The path downhill and along the road to the sinking chapel was a cakewalk. The gauntlet from there to the cathedral was a hike, perilous for twisted ankles but otherwise manageable. Elia reckoned the castle should then have been an uphill jog with sketchy footing, and not the high intensity freeclimb she was currently experiencing.
The sixty–foot drop on the outside of the inner walls turned the analogy uncomfortably literal.
Out along the walls, one wrong step could be fatal. At least the vines grew thick outside, to the point one could be convinced it was them who were holding up the crumbling façade of military might. At one point, she failed to find the next handhold and one of the thicker vines reached out to her. At first, it seemed as though it was offering a foothold, but the further she climbed, the more their gifts turned invasive and persistent.
Evil forest! EVIL! EEEE–!
An unfriendly vine grasped her, coiling up her leg.
“You need consent!” She yelled while hacking at it with her knife. The vine retreated, as did its fellows.
The forest has ears. Run!
She stopped questioning the how and the why then, focusing only on her escape from the privy chambers a pair of knights had cornered her in. Squeezing out the window in her chest plate had been a pain. If only she knew how much she had to climb, she would have taken her chances with the knights.
You’re almost there. Pleaaase make it…
With herculean effort she grabbed the parapet and heaved herself up, over and onto solid ground.
Holy beans, holiest of holy, holy WOW. A nervous laugh echoed while Elia lay sweating and groaning on the cold ground. We made it! YOU made it!
“I’m. Awesome. Ow. Arms. Noodle.” She wiped her forehead, only managing to invite crumbs of dirt into her eye. “Dirt?”
She found herself in a courtyard-garden-combi. A cursory glance revealed pale growths and trees dressed in the colors of fall, neat white cobblestone pathways winding through the lofty garden. It didn’t even surprise her that these were the first leaves she had seen that weren’t dead. Judging by the crunch all around they wouldn’t be here for long.
Wow. A sky garden.
“Considering you’re at war with the trees,” Elia gasped, brushed aside some loose earth, “are these prisoners of war or domesticated ones?”
They’re just trees, silly, not an entire forest. But still, to find anything like this in such elevated surroundings. And the castle still goes up. How much longer do you think we have?
“Too long.” And that was after a rather successful entire day spent exploring and climbing this godforsaken keep. No unlucky death had assailed her, though the chief contributor was a prudent level of stealth. Knights gave good loot, but it wasn’t worth dying over or attracting Rhuna, even if she couldn’t stop fantasizing about the possibilities of a rare boon. “This place. Hate it.”
I agree. First the spoked people on the road, then the field and moat, then the Fane–Eater, then Rhuna, then the knight-things. If this were a nightmare I should have woken up long ago. Can you pinch me?
Elia did. Neither of them woke up. So much for that plan.
Aww. Oh well, at least we have each other.
“I’ll count that as a lesser evil.” Elia snorted, counting her throwing knives while she palmed her machete–like petal knife. Saying it was like a machete was like claiming a dachshund was a hunting dog. Sure, it might be true, but the resulting shape was still less than she had hoped for. At least it came with a cross guard. “Let’s find a way back inside.”
Please be careful.
“My name’s Elia. The c stands for careful.” She said, hurrying along before Rye realized there were no c’s in Elia.
Out in the courtyard she felt exposed to arrows shot from awkward angles, to the potential roc coming to ruin her day and the wind that enjoyed whipping her like she was some dark-age pickpocket. She wasn’t even sure what they were supposed to find up here. Another path? More corrupted knights, perhaps a demon or two, as the wolf so claimed there to be?
An elevator would have been nice.
Rounding a set of freestanding arches, the answer was a checkpoint. It was surrounded by brown vines, eking out their existence on the meagre stone floor at a respectful distance, forming a perfect circle marked by their absence at a foot or two out from the bowl of respite.
Also, there was a corpse. A dead knight sat on a toppled stone bench, plant matter reaching for his legs where wood neatly fused with metal. A flower wound itself out of his visor, a wispy white one.
“This looks sus as hell.” Elia looked left. Elia looked right. “But I also want that sword and shield.”
Slowly, as if trying not to startle a wild animal, Elia approached. He looked just like the knights of the castle, though it felt like they had every variety stocked. From anglo-saxon type facial masks with chainmail curtains to great-helm toting brutes and honorable men and woman with visors like a snowplow, they had it all. This might be one of them. Even if the oil and smell of tar was absent, she had to make sure.
She poked the knight with her knife. A sigh escaped her lips when he didn’t move. Safe. This place was safe.
*Gong*
The bowl water tasted like cranberry juice today, sweet, but mostly sour. She drunk deeply as the water restored her vigor and healed the ache in her arms.
“Now. Let’s see what this guy’s got in store for us.”
You have gained: Soul shard [Common] x2, [Uncommon] x1
Shard count: [Common] x8 [Uncommon] x14
“Boy am I tempted to spend those uncommons,” she muttered.
You’d have to remove a boon though, wouldn’t you? The only way we know how is by offering a random one and that idea is just bad.
“Hm.” Elia hm–ed noncommittally. Losing one of her good boons – namely [Psychometry] and [Heavy Hailstone Bolt] – was something she relegated to the never-box, the box of things she rather didn’t think about. As she searched the knight’s chestplate for any hidden goodies, a weighty glow delivered just the distraction she was looking for as a larger soul stuck to her hand like putty.
You have gained: Soul of a forlorn knight
Soul of a forlorn knight
The idea of what it means to be a knight often outlives those burdened to fulfill said expectations. Yet those who hold true often find their service recognized, even after death.
“Another soul. Probably body aligned if I had to guess.” She pocketed the physical soul. “These things have some heft. You think it’s the weight of his sins weighing it down?”
Please, don’t even say that in jest. This man is not tarry and liquid like the others. He must not be from here, not from these lands. I don’t recognize the armor. He must’ve been afraid, all alone, surrounded by the unfamiliar and corruption on all ends. If he had the same quest as we do, then he failed on the footsteps to Loften, but at least he didn’t stop trying, didn’t stop being himself. It reminds me of a tragic play I once watched, a play about an insane old knight and his two gullible servants. ‘Oh, Guillermo, those things yonder be no giants, nay they be carrots, and carrots must be beaten thusly, for they be orange.’. ‘Nay’ cried Guillermo ‘thou seest but carrots, but are we not all of the dirt, from the dirt and will one day return to nothing but dirt? I say nay, nay, therefore…
Elia tuned out halfway through, instead enthralled by the white flower that seemed so out of place.
Saint Iulia’s Favor
A poisonous flower often planted on burial sites. It is thought that souls guided to Loften will, for every good deed in life, find a blossom take root alongside their bodies. Can be consumed to align oneself with the realm of dead spirits.
“Damn, good loot all around.” She motioned to pluck the flower, but an electric jolt paralyzed her arm.
Please, leave the flower. It is not yours to take.
“You’re being emotional Rye. That can’t be healthy.”
And you’re being inconsiderate as always, of my emotions and of the respect due to the dead. This is where I draw the line. Take what you want and leave but take not this.
Grumbling, Elia took a gander at his gear, but found it rusted beyond use, as was his shield, still affixed to his arm. She really needed more space to affix things to her belt. Or a backpack. Yes, with her increased strength, she wouldn’t be forced to travel light for much longer. The thoughts of increased storage space made her mouth water.
Quibbles croaked.
“Yes, fine, I’ll make you a bigger nest once we have the storage space.” God knows Quibbles earned it; for he was the best of boys and slash or girls. Elia never checked and she wasn’t sure how she even would. “So. What makes this knight off–limits, but the one I killed ok?”
I’d… I’d rather believe he was a good one. To be a knight, it means to serve something greater than yourself, to put another’s needs before your own. I can appreciate that, respect it even, as a prima, as an older sister. What world would we live in if everyone just lived for themselves?
“A world with decidedly more product placement.”
And what a horrible world that would be.
Shaking the invasive ad jingles that had somehow survived decades of memory purging from her awareness, Elia spied two ways to carry on: One led along a training ground back inside the castle where they could continue their climb, the other bent around the curving wall before terminating in a tower that grew on and on, nestled in part into the massive cliffside.
“Any opinion on where to go?”
I’d rather not wander back into the castle, but that would just be teasing out the inevitable. The keep stands the best chance of connecting to the high road.
“And I’d rather not cross so much open ground to the tower. Too many chances for archers and for the… the roc.” Stupid physics-defying birds. They would rue the day they beat Elia over and over once she found a pneumatic jackhammer, oh they would. “I see corpses as well, dregs no doubt hiding among them. It’s settled then.”
And off she snuck towards the castle keep, only peripherally aware that the path to either end lead her through some choice firing lines. A fact that she was oh so regrettably informed of when an arrow slammed into her neck two steps out from the doorway.
“Urk!”
It was a perfect shot, and she stumbled inside as the broadhead projectile bled her dry.
Oh my gosh, Elia you’re… oh beans, oh poo, is there anything I can do to help!?
She failed to unscrew her ball of wyckwax, hands shivering at the attempt. “I. Don’t know. See where… it came from?”
N–no, I– wait! Yes, I saw some movement on that small tower right beside. Somebody stirred behind the machicolations.
“Machicolations?”
Machicolations. Murder holes on the walls. You climbed through one, don’t you remember? Elia? Are you dying?
“Machico…lations...”
You have died.
You have lost: Soul x5101
You have lost: Bone shard [Common] x8 [Uncommon] x14
----------------------------------------
One death. One death was fine. Two deaths? Perhaps. But in favor of not finding out how many it took to draw the ire of Rhuna the great, Elia preferred to keep it at the one.
“I made it out of the maze. I am not spending my life in some murderhobo’s inquisitorial dungeon.”
I second that.
This time, she made sure to cover her neck with her hand as she made for the door. It was impossible to get into a blind spot of the side tower, perfectly placed to overlook any would–be invaders on the walls as it was. Elia made up for a lack of cover with simple speed, but once again she zagged when she should have zigged and caught an arrow, though this time only to her thigh.
“Ow – always the – ow – the thigh – ow.”
You have regained–
She made it to the door, slammed it and found a small cupboard, where she shooed away some scuttling insect the size of her palm and sagged to the floor. Carefully, so as to not aggravate the wound beyond her wyckwaxing capabilities, she pulled the barbed arrow from her thigh and fixed the wound with said remedy. A mouthful of candied fruit later and she felt good to go on.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Got enough stuff to do that one or two more times. I really need a shield, some armored pants too.” At least now she had some meat on her legs before the arrow hit bone or a vital blood vessel.
I can’t believe you would wear something as frivolous as pants.
“What would I wear instead, a combat dress?”
You saw the legion soldiers as well as I did, they had something similar, except with metal scales. Furthermore, if you, a woman, were to wear pants it would be like announcing your barbarian descent to the entire world. One must dress to impress. Take our cape for instance. It has style, it has flair.
“It’s made of soft, comfy material.”
That as well, but you shouldn’t be afraid to suffer a little for beauty’s sake.
“You remind me of my mom.” Elia sighed, rubbing the now rubbery substance along her leg.
Oh? This is the first you’ve mentioned her. What was she like?
Well, Elia didn’t say much about her because what was there to share? That she worked at a bank as a financial consultant all day, that she drove a Mercedes but balked at any outfit above eighty bucks, including shoes? That she didn’t care for décor as every piece got in the way of cleaning, nor did she blink twice when it turned out Elia would need home tutoring in every one of her main subjects to catch up?
“She was there whenever I needed her the least.” A fat cockroach skittered down a sack of grains. Elia snapped it up, then fed it to a hungry, hungry toad in her pocket before her starved stomach could give her second thoughts. “Other than that? Mostly absent.”
Oh. Sore topic.
“I’d rather you don’t go digging in my memories for answers. Even if you’ll inevitably find out, thanks to the dreams. Would be great if we were split up before then.” She sighed, tiredly. “God, sometimes I want to find a me–sized drawer, get inside and close it until the end of eternity.”
Mood.
“… did you just say ‘mood’?”
… did I not use that correctly? It’s a very efficient way of conveying sympathy.
“Efficient.” She snorted, looking around until her eyes fell on a discarded bottle. Reddish liquid sloshed around the inside green glass as she opened it up. Definitely alcohol.
Fire wine
A reddish-brown liquid hailing from the lands of giants. Those with difficulty constraining their inner ardor will find it soothing to the mind and very blood.
“Oh god yes.” Elia said before taking a generous swig. It tasted like hot peppers going down, but quickly settled in a smooth weight she could feel coursing through her veins, like the opposite of being drunk.
Should you be drinking that?
Elia stopped chugging after half the bottle was gone. This stuff was good. Even with magical water that could taste like everything she wanted, there was just more… more substance to the real thing. Food was more than just taste, it was an experience that Elia was positively starved for.
“I feel fine. Really.”
… well alright then. Just tell me if you feel something off. I’ve heard people go crazy from drinking the wrong kind of giant’s brew. You’re lucky it’s not the kind that sends a two hundred kilo colossi into a stupor. That would just straight up melt your bones.
“Uh–huh.” Note to self: Do not drink giant’s brew without [Psychometry]ing it first. Now that she was busy admiring the spacious cupboard, she felt some change come about her. Rye was coming across clear as day and the minor background buzz in her mind that was the undead curse went muted, felt distant. She’d still trade an arm for a real meal, but in place of it, this would do. “Alright. Let’s do some exploring.”
The upper area of Glenrock Castle was decorated like every other part: A tapestry along the wall depicted scenes of battle, hunt or religious devotion, great urns filled with rotting food meant for a garrison that still had human needs littered the side rooms, and mushy rug after rug soaked up the oily film that oozed from in between the stone walls.
But there were differences too this far above the front gate.
The halls were wider, better lit as arrow slits made way for diffuse glasswork and fanciful metal rails. The air was less tepid, windier due to open or broken windows and doors leading outside. The supports and floor of a few balconies had fallen away and while other pathways were blocked, entire staircases stood stuffed with a landslide of crates and upended décor. Others yet were barred with wooden planks and iron chains. This place was a maze and one filled with corpses and dregs dotting the landscape, each and every one armed and armored well beyond those below. Besides the knights, the rest were slow, predictable, and only a problem in pairs or when toting polearms.
At least they gave more souls.
You have gained: Soul x230
You have gained: Bone shard [Common] x1
Soul count: x8101
Shard count: [Common] x13 [Uncommon] x15
Why do you keep on throwing that open? It won’t go faster if you check more often.
“But it validates my need for progress,” Elia said, closing the window with one inhalation before opening it with the next breath.
Well, stop worming your way through every single corpse, you’re filthy and getting ick all over us.
Elia buried her knife in the neck of a corpse that twitched as she got close. The hallway behind her was sown with a dozen more, only half of them due to any fault of her own.
“Excuse me, do you think we can afford any chance at loot when people like Rhuna are running around without a leash?” Elia knelt down, holding another common shard in hand. “Now shush, momma’s gotta get some boonstuff.”
The door at the end swung open and a duo of knights followed through.
Elia froze. The long hallway gave no cover to hide and even if they didn’t yet spot her, moving would all but give her a ticket for a two on one beatdown. But Rye had a point, after fighting and scavenging her way up and down few floors, she had the appearance of a corpse, a positively cadaverific one at that.
Instead of bolting, Elia simply slumped down over the dreg she had been looting. Two sets of heavy footsteps approached as they both held on with bated breath. Elia could smell more than hear them, an acrid odor accompanying the sloshing rattle of their steel–encased forms.
The sloshing stopped a short distance away. Elia risked a glance through squinted eyelids. Their backs were turned, both of them having found the greatest interest in staring out a window right next to her.
She remained completely silent. Even as she watched a slithering something trickle like liquid down their boots into a small puddle right in front of her, she didn’t flinch. The liquid moved, inched closer, ran down the gutters in between carefully lain cobblestone.
Something swam in it. Something was alive.
Please go away oh my gods–
Rye held her breath and Elia suppressed a scream as a tendril of dark liquid probed her nose. It tapped her once, twice, eliciting a burning tingle. Then, it shot forward and an ungodly pain flared up her sinuses.
Elia shot up, frantically rubbing and tearing at the thing burrowing into her face. In a moment of crisp clarity as the thing slipped in between her fingers and further up her nose, she took out her knife, set it to her face and pulled.
The nose flung away, half of it squirming on the carpet before two stomps saw it a writhing pile of mush. Squeamish, squeaking noises were coming from Rye.
Ruthe protects, Worga protects, the twelve protect, it moved!
The knights, where were the knights, where–
They had already moved on. A distant clonking left her to sigh a bloody sigh of relief.
Elia. Elia! M-my nose, o-our – your nose. It-It’s…
Elia stomped on it again for good measure.
“Id’s o–gay.” Elia said through teary eyes as she liberally applied the last of their wyckwax across her face. “Id’s lige a momster. From da thigg.”
T–the thing? Oh gods, I’m going to be sick again.
“Yes. Id’s a moobie.” She blinked, tossing the empty ball of wood aside before grabbing a handful of fruit and scarfing it down. “Ugh. Need do go bag. Find cheggpoind.”
Except the gooey residue left by one of the knights trailed along the same path she had already taken.
M–maybe try that stairway up ahead. Gods that must hurt. Are you alright?
Elia waved her off. “I’m fine. Need dime. Clear my nobse.”
In favor of not staying where the sludge knights patrolled the halls, Elia wiped away lingering tears and took a right before the large double doors. A spiraling staircase led to an upper floor where Elia caught a glimpse of a large feasting hall, walls adorned with trophies and artistic weaponry. She snuck another peek over the balustrade blocking her sight, but as she stepped onto the balcony, a creak of the aged wood sent her heart into overdrive.
This room was absolutely packed with knights and the larger maul–wielding undead. Over a dozen sat at their tables, slumped back to stare at the high ceiling or with their face planted onto plates with food so old even the mold was nothing more than a viscous stain.
They weren’t all alive. In fact, most of them were entirely immobile, dead right where they ate. As for the others, well…
“Six knights.” Elia whispered.
I count seven.
Elia squinted. “Good catch. Count them out for me?”
One patrolling the hall in a circle. Two guarding that ominous door. Two more on the balcony outside. One in front of the fireplace, probably higher rank going by his cape clamps. And one pretending he’s eating… what even is that?
Elia shuddered. Not a single smell was enticing, even for a starving stomach. “Don’t wanna know. That door down there. Probably our way ahead.”
Crimson metal like a hundred–year–old rust coated the large double doors it from top to bottom, iron chain links thick as her wrists winding it closed. Some tables nearby were thrown over into makeshift barricades and others simply for the heck of it.
Oh. Why exactly do you think that?
“Video game logic. The hardest path always has the greatest rewards.”
Well… I mean… I think you’re very… ok, I trust you, but let’s put that down under ‘last resorts’. We still have plenty of non–ominous doorways to explore.
Besides, with the amount of undead they’d be lucky if they could sneak up to it, let alone undo the chains. Despite knowing that there were dregs patrolling both the place below and her balcony, Elia tried to burn the image of this room into her mind.
She spotted something that did not belong. “Rye, that priest look familiar?”
Hmm. He seems to be an ascetic of sorts. Possibly a monk. They wouldn’t let a street crier into these halls. I couldn’t place him by those robes alone, they’re too simple and without regalia.
“I bet he’s the evil mastermind.” The church was always evil, and that wasn’t just because of Elia’s anti–theism. In videogames, movies, novels, nine times out of eleven it turned out that the totally not catholic inspired church was behind every single evil thing in the world.
There were enough gamy aspects to this world, why not apply her overflowing knowledge of media as well? She could certainly get behind the idea that absolute power corrupted absolutely. And there was no absolute like a god.
They haven’t seen us yet, but let’s not strain our luck. We can find a different way, maybe climb the walls again.
Rye gained a barely voiced grunt as an answer as Elia kept to the less well-lit wall to her right, sneaking out of sight and hopefully earshot of any nosy undead. The way ahead split once more, two stairs leading yet further up. Elia was about to ascend when she froze, an undead to her left taking her by surprise, mostly because it was just standing there. It didn’t see her, nor did it take note of a sharp intake of air mere feet next to it as it leaned on the balustrade and looked down much like she had.
It was guarding a heap of supplies. Mostly foodstuffs, probably alcohol. There was little chance to find something fresh among it. But little was not zero.
Alright, we’re almost out– wait, Elia, what are you doing?
“Snacks.” She whispered as the undead turned around and she buried her petal knife in its throat. “And stealth.”
You have gained: Soul x140
Gently, she set the dreg on the floor and tip–toed over to the stash before taking a peek inside one of the barrels. And then another. And another. This wasn’t a stash of grub, no matter what the seafood smell was telling her. These were crates upon crates filled with coiled conches. Enough to blow the entire hall to smithereens. Or half a dozen knights.
“Bingo.”
What’s a bingo?
“Our ticket out of here.” Elia said as she hefted a pallet of a dozen conches over her head. “Kobe.”
The priest, an elderly man even by undead standards was the first to note the impending doom as the pallet slammed into his head, cracked his skull, then obliterated him and the nearest dreg with a violent conflagration. Tables shook, bowls and tableware clattered against the walls and in between it all the knights stopped their rote repition, great helms searching for the source of the disturbance.
ELIA! THIS IS NOT STEALTHY!
Elia kept quiet. Dead people could not hear her sneaking by. Dead people also gave souls. Another pallet. Explosions, noise. A second fire started near the ominous door and though some souls found their way into her bosom, the amount did not indicate the death of a knight.
You have gained: Soul x212
You have gained: Soul x199
Chaos was complete and through the smoke Elia was fairly certain no one could see her as she ran up and down the terasse.
Finally, as the smoke threatened to choke her sight and eyes, she went for one final bang. As she strained her legs pushing an entire barrel filled with explode goodness over the railing, her eyes met those of the single knight with a yellow cape and dull golden clasps.
His helmet had a face on it, a metal visage split down the middle into a red and yellow hemisphere. Smiling, it held up a rope inlaid with copper bells and said a single word, like pushing a knife into her brain.
“Halt.”
She stopped what she was doing for evident reasons. He could talk! What more, she understood his intention. He was willing to hear her out even after she dusted the priest, the evil priest controlling them all. Yes, the priest was bad and the knight was saved. He was free. He was nice. A friend.
No, no, he was not a friend, but he was civilized. Able to be reasoned with. An undead like her, like the wolf or the three soldiers. Like Sextus. Yes, he was like Sextus. A friend.
Honestly, it came as a relief. Wandering through the castle, mulching undead soldiers that felt too easy while hiding from knights that felt too hard was so exhausting. She deserved a break and with her hours of breaktime stored up, why not take it now?
After all, he asked so nicely. Maybe she should wait until he came up here. And then they could talk, like reasonable, civilized folk.
This whole journey to Loften was silly anyways.
“Go.”
Go? Why would she go? Oh, it was for the other knights. Silly her. They were coming to go and get her. Coming to thank her, coming to help, like The Old Maiden did.
ELIA, IT’S HERE OH GODS OH GODS SOMETHING IS IN HERE WITH ME!
Rye screams brought Elia back in the present, precious moments having passed. The knights were moving, steady stomps echoing up the way she came.
But why should she run? Why fear them? They were just trying to help. They would protect her, like all knights should a young maiden. She was helpless after all, just a young… girl?
BACK! BACK! BAD… EEL, THING! BY AURANA, BY WROTI, BY THE SUN AND THE GOLDEN SANDS, BE GONE!
The tenderness of her mind slipped away, replaced by a bell heralding existential dread. She could die here. Truly die. Made a mind-slave, made whatever that goop did to people. Death of ego, death of self with no way out. They were in her mind, trying to force her to obey, trying to make her see reason– No! Trying to twist, to maim, to pacify, to befriend–
“Fucking. MINDCONTROL!” Elia stabbed her hand. The pain did not help. In fact, the momentary lapse in concentrated thought nearly drowned out Rye under a current of slithering hisses and wet, burrowing sounds. “GAH! FUCK!”
Precious seconds passed as she tried to do whatever it was that was the opposite of stabbing herself. She didn't know what to do, this was a difficult attack and the first of its kind she had to defend against. Luckily, she didn’t have to do much else as with the sound of a broom and something hissy being slapped across her mind Elia pushed the barrel over the edge and stumbled two feet forward before the ground bobbed under the mighty detonation below her.
You have gained: Soul x1600
You have gained: Soul x1600
You have gained: Soul x113
She was struggling to stand, the floor such a nice place to lie down on and halt on. But intellectually, she knew she had to get away. The fires were now licking at the balustrade. At least two knights had found their doom among the smoldering flames and she was intent on not joining them.
Even as the walkway creaked and broke away behind her she didn’t dare look back, knowing with certainty that a single word, a single look from that knight would compel her to fling herself headlong into the fire and laugh all the while.
It wasn’t like she wouldn’t go and die, if it was for a friend.
Another explosion briefly lit the dim stairway as she scrambled up like a drunken maniac. Stumbling, running into walls, she knocked over more than one unreplaceable vase on display. Eventually, when the heat of the flame wasn’t licking at her back and the steady sounds of heavy boots disappeared behind walls, she threw herself into the nearest room in the hopes of finding a bed to sleep off this horrid nightmare.
There was no bed. A fresh gust of air greeted her face, an open window showing a perfect view of the courtyard she had started in. Better than a bed, this room had a bowl, innocently sat among a collection of helmets, arrows, and stone projectiles.
“Oh, thank the fuck.” Elia stumbled over her feet as much as her words. She dunked her head fully in the water, waiting for the coolness to seep into her brain folds and cleanse her mind of the pleasant thoughts of her new friend.
*Gong*
New enemy. New mortal foe. God could wait. More than anyone else, the smiling knight had to die.
I… I’m going to take a… a nap. Tired. So, so tired…
It was a lucky break that mindfuckery fell under the issues the healing waters could remedy. How exactly it understood that magical changes were harmful whereas simple traumatic memories were acceptable she couldn’t begin to guess.
After a long drink, she finally felt ready to confront Rye on what she had exactly done to wrestle control back, even brief, and incomplete as it was.
A creaking sound, like a bowstring being pulled taught threw a wrench in her plans, mostly because the arrow that was pointing at her face looked mighty sharp. She had just created a new checkpoint by touching the bowl.
“No move, meow.” The hooded archer said.
As she stared sidelong at the figure, her mind still woozy from a day of fatigue and magical shenanigans, it was impossible not to make one of her famous friendship-starting comments.
“Oh my shit, are you a catboy or a catgirl?”