> Erspar tu
>
> Phrase
>
> Translation: Spare the other
>
> Definition: "Erspar tu" is a phrase used to implore mercy for someone else. It's a heartfelt plea to abstain from causing harm or executing punishment.
There, on the wooden floor stage, lay a woman with golden hair. Her petite frame was clad in the traditional attire of the Menschen. She was convulsing and foaming from her stitched mouth.
What's more, in her dire condition, it almost looked like she was struggling against an unseen adversary, her body squirming in a silent battle against an invisible force. This haunting image left the onlookers both horrified and perplexed, wondering what dark forces could be responsible for such a sinister act. And yet, it was obvious.
Seeing a Menschen with her eyes and mouth cruelly stitched shut cast a chilling hush over the grand halls of Kaspian Castle Coronation festivities. The sight was unsettling, leaving both noble and commoner alike with a deep sense of unease, a clear and sharp acknowledgement that something malevolent was afoot.
Xendrix's smile broadened with a sense of pride and triumph. He was keenly aware of the advantage he now held. In his possession was a formidable arsenal, a creation of his own magic - forty-four creatures made of Nightmare, and one being of unparalleled might: the Master of the Howling Night, the former Noctavia of the Dame. And at Xendrix's eye, a true goddess who could manipulate time.
This collection was more than just a display of strength; it was a statement of his mastery over the arcane as a human. And all he needed to achieve his grand ambitions was a name, a task that had proven to be far simpler than he had initially anticipated.
Humans now had the capacity to wield magic, and they would know how to harness power effectively - if Xendrix was willing to share – yet nevertheless, he stood as living proof of this fact.
As Xendrix observed Noctavia, still writhing in her silent struggle, he commanded authoritatively, "Stop and stand up!"
At his words, Noctavia's movements ceased abruptly, her limbs tensing as she exerted an almost Herculean effort to rise. She stood upright, her posture rigid, resembling a statue in her stillness.
The crowd, witnessing this display of control, let out an almost collective gasp, a reaction that further fueled Xendrix's megalomaniacal thirst for power. The sight of him exerting such dominance over a Menschen only served to reinforce the fear he was seeding in each one present.
"Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present the most formidable among them, my own personal Magi!" Xendrix announced, spreading his arms wide in a grandiose gesture.
“Xendrix!”
Amidst the stunned silence, a lone voice from the crowd finally dared to challenge the spectacle. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Ah, Orlan, my dear old nemesis, at last, you speak up," Xendrix replied, his smile widening as he took two steps closer to the king of Spiyles.
"What are you playing at? First, you resurrect the dead, and now you enslave a Menschen with dark magic? What is all this? Have you lost your mind? Are you seeking war with Ormgrund? Is that your aim here?" Orlan accused, yet the dread in his questions was too close to home.
"Why not? Who would dare to stop me?" Xendrix's smile grew even broader, his confidence unshaken. "You, Orlan?" His questioning, rhetoric, and mocking.
King Orlan cast his gaze around the room, taking in the faces of those assembled in the grand hall. Kings and queens, nobles, banking investors, property moguls – the elite of Keblurg, all influential figures, were present.
His eyes narrowed as he contemplated Xendrix's audacious display of madness. "You foolish child, you are..." he began, but his words were abruptly cut off.
A sharp pain erupted in Orlan's abdomen, and as he looked down, he saw his own sword impaled in his gut. Blood spilt from his mouth as he staggered, realization and shock converging in his fading gaze. In his last moments, his eyes fixed on the Menschen woman on the stage, motionless yet with her hands ominously stained with red blood. It was a harrowing and final sight, signalling not just his end but perhaps the End of Times.
As his body crumpled to the floor, a collective fright rippled through the crowd, quickly turning into a tide of panic and confusion.
Nobles and dignitaries, who moments ago had been immersed in sophisticated conversation and polite laughter, now scrambled in a frantic bid to escape. The clang of overturned chairs and shattering glass filled the air as people pushed and shoved, desperately trying to find the nearest exit.
Servants and guards, equally taken aback, were swept up in the turmoil, their attempts to maintain order swallowed by the frenzy. The tall, ornate doors became a bottleneck, with guests trampling over one another in their terror-fueled rush to flee the castle's walls.
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Amidst the pandemonium, Noctavia remained eerily still on the stage, a silent watch amidst the storm of hysteria. Her presence was feared by the ominous red blood on her hands and tears hiding behind her stitches.
In an instant, the frenzied chaos of the court was replaced by an eerie, absolute stillness. Time itself had come to a standstill, freezing every person, every object in place. The once frantic movements of the nobles, their desperate attempts to escape, were now captured in a grotesque tableau, their expressions of terror and shock permanently etched on their faces.
The clinking of glasses, the rustle of silk gowns, the panicked cries – all had ceased abruptly, leaving a silence so profound it felt almost oppressive.
Xendrix strolled through the tableau of frozen figures, each one suspended in their last moment of panic. He casually pulled out a chair amidst the motionless chaos and seated himself with a self-satisfied air.
"It's quite the spectacle, isn't it?" he remarked, a twisted smile playing on his lips.
His gaze then shifted to Noctavia, still and silent like the rest but well aware. "There was always something unique about you, but I never fully grasped the magnitude of it," he mused, his eyes lingering on her. "With your power, you could have done anything, eliminated anyone who stood in your path. Yet you chose to be the loyal slut of a fool. You guys have a word for that... what was it? Vacahure somthing, right?" His laughter echoed through the silent hall, a sound that was almost hysterical in its glee.
"Where is he now, your lovely commander? Where's your charming prince to rescue you?" Xendrix taunted, his voice dripping with contempt.
He rose from his chair and began to walk leisurely among the motionless crowd. Unsheathing his sword with a casual, almost elegant motion, he methodically started stabbing the frozen figures one by one.
His movements were slow and conscious, as if he had relished every moment and had all the time in the world to indulge in this delightful macabre act.
Even a whistle escaped his lips, a tune that seemed oddly out of place in the grim setting, transforming the act into a bizarrely joyful pursuit.
Having finished his gruesome task, slashing and stabbing at the last motionless figure, Xendrix turned his attention back to Noctavia. "Put everything in motion again," he commanded.
At his word, the bodies that had been suspended in time began to collapse one after the other. The screams and frantic efforts to escape, now amplified by fresh terror, resumed with renewed vigour. The crowd that was left once frozen in a moment of horror was now a chaotic mass scrambling desperately for safety.
With a sharp, two-fingered whistle, Xendrix signalled to the lurking nightmares. They emerged, responding to his command, ready to 'finish the job' as he had indicated.
The Lamias quickly showed their true faces, each adorned with six obsidian eyes, and descended upon the panicking crowd with a voracious speed and appetite.
The living thronged and stumbled in their desperate attempts to flee, stepping even on the fresh corpses. Each Lamia was able to snatch victims with an eerie precision. The sound of torn flesh and their chewing was chilling - a sickening slurping as they drained the blood of their hapless victims.
The air was polluted with the scent of fear, blood and rotten death, a macabre aroma that seemed to invigorate the Nightmares even further. And Xendrix was mesmerised.
Their feeding frenzy was relentless and indiscriminate, cutting down nobles and servants alike. Expensive fabric, shiny jewellery, pale skin, and leather coats all were now stained and torn. Their bodies were left lifeless in the wake of the creatures' insatiable hunger.
By the time the Lamias had sated their thirst, the floor of the grand hall was coated with a macabre tapestry of the dead. Bodies lay strewn across the stone floor, their final expressions frozen in terror. The grandeur of the castle was now marred by the grim reality of death, the echoes of the night's atrocities that none could fathom.
Noctavia remained motionless in her corner, her vision partially obscured by the threads that sealed her eyes. Through the narrow slits of her eyelids, she helplessly witnessed the horrific massacre happening around her.
Immobilised, she was unable to intervene, scream, or even move. Desperately, she tried to find in her mind a weak point in Xendrix's spellwork, a way to break free from the alchemical bonds he had placed upon her, but the specifics of his sigils eluded her.
She felt a connection to Xendrix, an insidious link that mirrored the bond she shared with Yeso but twisted and vile. This connection repulsed her; it was a violation, a corruption of her very essence. Her Saatgut within her screamed for release, yearning to be cleansed of this defilement.
For the first time in her long existence, Noctavia found herself wishing for death. She longed to spare Yeso the agony of witnessing this carnage, the senseless spilling of blood orchestrated by Xendrix. In her heart, with the last vestiges of her strength, she uttered a silent prayer to any force that might be listening, "Please, don't let him come. Spare him from this."
"Please, I beg you, spare him," she whispered inwardly.
Deep down, Noctavia understood Xendrix's plan for Yeso. The thought of it filled her with dread, an unbearable notion that Yeso might fall into the same trap she had.
"Erspar tu!"
> In nearly every class I've taught, there's always been at least one student puzzled about how nodes and ley lines function. It's both frustrating and disappointing for a teacher to feel unable to communicate such a fundamental concept effectively. Then, one day, that tormenting question pops up again: "How does it work?" Now, it's important to understand that I've never been a sports enthusiast. Activities like football or volleyball, which many find engaging, seemed to me a waste of precious time that could be better spent nurturing the mind. However, on this particular day, I found an unexpected teaching aid in a football brought by one of my students. I asked for the ball and began my explanation: "This ball is a model of our world, the Map. It's a globe orbiting the sun just as our nine moons orbit around us. Each hexagon on this ball represents a section of our world's terrain. You'll notice not all hexagons are the same; some are distinct, like these black ones and this many white ones. Let's say the black ones represent nodes, and the white ones, well, they are not nodes. While the lines connecting them are ley lines, pathways for the transfer of information, resources, energy, whatever you can think of. For instance, this black spot could be Faewood, known for its dense forests and rich vegetation, and this other spot might be the Great Desert, the former site of Skoe Scana. If a node in Faewood and another in Skoe Scana were activated, resources could be transferred between them, and maybe the Great Desert would start to be green again." I felt a sense of pride in this analogy, and the students seemed to grasp finally the concept. That was until an unexpected question was raised: "Could someone travel through time using the nodes?" I was taken aback by the question and looked towards the last row, where it had originated. It was that boy again, Xendrix. His curiosity and insight never ceased to surprise me. But at the same time, something was wrong with this picture. ——The Hexe - Book One by Professor Edgar O. Duvencrune, First Edition, 555th Summer