“Minor Heal.”
Arthur muttered his casting. His formed fingers glowed a soft light as they cast the healing spell, its magic mending his shoulder. The Ice Lance thrown by Holter earlier had nearly ripped his tendons apart, the cold ice nearly freezing his muscles over. Thankfully, the young man’s cryomancy was novice to say the best. Had it been an experienced cryomancer…
The Outlander shook his head. It wouldn’t do good to think about what could’ve been. In short, James was taken care of. Now, all Arthur had to worry about was that marauder Deimos. The chieftain was currently being swarmed by the Outlander’s group of knights, but even he knew it wouldn’t do much outside of annoying Deimos. No, Arthur needed to finish this.
Just as he was about to make his way to the chieftain, Arthur felt the temperature around him change. While it was already cold from the constant raining, it now felt much closer to freezing. The apostle shivered and looked around.
It wasn’t raining anymore. In fact, it was actually snowing. Arthur turned around to where the source of the cold was coming from. To his surprise, it was coming from the hole in the platform. The same one he kicked Holter down.
The water that was visible through the destroyed ground was frozen solid, with more snow piling onto it. Frost slowly crept around the hole, its reach growing by the second. Arthur took a step away from the source, his hands gripping tightly to his sword.
“Impossible. Delphine’s blessing should’ve kept his corpse dead. What is happening?” The Outlander didn’t want to admit it, but he was getting nervous. Delphine’s blessing was more than powerful to keep the dead dead. It was her holy magic, a fundamental law that could not be broken. Arthur knew this from experience. Yet, from what he was seeing, that was no longer the case.
Before he knew it, the ice broke open. An arm reached out of the black waters, the torn bandages revealing shriveled and blackened skin. It latched onto the burnt platform, creeping frost forming from its touch. Followed immediately after was Holter himself, who slowly crawled out of the broken ice. The right half of his body was glowing, the brightness of it showcasing the bones of his arm and shoulder, as well as his own skull.
James struggled to stand up straight, his mouth opened to a silent scream. His eyes were like burning coals, their flame bordering on blue and teal rather than yellowish embers. His gaze wandered up to Arthur, his body tensing up at the sight.
Both Outlanders made eye contact, the world around them stopping at that moment.
“What… What the hell are you?!” Arthur cursed out loud. Never in his life did he see such power. Something that could defy even the light goddess’ will. The man before him was not an Earthling. Not like himself. He was something else entirely. Something far more sinister.
“Summon Ice!”
Without explaining himself, James’ left arm shot forward spikes of ice, all of them heading towards Arthur in surprising speed. The Outlander quickly dodged to the side, avoiding becoming impaled.
“Fuck it! It doesn’t matter how many times you revive yourself! I’ll kill you as many times as it takes!” Arthur rushed towards James, his sword raising for a strike. He swung his enchanted blade at the younger man, who was still casting his spell. There was suddenly the sound of metal making contact and the telltale shower of sparks. James’ right arm had unsheathed his backup sword, blocking Arthur’s attack in record speed.
“You’re not the only master swordsman here,” James muttered. He pulled back quickly, his right arm flashing towards Arthur. The Outlander blocked the strike just in time, his eyes widening at the newfound speed James had. It was as if his fighting style had completely changed.
Arthur stumbled back from the clash, his left hand raising towards James. “Needle Shot!” His formed fingers glowed and shot forth his spell, sending the needle projectile towards James. The other man quickly sidestepped, avoiding the spell by a few inches. Arthur used this small window to rush again, his voice calling out one more casting. “Power Strike!”
“Summon Ice!” James shouted back almost immediately. His left arm cast the ice with speed, forming a quick barrier between him and Arthur. As a result, the Power Strike only hit ice instead of flesh.
‘That spell shouldn’t be forming ice this quickly nor strongly. It’s almost as if his ley lines are overcharged.’
Arthur backed away, just in time to avoid more ice spikes. He prepared himself, almost expecting a follow up attack.
Instead, James just stood there, his gaze burning into Arthur’s retinas.
‘So… this is the true Draugr of the South,’ Arthur grimly thought. He squeezed his weapon’s hilt even tighter, his feet positioning himself in a proper stance. Yet James simply stood there, his form relaxed as he took a few slow steps towards the Outlander.
Every step he took brought even more frost and ice to his surroundings, almost as if he was an ice lich. He stopped halfway through his walk, his right hand positioning his short sword into an interesting pose, one that Arthur did not recognize. Without any words, the Draugr rushed forward, his weapon clashing with the apostle’s.
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Dahlia couldn’t believe it. Hel, she couldn’t even fathom it. James was alive again. Not only that, but he had gotten some sort of boost of strength. The otherworldly man was casting ice spells like a class four cryomancer, his left arm quickly forming ice with no input from runes.
“What… What is this?” Elaine asked in a shaky breath.
“This next level!” Malik suddenly shouted. The necromancer stepped forward, his grin wide and his eyes sparkling with interest. “He’s alive! He’s fucking alive!”
“But how?!” a guardsman asked nearby. He and the others in Dahlia’s group were watching in amazement and horror.
“That’s what’s got me excited!” Malik laughed. “I don’t know how!”
Dahlia herself did not know what caused James’ resurrection. Still, it didn’t mean this wasn’t all familiar to her.
‘It’s just like that day. Back when I brought him back.’
Dahlia saw how James’ eyes and right arm flared with energy, the wild and untethered nature of it reminiscent of when he and Faust first fused together. Yet now it looked as if the blond man had a hold on it.
Something else caught her eye and the shaman couldn’t help but pull her eyes away to look up at it. The rain had stopped in favor of snow, the flakes of ice falling around the courtyard. Not only that, but the cloud above had parted in a perfect circle above James. Instead of the crimson moons, however, there was instead something much more peculiar. Waves of multicolor lights lit up the sky, their glow ranging from greenish to blue. They overshadowed the moons, lighting up the spectacle of the city with their glow.
“There are lights,” Dahlia revealed, her hand slowly gesturing to them.
“Oh, gods.” Elaine took a step back, her eyes widening at the sight of them.
“Do you know what they are?” The shaman asked.
“Do you not?” The bard looked at Dahlia with a look of surprise. “This is the effect of multiple scryings, from all over Valenfrost.”
“Scryings? Aren’t they supposed to be invisible to the naked eye?” Dahlia questioned.
“Not when a certain number of people are looking,” Malik spoke up. “Right now we are all being watched by Wizards, Lumen scribes, deities, and gods.”
“Gods?” Dahlia felt her heart drop.
“This is a once in a lifetime event… One that bodes something far more important than what the moons display,” Elaine explained. “The last time this happened, Yorn had killed his father Kjor in a duel. Not even his death had this many spectators.”
“Wait, why is this happening now, then?” A guardsman asked.
“Because James defied a goddess’ blessing!” Malik revealed. “He broke Delphine’s seal! A feat that has not been repeated in centuries!”
“Defied,” Dahlia muttered to herself. The power to do that was near impossible. If James really did manage to do that, and resurrect himself in the process, then it meant he had drawn the strength from the ley lines. While the idea was insane, there was nothing else she could think of. It also meant…
“The ley lines are connected to the city again!” Dahlia turned away from the fight in front of her, her gaze focusing on the totem in the tower. Just as she thought, the runes on the alarm totem were glowing, their blue light slowly illuminating the interior of the tower.
“Horus’ mercy! They are!” the artificer gnome shouted. She broke away from her staring and ran to the totem, her fingers rubbing over the runes. Dahlia could see how half the carvings were dead, their magic not working.
“I’ll help!” The shaman rushed forward, her hands reaching into her satchel. She quickly brought out her salt and soapstone, ready to help the gnome restore the alarm system to Vindis.
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James was slowly getting used to his current situation, his focus settling in on controlling himself. This was just a drop of the raw power from Azura’s ley lines and yet, it was overwhelming. His ley lines overflowed and fluctuated, to the point where his joints ached and his blood boiled. If he wasn’t constantly casting spells and allowing Faust to use his right side, James was sure that the power would’ve burst his ley lines out of sheer overcapacity—not unlike what happened to Gryff.
He also radiated heat like a melting reactor, every swing and casting threatening to bring on heatstroke. Even with the ice covering half of his body, he wasn’t certain if it kept him fully cooled down. For now, it would have to do.
“Carapace!” James could feel his casting working its magic, his overcharged ley lines gladly tanking the cost.
‘Five minutes. That’s how long our state will last,’ James reminded himself and Faust. The abominable hive mind told them this already. ‘After that, we’ll be without reserves or magic.’ He looked over at Arthur, who was currently circling the Jarl.
‘This needs to end now,’ Faust muttered. ‘While he’s at a disadvantage, that man still wields Delphine’s blessed sword. If we lose this, there are no more chances.’
James mentally acknowledged the Centurion. ‘Then let’s show him everything we got!’
With that, the Draugr ran towards Arthur, his short sword flashing towards the apostle. Arthur raised his longsword, blocking the strike with the corner of his sword, where the blade met the guard. He twisted it around, his sword’s point thrusting towards James’ chest. Faust reacted, his right arm letting go of the sword so he could properly dodge the attack. As they moved to the side, James grabbed the short sword’s handle with his left, quickly using it to slash at the apostle.
Both man and spirit worked in synch, their thoughts lightning fast as they moved around Arthur. Faust threw a right fist at Arthur, his knuckles ringing out the man’s helmet. James used his left to bring up his short sword again, using it to block another swipe from Arthur’s longsword. Right after the clash, he let go of the sword’s handle, allowing Faust to grab it once more.
The Centurion bashed the pommel against Arthur’s helmet, making a dent in the steel and stunning the apostle in the process. James kicked Arthur right after, his steel toe boot striking the man’s breastplate. The apostle stumbled back, but did not fall.
“Alright, enough!” Arthur boomed. He raised his sword and came at James once again. “Precision Strike!”
“Summon Ice!”
James stepped back, his left hand summoning another barrier of ice to block the attack. Streams of steam flowed from his body as the ice grew around his left side, frost forming and instantly bursting into vapor from the sheer heat he radiated. Despite this, the ice barrier he summoned was enormous. It grew easily to seven feet, blocking off Arthur fully.
Yet even that wasn’t enough. Not even a second after its summoning, the apostle’s sword broke through the barrier like a needle, its blue tinged tip aimed for James’ heart. Faust reacted quickly, using the short sword to deflect the strike.
“Power Strike!” Faust’s voice came through James’ mouth like a megaphone, casting the strike right as both blades made contact. The Power Strike was enough to stray Arthur’s sword off course, causing the blade to merely nick at James’ Carapace spell. Still, it was far from over.
“Burn!” Arthur’s voice called out with magical weight, his spell quickly breaking the ice barrier James had formed. The Jarl backed away, his face hit with a different kind of heat. Flames flickered around the apostle, melting the snow and ice around. Arthur formed another rune with his hand, this one aiming right for James.
“Arcane Bolt!”
“Ice Lance!”
James shot back with one of his own, his left hand forming the rune. His lance of ice shot forth with speed, its trajectory colliding with the Arcane Bolt. The collision of both spells caused an explosion of frost and smoke, creating an impromptu smoke blanket between both men. James used this chance to rush, his left hand forming another rune.
“Summon Ice!” James felt his ley lines react quickly, his left arm summoning frost around his fingertips. He thought of his object just as he broke through the sparkling smoke, his left arm raising the forming bits of ice around his skin.
Just as he expected, Arthur was already mid-swing, his sword coming down on James with speed. Still, the Draugr was faster. He raised his makeshift ice shield, blocking the longsword before it could make contact. His Carapace strained itself, the scent of blackberries overpowering his senses as the ice shield cracked and shuddered under the weight of the strike. Thankfully, it held.
Faust thrusted forth the short sword, its tip aimed for the space underneath Arthur’s armpit. Contact. The blade sank into the gap between Arthur’s steel plates, causing the older man to wince and stumble away. James ripped the weapon out, watching as the Outlander stumbled. He rushed forward, his short sword flashing at the older man once more. Arthur blocked it barely, his glowing sword brightening as it held off the short blade. James pulled back, avoiding the older man’s counter attack.
“You would doom this world?!” Arthur yelled as he swung again. James quickly dodged, his body reacting in lightning speed. “Leave its ley lines in perpetual fracture?!”
“I’ll find another way to fix it! My way!” James shouted back as Faust struck Arthur’s steel breastplate. He had missed the gap.
Arthur quickly flashed forward, his sword swinging down on the Jarl. James barely had time to block it.
“We do not belong here!” Arthur shouted as his blade contested with James. “This is not our world!”
“Maybe it’s not yours!” James struggled as he spoke. “But it is mine!” He screamed with effort as he fended off the broadsword. Arthur stumbled in response, the wound at his side taking a physical toll. James moved in quickly, dead set on finishing this.
Arthur tried to retaliate, to fight off James, but Faust was faster. The Centurion kicked the apostle’s hand, audibly breaking the wrist and sending the blessed blade to the ground.
“Agh!” Arthur yelled out in agony. He tried to fight back still, his injured hand reaching for a dagger on his belt. James quickly countered, his left hand gripping on Arthur’s right. Using his cryomancy, he froze the Outlander’s hand, drawing out another yell from him. Faust’s attack came in right after, his short sword flying towards the apostle’s chest.
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Arthur still wasn’t ready to lose, as his left hand gripped onto the short sword’s blade. His hand bled as it attempted to keep the point away from his chest.
“Adrenal…Surge!” Arthur managed out, his body visibly tensing as he slowly pushed the sword away. James kept his weight against the sword, his jaw clenching as he strained.
“Power Strike!!”
Both James and Faust screamed out the casting, their voices doubling over each other. The spell bolstered, making the sword burn even brighter as it pushed past Arthur’s hand. James felt his muscles strain to their very limit, his body’s core emitting heat like a nuclear reactor. All the ice around his body burst instantly into steam, clouds of vapor streaming from his body like trails of smoke.
With a scream of effort, the otherworldly man shoved his weight and strength into the pommel, his blade thrusting forth into the Outlander before him. The short sword ran through Arthur effortlessly, only stopping when its guard slammed against disenchanted steel with a heavy ting. The resulting wound faceted blood all over James’ hands, the red crimson staining his bandages and armor.
There was a moment of silence between the two men, the only sound being that of their heavy breathing. James quickly grabbed at the other man’s shoulder with his blackened left hand, preventing him from falling back.
“You… You bastard…” Arthur gasped out. He weakly grabbed at James’ fur collar, blood staining his teeth as he spoke. “You fucking bastard… Do you know what you’ve done? What you’re doing?”
“I’m protecting my people and my clan,” James answered as he stared back at the older man. He pulled Arthur closer, forcing himself to exert more heat from his skull. James could see himself in the other man’s eyes. A hellish draugr, one whose skull was alight with blue flames. “When you see Delphine, tell her I’m never going to forgive her for what she’s done. That her influence isn’t welcome in Valenfrost anymore. Neither are any of her fucking lapdogs.”
Arthur simply chuckled at the threat.
“Out of all the fellow Earthlings I’ve met in this world… You’re the only one that acts like he belongs here,” Arthur muttered, his gray beard dripping with blood. “Careful with that. It might just come back to bite you in the ass.” The old man gave one more stifled laugh right before he coughed again. James watched as the Outlander’s coughs grew weaker, every one of them bloodier than the last. Before he knew it, he was staring into Arthur’s faded irises, no sign of life visible beneath them.
James wrenched his sword out of the corpse, allowing it to drop to the ground unceremoniously. He could feel how his body was slowing down, the heat in his skull and right arm fading away. His ley lines were losing their initial burst of strength, now reverting to their old limits. James looked around himself, his gaze scanning the courtyard.
He stopped when he made eye contact with Deimos.
The Red Death stood a few meters away, his posture straight and his weapons at the ready. His armor was chipped and bloodied, with visible wounds and dents in it. There were even a couple of spell impacts on it. His helmet was even dented and nicked, a long scar across his visor. Yet Deimos was still standing, his grin visible beneath his visor. James noted the dead Lumen Knights around the marauder, most of their heads either gone or smashed to bloody pulps.
“You’re still good to fight?” James called out, his right arm raising to wipe the blood from his mouth and nose.
“More than you know,” Deimos chuckled. “Don’t let my condition fool you, I can still crush you.”
James took his stance, his feet positioning themselves as he raised his short sword. Deimos hefted his sword and ax, his pose suggesting he was ready. They both locked eyes, their weapons wavering for a moment.
“Deimos!” Just as they were preparing, there was the shout of some woman. James turned to the source, his focus on the armored marauder running up to the chieftain. “We have to retreat now!”
“What are you talking about?” Deimos growled as he turned to the marauder woman.
“The alarm system has been tripped! Redyr and Olafson ships are on their way here!” She explained in a breath.
“What?! Eli was supposed to have taken care of that!”
“Deimos…” the marauder raised what looked like a spell crystal, its naturally blue color now a dull gray.
Deimos’ expression turned from annoyance to pure anger at that moment. He turned to the woman marauder, his voice inaudible from where James was standing. The Jarl could only watch in confusion, his sword lowering slowly. The two marauders conversed for only a few seconds before Deimos shouted.
“He’s what?!” The chieftain’s voice showed James a side of Deimos he had never expected to hear. It was of pure surprise, mixed in with rage and confusion.
“We have to retreat. Now! We’ve already lost more men than we can afford. Even with you, Cecil, and I, we won’t stand a chance against an armada of clan ships.” The marauder did her best to convince Deimos, who simply stood there, no doubt stewing in his own anger. “We can’t enact our goals if we have no men left to fight for us. Let us retreat…”
Deimos was silent for a moment, his jaw visibly clenching and unclenching as he contemplated the marauder’s words. He was more than pissed, that much was clear in the way he gripped his weapons. James half-expected the Red Death to charge in regardless, dead set on finishing their feud.
Instead, the chieftain simply sighed, his tension gone from his body.
“Fine,” Deimos said. He turned to James, who had been watching the entire confrontation. “Another time, Draugr. Shame you cannot fulfill your promise to me from last Frost.” Any and all bloodlust the man had was gone, replaced now with disappointment and clear annoyance.
“Back at you,” James responded, doing his best to hold back the urge to lace his words with vitriol. He had no desire to fight Deimos in this state. He simply watched as the Red Death walked off, his marauder companion calling off the rest of their remaining men. As they fell back, orcs and raven marked guardsmen took over the rest of the courtyard, taking Lumen prisoners and assisting with injured allies. Undead conformed around James and the tower at the center, where Malik had gone to earlier.
James looked up at the sky, watching how the clouds parted to showcase the night sky and what looked like the northern lights. He stared at the lights, almost creeped out at them. It felt like he was being watched by a multitude of eyes, all of them judging as they watched on.
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Eilif couldn’t help chuckle to himself at the sight of the colorful lights. This was something he had never expected, not even when he ran the calculations with his master.
‘Looks as if Myr has found himself quite the representative.’
Even if the mad god did not summon James, the young man was everything the deity had wanted.
The immortal hunter watched the courtyard from a distance, his gaze focusing on the Draugr himself. It would be easy to kill him now, to lop his head off and nip the ever-growing bud before it had time to sprout into chaos. Yet Eilif didn’t. Part of the reason was because he had only one job to do here. Get the marauders and Lumen dolts to kill each other. His master had made it clear to the bounty hunter that he was not to do anything more or less.
Another reason, one that Eilif took personally, was that it would be far too boring. While no longer with the followers, he still had that fondness for the interesting and unpredictable. While James had certainly shaken the hornet’s nest that was Valenfrost, it was too early to tell whether he would be a key player in the future. He had the potential to become someone like Yorn, a great and powerful man. He also had the chance to become nothing more than another frozen corpse.
“Only time will tell,” Eilif chuckled. He took one last look at the otherworldly man before finally slipping into the shadows of the city.
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Gwenyth stared at the distant city of Vindis, her eyes focused on the perfect circle made in the clouds above. There she could see the magnificent glowing lights that represented multiple scryings all happening at once. The elf hadn’t seen something of this magnitude in decades.
She looked around at the longship she had stolen from the east harbor. The surviving Lumen soldiers and spellcasters were all staring at the sight, their expressions all mixed with horror and admiration.
Everyone knew that there would be only one reason those lights appeared. Something historical had happened. A major event that would undoubtedly go down in the journals of hundreds of scribes. Gwenyth didn’t have to scry to know the outcome of the Battle for Vindis. There was no doubt that Holter had won.
Worst of all, it also meant that the Lumen plot to sink Vindis was now exposed to the world. Jarls, Kings, and even the gods knew about it. As fragmented and disorganized the Valenfrost clans were, there was a good chance that they’d all come together once more. Just as they did back at the beginning of the Outsider War.
Gwenyth could feel how her stomach twisted at the thought of another major war. One that would ravage the north once more and risk everyone who lived in Valenfrost and Azurvale’s coast. She thought back to Holter and her encounter with him. Her hand went to the spot on her forehead where he grazed her. Back when he saw through her memories. While abrupt, she also had a small glimpse of his own past.
‘He won’t risk war. Even he has some sense in that regard.’
Holter was still sane when it came to that. Yet the elf couldn’t help but feel even more worried about the otherworldly man. Holter had only been in Azura for nearly a year. In that time alone, he had changed from a clueless Earthling to a dangerous Jarl that dabbled in the dark arts. She was almost terrified of how much he would change in another year’s time.
“That’s something that we indeed need to look out for,” Gwenyth muttered to herself as she watched the floating city grow smaller. As much as she wanted to take action, she needed to be patient and plan her next move. For now, she would return to the Lumen Kingdom and confront that damned council.
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Felix clenched his jaw tightly at the sight of the veteran, his hands balling up into fists.
“NO! No no no!”
He could hear Kate behind him, the guardswoman’s shouts growing even more desperate as she ran to Harald’s corpse. She grabbed at the dead man, shaking him. It was almost as if she was trying to wake him up.
“Kate…” Felix started.
“You promised! You fucking promised!” Kate shouted at the veteran, her voice cracking. Dirk stepped into view, the young guardsmen gently pulling his comrade away.
“He’s gone, Kate,” the young man muttered. Kate initially tried to fight back against Dirk’s hold, but she soon gave in, her arm raising to cover her eyes.
“You… You promised…” Kate croaked. She had run out of energy, her body going lax in Dirk’s arms. Felix could see how the much younger guardsman struggled not to cry, his face fighting the urge to let his emotions loose. The other guardsmen around him had more or less the same reactions, all of their gazes staring at where Harald made his last stand.
Around the veteran’s corpse lay heaps of marauder bodies, most of them charred and dismembered to a degree. The only body that wasn’t touched was that of the herald, William Thatcher. The dead man was mostly unbothered from his resting place, the only mark on him being the wounds from his and Harald’s fight.
Felix looked down at Harald’s body, his focus on the killing blow. It was strange, seeing someone he knew dead on the ground, their body cold and desecrated. The sight of it all only dug up the pain of Felix’s old friend Thomas. The only guardsman who had stayed with him to fight the marauders during the Siege of Yorktown. Just like his friend, Harald had stayed and fought for what he cared for.
Yet despite it all, both of them had died.
“Dammit. Dammit!” Felix looked up at the night sky, doing his best to keep it all in.
‘No matter how strong we are. How much we prepare. They keep dying.’
Was his training for nothing? Was Harald’s strength and prowess not enough? Felix wished he had stayed behind to help Harald. He wished he had the courage to fight alongside him. Just like with Thomas.
Felix kept staring upward, doing his best to hold back the tears. Yet he could feel them run down his cheeks and into his ears. He still kept his composure throughout it all, his voice calling out to the guardsmen behind him.
“Whoever is still fit to move, stay with me. Anyone who feels otherwise, go back to the docks.”
He waited for the sound of multiple feet shuffling and moving away from him. Instead, he heard nothing from the guardsmen. The archer turned around to his men, only to see them all composed and ready, despite the redness in their eyes and the hollowness in their expressions. Even Kate was standing, her gaze focused and ready regardless of the grief visible on her face.
Felix took a deep breath and nodded.
“Alright. Let us get to gathering our dead.”
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Archibald stood at the bridge, the same one he had left to Bjorn earlier that night. Part of him hoped for the dwarf to be alive, to be joyous and victorious in his standoff. Part of him wished that he and Bjorn could share a drink to their victory. The elf reached down to the corpse, his hand gently touching the white raven that was still visible underneath all the grime and dried blood.
Bjorn still had his grin, bloodied and all, despite his fate. The elf took a deep breath as he stood back up. He looked to the other side of the bridge, where a mound of bodies piled up on each other. They had all died while attempting to cross, as evident from their outstretched hands and weapons. None of them made it past Bjorn, it seemed.
“You crazy bastard,” Archibald muttered softly. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, trying his best not to lose himself. “Rest now, my friend.”
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“Come on! Come on!”
Helen struggled as she tried to wake up Lilith. The young woman had been limp for a while now, a result of her fight with Lars. Helen still attempted to wake her, the veteran doing her damndest to keep her alive.
“You can’t go out like this! Not when I’m still here!” Helen pleaded. She looked around her surroundings, looking for anything that could help. Her gaze soon settled on the ripped bag Lars had. There she could see a small gold vial, a red ribbon tied around its lip. Without wasting time, the veteran crawled to the item, her free hand grabbing at it.
Helen tore the wax seal off as fast as she could, the scent of cherries overpowering her nostrils. She propped Lilith on her lap; her left hand holding her head upright. Helen slowly poured the healing potion into the young woman’s agape mouth, hoping to the gods that it wasn’t too late.
Once the vial was emptied, Helen could only wait. She watched with anticipation, waiting for Lilith to take a breath. Waiting for her to do anything. The veteran gripped tightly onto the redhead’s hand, her vision slowly getting blurred as she watched.
“Please. Not like this.”
Lilith was still, no movements coming from her hands. Just as Helen began to lose hope, the young woman’s body twitched. She blinked, unsure if she had hallucinated it. Before she could question her sanity, Helen watched as Lilith’s arms slowly rearranged themselves. The bruises on her body faded a bit, color returning to her pale skin and lips.
Lilith gasped for air right after that, her eyes fluttering open. Helen couldn’t help but laugh in joy.
“You crazy idiot! You had me going there for a moment!” the veteran exclaimed.
Instead of celebrating or laughing along, Lilith was quiet. The young woman could only blink in surprise, her gaze moving from Helen to the body of Lars. Helen could see how Lilith’s expression turned from surprise to dread. Tears seemed to overflow the young woman’s eyes, her gaze snapping back to Helen.
Without warning, Lilith embraced Helen, despite her injured arms. She buried her face into the older woman’s shoulder, her hot tears seeping through Helen’s torn gambeson. Helen was silent. Instead of shoving her away like she should’ve, the older woman couldn’t help but hug back. She didn’t know why. Hel, she wasn’t sure what compelled her to do so. Helen only knew that Lilith needed someone to be there for her.
The veteran silently comforted the berserker, whose soft sobs were drowned out by the pattering rain.
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Seamus coughed violently from the taste of bitter medicine and herbs. He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze meeting with Nathan’s. The Wizard looked like shit, his clothes singed and bloodied. Bruises covered his face and body, a bloody scar running over his right eye and forehead.
“I was beginning to think we lost you,” Nathan sighed in relief.
“What… What happened?” Seamus asked before he suddenly coughed.
“Easy. Your body is recovering. Best not to overextend yourself,” Nathan muttered. “To answer your question, I had cast a flame cleanse on you before the poison did permanent damage to your body. Even then, your injuries were to where you needed medicine.” The Wizard raised the bottle he had in his right hand. “Thankfully for us, we’re in one of the best Wizard shops in Vindis.”
“Is… Is Haggard alright? What about Falrick?” Seamus managed out in a whisper.
“They’re alright,” Nathan nodded. “That buffoon Haggard might’ve nearly got himself killed, but his wounds weren’t as bad as we thought. Falrick is healing him now. He’s… still recovering from that lost arm, but he’s fine.”
“Is Eli…?” Seamus started. He still wasn’t sure if that beholder user was fully dead. The last year had proven to the young man that not everything could die so easily.
“He’s dead. For good,” Nathan assured him. “That strike you dealt with was more than enough. Where did you learn that, anyway? I never heard of ‘Flash Strike’.”
“It’s a physical casting,” Seamus winced as he sat up, “Falrick and father trained me to use it but my mother was the one who taught me it.” The memory of his training had come back to him during the fight, allowing the young man to use it for his killing blow. He did not know why it came to him so suddenly, but he knew it had something to do with the vision he had of his mother.
Seamus shook the thought away. His lungs were killing him. He grabbed at the medicine in Nathan’s hand, taking it so he could drink it. Nathan didn’t seem bothered as the young man drank from the bottle. The Wizard only sat there, his gaze looking up at the broken roof.
Both men sat there in silence, the only sound being the light pattering of whatever rain remained.
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Around Valenfrost, and even in parts of Azurvale and Areno, lay Wizards and spellcasters who looked into their crystal balls. Some had found out about the event through signs of deities, while others were simply told about the blood moons that had appeared in southern Valenfrost. From Jarls in their longhouses to the very Lumen King himself, they had all watched on as James Holter broke Delphine’s seal and killed her apostle in retaliation. Some were amazed by the spectacle, while others were fearful and angry about such power.
King Gareth was the latter.
The enraged monarch pounded his fist onto the round table that held his peers, his shout ringing out in the meeting hall.
“Get me Alistair Cromble and Commander Michaels! Now!”
His men would scurry to do their jobs, leaving the room in a hurry to find the two men.
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Far away from Lumen City, situated in Northern Valenfrost, was the city of Haven. At its center was the castle that held its leader, Frue Margeret of Redyr. The elderly woman had her focus on her Wizard’s crystal ball, watching as Vindis’ courtyard was retaken from the marauders.
The battle had caught her attention not too long ago, back when the Alarm system of the floating city alerted her court Wizard. Margeret had already sent her ships to assist but it would seem the situation was being handled. The Frue focused in on the young man near its center, his blond hair catching her ire. He was a brutish-looking man, his barbaric armor and blood covered clothes not helping in his image. His gaze was furrowed and his expression was that of exhaustion and disdain.
Yet Margeret couldn’t help but feel as if she was looking at an image from the past. A vagabond who didn’t belong. A wolf who bared his teeth at those who came too close. A raven who had no real home. He was so similar to him. Yet different in almost every way.
“Do you know him, my lady?” Her Wizard asked.
“No… but he has a sense of familiarity about him,” Margaret muttered as she leaned in. The blond man in the crystal ball stared back at the sky, his blue eyes seemingly watching the Frue. “Send Elias to Vindis. Have him stand in as my ambassador. We shall learn more about this Draugr.”