After looking our new body over for a moment, we decided that we needed a name. There was power in names and we were neither Morgana, nor Lenore. We were both, yet neither, a whole that was greater than the sum of its parts. Our moment of contemplation lasted for a mere moment, knowledge of the urgency of our mission driving us to simply take the name of the Raven’s Shadow, abbreviated to the Raven, as name and title for us. It would suffice.

Looking up, we realised that the world had changed, our eyes seeing more than they ever had, letting us see into the darkest shadows, the absence of light no longer enough to impede our sight. But it was more than that, there was something more, an innate glow to many things, a soft glow from the trees around us and the grass beneath our feet, a stronger glow from our companions and the centaur up ahead. And, in the distance, a quickly dimming glow from the centaur Adra had shot just before. Looking down, I noticed that there was a muted glow below us, like a light shining through a curtain.

“Are we seeing life?” one half of us asked, not quite sure what to make of the strange perception.

“It might be souls. But it matters not, we have a task to complete, and complete it we will.” the other half answered, slowly walking forward on strange, yet familiar legs. It was as if we had become what we always should have been. Familiar, comforting. Powerful.

Silently, we stepped up to the sleeping centaur, our mind spinning magic with an ease that made us want to crow in joy, displaying our feathers for all to see. But that would make us fail our mission, so the centaurs below would have to contend to bask in the majesty of our magic, staring into the black abyss until they realised that as they gazed into the abyss, we were looking back into them.

Mist formed all around us, quickly spreading through the forest behind us, as we placed our hand on the centaurs head, gently stroking her cheek, only now realising that we could look eye to eye with the creature, standing as tall as Sigmir did. It was an interesting experience, not as pleasant as soaring above the world but it was good to have a lofty station.

Using our new claws as carving-tools, we started to get to work, the centaur now fully in the grip of our magic, her mind muted and in a deep sleep. But as we were carving into her flesh, her mind started to struggle, the pain providing a focus that allowed her instincts to fight. Not that it would help her.

We replaced the tendrils of shadow we had used before with vines of ice, wrapping around the centaurs form, keeping her upright and in easy reach, as it wouldn’t do to bend over. That would be just undignified.

With the centaur bound, we relaxed our grip on her mind, following an impulse from one part of me, wanting to tap into the centaurs feeling, trying to merge them with the spellcasting that we had in mind. Maybe it would be possible to use the centaur as a focus for the spell, casting it as if the centaur was a staff or wand, carving the runes directly into her flesh, using her mind as a resource, just as her lifeblood was powering our working.

The idea intrigued us, the possibilities it would offer rousing our curiosity. The mind was a fascinating thing, a bridge between the physical and the spiritual, allowing a body of flesh and blood to manipulate the Astral, the essence of the Universe itself. So many possibilities, so little time.

The runic formation we idly carved into the centaur, after stripping off her armour, was a relatively simple one, most of the runes relating to the centaurs blood and the power within, but some not, they allowed us to link the centaur to the mist that was slowly flowing out of the forest, towards the centaur-camp. So far, the night was still silent, the centaur gagged and muted, the sounds of pain muffled and concealed.

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It was interesting, the wounds we had carved with our claws were tinged with a small amount of our Astral Power, not just due to the fact that they were a runic formation, but also innately, from the power flowing through our claws. Normally, it would allow us to freeze them with ease, causing excruciating pain and suffering but right now, that was not what we were after, not solely at least. Now, we were following the pain, using it to bypass the instinctual barriers the centaurs mind had put up, allowing us to link the pain in her mind directly into the formation, drawing it out with the Astral Power flowing through her blood.

No words needed to be spoken, no chants to be used, a mere application of our will against the fabric of the world set the magic we had prepared in motion. The mist behind us started flowing forward, my mind keeping control of it while feeding it with power and using it as a medium for the rest of our magic. The centaur in our grasp was giving us a good template for what we wanted to affect, it really wouldn’t do to cause our friends distress. It was especially important to a part of us to keep Sigmir safe. But hurting the centaurs, that was just fine in our opinion.

“Run, flee, the wolves are coming for us.” our voice whispered softly, letting it be carried by the wind that moved the mist, allowing our memories of centaurs, getting hunted down by wolves in a misty, snowy forest flow out. Not just into the centaur in our grasp, even if she was subjected to the brunt of it, but into the mist itself.

Slowly, ever so slowly, as to break the centaur we were using as a focus, we were draining its life, using the power inherent within to power our spell. At first, only few centaurs down in the camp realised what was happening, the darkness of the valley concealing what was happening from the few that were awake to witness it but soon, the mist was seeping through gaps in the canvas into their tents, smothering those within, just as the confused guards were retreating from the effect, some turning to flee, others getting enveloped by the mist. And once they were inside, their minds were within our grasp.

The emotions from our focus echoed through the mist, causing fear and anguish in the centaurs, even as we were softly whispering into the wind, letting memories infuse it, just as our imagination was running wild, using some of the things we had seen influence us. Nethersprites, burrowing through the centaurs flesh to feast on their souls, hungry wolves, napping at their heels, an endless winter killing their crops, causing their young to starve. A cold, damp darkness, swallowing them up, cutting them off from everything they had ever seen or known. The mists would be their grave, a lonely grave, until their Queen commanded them to rise, to dance for our pleasure.

The close proximity to our focus allowed us to get a close impression of the effect of our spell and what we felt was glorious. The centaur we had in our grasp hadn’t just given up, she was praying, fervently, devoutly. Not for freedom, no, just for a release from the pain, for death to claim her and end her suffering. We could feel her soul, straining to escape the mortal coil, trying to leave the flesh it was bound to, as pain was rippling through it, a pain unlike any it had ever known.

Down below, the silence was gone, broken by screams of fear, by a pandemonium as the centaurs were trying to flee, even as rumbling explosions from the other direction caused the night to be illuminated, streams of fire burning through the air. But that couldn’t be allowed, the mists were our domain, and what was ours would remain as such.

We could feel the life of our focus flicker, trying to escape but that, too, couldn’t be allowed, so we started to slowly let our own power infuse it, using the body of the centaur as nothing more but a focus, a prison for the tattered remains of her mind, driven insane by pain and fear. But her soul, her soul was still strong, unbroken. it was curious, even as the mind was a tattered mess, no coherent thoughts remaining within, the soul was straining to be free, yearning for release.

We were curious, how long would it last? How long could we keep the soul imprisoned in the body, how long would the body last, with a broken mind and tortured soul? So many questions, so little time to figure them out.

A tragedy, truly.