a closed lid. He opened it up to reveal a yellow brownish substance of a strange matter. It looked like there were pieces of fuzz in it and plant matter could be seen, but what set it apart was the fat-like consistency it held which held it together and dripped off of the lid with disturbing viscosity. It looked like hummus, but rotten and more akin to something like duck fat in consistency. If one was within a meter they could faintly smell how horrid it is. Parts of the smell also were sweet, as though someone had also made it with sugar.

Pulling up his shirt, his abdomen's wound was surgically reopened witha hunting knife. It started gushing a little, but not much. Caelin took a bit of the substance and rubbed it just inside the wound along the edges. Placing a dab within the whole wound, he winced slightly as his finger went inside. The mercenary then reached into his bag and grabbed a bandage of white cloth. He began holding it around his wound and looked towards Vaia somewhat expectantly. He made his intentions clearer by asking, "Could you please finish this wrap? Make it good and tight, but not too tight please. I'll be able to move far more faster now. The wound will heal near fully in a mere ten days. Don't ask what the stuff is, Allister said it's better not to ask. I guess a mage like Allister has some secrets to keep. Preserved food is sitting in the knapsacks, so if you're feeling hungry just take some."

Vaia was not surprised when the man hopped atop her horse with little to no convincing work. He was wounded and desperate, and he knew that there was a small chance he would survive the wild without any help. In the darkness of an old forest and surrounded by enemies, one’s morale did tend to slip as easily as his will to fight. The only reason she had not given up entirely was the hope that Blythe was not truly gone.

The way to the camp was not too long. Thankfully, it was close enough to the forest to allow for shelter in case of danger, although taking in the state of it, Vaia doubted that anyone would be as desperate as to try to attack it. It looked... deathly. She could not see any blood staining the grass after the rain, for which she was genuinely thankful, although stifling memories of her own home came with much more difficulty as she looked upon the site then.

Despite not having known any of Caelin’s comrades, she did feel a pang of pain strike her heart at the thought that they were gone, and that he had likely witnessed it with his own eyes. He had been quiet about his suffering, just as he was being quiet about his pain then, and Vaia was dumbfounded as to how the man could move without much effort or grunting after having lost so much blood over the previous nights.

Eventually, she dropped from her own steed and made sure to tie it to one of the poles barely keeping a lone tent up. The place was eerie, but she could not allow herself to be picky when such comfort was offered. She had no gold on her to pay for proper housing within an inn, and doubted she would see a roof above her head for quite some time, unless a farmer was kind enough to offer her shelter put of the goodness of his heart, fact which she was utterly skeptical about.

It did not take long until the thoughts of warmth and safety were replaced by the foul smell coming from a salve oozing out of an old container. Vaia bit her tongue as she watched Caelin lift up his shirt to expose the wound and winced herself as she cracked it open just enough to allow for the salve to seep in. “You are inhuman,” she muttered, already sick in her stomach. The absence of pain on his face or in his voice bothered her. “Have you done this before? Does it not hurt you anymore?”

Out of all, burns were the most agonizing sorts of pain. The man was either completely mad or had seen enough battles to be almost entirely immune to the pain.

At his command, Vaia saw herself back to her horse to rip another piece of material to use as a bandage. “You should change, as well,” she suggested as she came towards him and kneeled down by his side. “Perhaps you’ll find a spare shirt, or you could use the clothes in my leather bag... They were never mine to begin with.” Her hands worked deftly to wrap the rag around his middle and tied it with a tight knot, yet loose enough to prevent chafing. “You need to clean yourself, at least. You are more bloody than a skinned hare.”

His mention of food only brought a sour taste on her lips. After smelling that salve, she doubted she would be able to eat anything for a good while, and to be frank, she had not eaten for so long that she was not hungry anymore. “I have some dried ham in my bag,” she offered, as though that had been enough to render her full, and went to sit on the bedroll he had suggested was his. “How much do you reckon we will be staying here? I cannot be watching you for five days... Belgrund is one day away, although with your weight atop that old steed, it might take a bit longer.” It was not the largest of cities, but it was enough to shelter them for a while, and likely had the right ears to listen to their story.

Silver Wolf