The crisp night air flowed across the membrane of the black dragon’s wings as she circled high above the lake, her spinal fins angling the wind in whatever direction she pleased. The body of water had not changed much over the years, the few new settlements lining its shores and the ever growing and dying vegetation on its flats the only indication that time had passed at all.
A stray thought drifted through her mind as she eyed the lake: a memory of swimming in the depths, the pleasant feeling of water slipping between her scales and parting around her fins just as air did now. It had been many mortal lifetimes since she last felt such sensations.
Visnavik let the brief desire fade. Recreation could wait; she had business to attend to.
The lair of the interloper was simple to find: such a sizable littoral cave could not be hidden by vegetation and the fool had not even bothered to mask its opening with illusions. Whether they were ignorant of her existence or just arrogant enough to not respect it, the black dragon cared little; the result was the same.
Banking right and downwards to adjust her angle, Visnavik folded her wings close, shifting into an aggressive dive. Like a comet of fell omen she descended from the sky, an aura of darkness shrouding her form and leaving a trail blacker than night.
Pulling up just before impact, she swooped low over the verdant coast, causing everything beneath her wings to shrivel and die, their husks blasted away by the force of her wake. Dropping her altitude lower, Visnavik’s claws met the ground at speed, digging deep furrows in the mud to bleed velocity and rip out the roots of whatever life remained.
The trail of devastation led her right up to the mouth of the cave where she finally stopped, the crash echoing on to announce her arrival.
Without waiting for a response or sign of acknowledgement, Visnavik stepped from the ravaged mud and grass of the shore to the shallows that led into the den of her prey. Slight waves washed in alongside her, repeatedly flooding and draining the grotto with the clear waters of the lake.
At the end of the passage was a circular chamber, filled with glowing moss, lichen- all manner of vegetation that thrived on moisture and minerals. In the centre of the chamber, rising from a bed of stones and shells and shaking off the weight of sleep, was a blue dragon.
It bore passing similarity to herself, six limbs, large fins running from the tip of its tail all the way to the top of its head, but that was as far as the resemblance went. It was a smooth and pathetic thing: the lines of its face gentle, horns flowing up and over its skull, its scales small and delicate looking- built for speed in the water.
‘Easily pierced.’ Visnavik thought.
“Such a racket. Who dares-” The beast of Order froze when they looked up. Were such a thing possible, the sapphire colour would have drained from their face at the sight before them.
“L-Lord Elder.” The youngling stuttered in surprise, shrinking in on themselves. “I… I didn’t realize someone of your stature was nearby.” Their voice struggled to remain steady, words chosen with the care of a being who knew exactly the danger they were in.
Visnavik took one threatening step forward, her irises flashing a brighter hue. “Yes. That is exactly my grievance.”
The interloper scrambled to their feet, fear palpable as they backed away. “I-I’ve been extracting information from the mortals all this time; had I heard word of your presence from them I swear on my hoard I would’ve-”
“Irrelevant.” Visnavik interrupted with another step. “The insult has already been inflicted. I come seeking repayment.”
“I…I can give knowledge!” The opportunity to bargain gave the worm a smidgen of hope, easily seen in their eyes. “You must have been sleeping for a long time, yes?! The world has changed over the centuries, so you must-”
“Unneeded.” A second interruption, smothering the feeling in its nest.
“My servants have already obtained what I wish to know.” The black dragon elaborated. “How do you presume I discovered your presence?”
When no answer came, she took her third step, her vile aura causing the light granting vegetation to crumble to dust.
“My hoard! You can take what you wish from it!” A desperate last plea- an abandonment of everything a dragon valued in exchange for their life.
Visnavik turned her snout up at the offer, side eyeing the meagre pile. “Shells, pearls, and coloured rocks? Do you take me for a hatchling? Do you have no shame?”
Finally accepting words would not save them; knowing in their core that a fight would be hopeless, the lesser dragon took the only option left, fleeing for their life.
Visnavik’s clawed hand jutted out with the speed of a passing shadow, grasping the coward by the tail as they attempted to slip by. With monstrous strength she swung her prey around like a bolas, making multiple revolutions before launching them against the cavern wall hard enough to crack stone.
“You insult me further. To think you can escape your responsibility.”
The dragon struggled to rise again, summoning a tidal wave in an attempt to flush their attacker from the grotto. The surge of water was met with a forceful wingbeat, overpowering the spell and slamming its caster into the wall a second time.
“Look at you, wallowing in the shallows like a beached eel.” Visnavik sneered as she approached her prey. “How can one so weak call themselves a defender of Order’s principles?” Weakness, cowardice, readiness to give up treasure. Her slave’s saint became more of an exception with every individual she met. Disappointing- disgusting.
A wet cough came from the crumpled blue pile, blood spewing from their mouth to dirty the clear waters they lay in. “W-Weak I may be- a scout meant to hide away and listen, but my partner is mighty silver… he will stand against you, I know it.”
A joyless laugh echoed around the cave, creating ripples in the water’s surface from the sound alone. “Your beloved partner will make no such stand.” She informed them. “Like you, he has discarded his pride, bowing his spine in favour of lesser beings.”
“You were right about one thing.” Visnavik continued as the echoes faded, willing giant tangling vines to sprout from the stone, blocking the exit behind her. “I have slept for a long time- long enough to grow simply famished.”
All the ambient light in the cave was sucked out, darkness drowning everything save for two glowing slitted eyes. They shone down like the moon, spotlighting her trapped prey.
“It has been some time since I last disassembled a dragon of Order.” The ancient remarked sadistically, leaning close with her claws curled like the shadow of a lingering nightmare. “You will have to forgive me for being out of practice.”
Come morning, the waters of the northmost shore were dyed a bright red.
----------------------------------------
Ilya awoke cold and alone, the light of day streaming in through the brand new hole in the forest’s roof and directly into her eyes. No matter how hard she tried to return to unconsciousness, the clearing was no longer dark enough, and trying to sleep anywhere else carried the risk of drowning.
Rolling onto her side, the little orphan gazed sadly across the clearing to the empty islet at its centre. Lady Visnavik had yet to return, leaving her servant behind with no instructions and no guarantee that she was coming back.
The cold feeling intensified at the thought, concentrating in the middle of her chest like there was a chunk of snow where her heart should have been.
What if she didn’t come back? What if that was the last time Ilya would ever see her face?
Ilya squeezed her eyes shut tightly before opening them once more. She was coming back- she had to be, her horde was still here; she wouldn’t just abandon it.
‘She wouldn’t just abandon me…’ A tiny voice in her head added, desperate wishful thinking backed up by nothing.
Beyond the collection of treasures centuries in the making, this whole land was Lady Visnavik’s possession- as much a part of the horde as the glittering gold coins or the silver swords hilted within. It was half the reason she had been so enraged in the first place.
‘The other half being my fault…’ Curling up in a tight ball of misery, Ilya groaned into her knees. She had to make it up to her Lady somehow.
Maybe more sacrifices? More servants? More gold for the pile? She was little match for Issnur or any of the other squatters, so ridding her Lady of them directly was out of the question.
‘I have to go back into town.’ Ilya thought to herself, more of a direct command than anything. The swamp held only corpses and plants, resources only her Lady could take advantage of, Bearwood would have more she could work with.
It was a situation she knew well: wanting so badly to lay there and mope, but knowing she couldn’t. No one was coming to help her- a day off was a day hungry.
Rolling onto her hands and knees, Ilya gathered her few possessions and rose from her nest, shuffling across the swamp to the special tree. She was still getting used to the process of magical transport, but the disorientation of suddenly being somewhere else was lessening with each pass through.
Ilya could see the lumberyard was empty when she drew closer to the town. It was less sorted and packed away than usual, with numerous saws strewn around and planks left on work tables like a group had arrived, cut whatever wood they needed, and then left without a second thought.
Wandering into the middle of the yard, Ilya kicked a discarded cube of ashwood, watching as it made a trail in the sawdust.
As she stood there amidst the piles of wood, absentmindedly looking around, she tried to separate the background drone of Bearwood into layers. There were a lot more loud sounds today than usual, the lowest layer that came from day to day speech missing completely. In the place of any basal rumbling, a fuzzy roar sat above it all like torrential rain.
The noise became clearer as she walked out of the lumberyard and up the hill. Shouting- angry shouting, many voices all lashing out at someone who wasn’t listening.
A mob had formed at the gate to the lord’s manor, struggling against his personal guard who desperately tried to keep them out.
“Where is he?!” A man with a pitchfork demanded. “Why is he hiding away?!”
“Why isn’t he doing anything!?“ A woman added. “That monster could come back any minute!”
“This big gate and that fancy house won’t save him!” Another man declared, a makeshift battering ram partly held in his arms. “Not from us, and definitely not from that thing!”
“Good people, I ask you to please calm yourselves!” One of the guardsmen shouted over the noise. “There is no reason for alarm!”
“No reason for alarm!?!” One of the other men carrying the battering ram replied in disbelief. “There isn’t a soul alive who didn’t hear that roar- didn’t feel their home shake apart when a DRAGON flew over the town!!”
The cries of the mob grew louder in furious agreement, their battering ram swinging home against the iron gate. Ilya stood idly by, feeling mild satisfaction on her Lady’s behalf. It seemed she had paid Bearwood a brief visit, taking their sleep, their feelings of safety, and pieces of their houses as a fee for Issnur’s trespassing.
The tiny smile was wiped from Ilya’s face when she spotted a familiar guard on the other side of the fence. A barrel chested man in layered armour, fighting the crowd with the blunt side of his spear, jabbing at arms that tried to reach through the bars. She had forgotten his name, but she would never forget his face, nor his voice.
“Hey there kiddo, I hear you’re looking for work. Lucky for you I’ve got just the thing, straight from the lord himself.”
“It sounds scary, I know, but you look like a crafty girl, I really think you can beat it.” Liar.
“There we go, fits well doesn’t it? This will keep you safe from that nasty beast.” Liar.
“When you get back, a warm welcome will be waiting for you.” Liar.
LiarLiarLiarLiarLiarLiarLiar.
On the orders of his lord, a guardsman crept into a dingy alley in search of Bearwood’s next offered sacrifice: a little orphan girl who just didn’t know when to quit.
He buttered her up with words of encouragement, flattery, everything she had been wanting to hear her whole life.
He fed her a story of a job that needed someone small and sneaky, someone who was a survivor and could come out on top against all odds.
He equipped her with garbage gear already destined for the dumpster and a shining silver sword meant to sweeten the deal made with an unknown devil.
With a smile and a reassurance of success he sent her on her way, knowing full well they would never meet again.
That was his plan anyway.
Ilya had mixed feelings for the man. On the one hand, hatred for dangling false hope in front of a girl who had never known the real thing; on the other hand, gratitude for setting her on the path towards servitude and the endless joy that brought.
As if sensing the intensity of her gaze, the guardsman turned his head, their eyes
meeting. It took a few seconds for him to recognize her face, but when he did, his eyeballs bugged out of their sockets, features draining of blood to match her skin tone.
He stared at the street rat, shocked, glancing down to her clothes before snapping back to her eyes.
Ilya waved.
Blindly tugging another guard close and shoving the spear into their hands, the lord’s kindly executioner spun around to sprint up the hill towards the manor. She didn’t stick around for his return, slinking away from the guards while the mob still blocked them from finishing the job.
Heading in the opposite direction from the manor, Ilya wandered down well trodden streets, making a mental note whenever someone reacted to her presence.
It was such a strange experience, to be noticed. Where before she could scream or cry in the middle of the street and draw no attention, now the simple act of silent walking drew long stares and fearful looks.
Those who had not joined the mob were no less on edge for it, hurrying from essential task to essential task, fighting among themselves; constantly checking the sky for dark shapes. A mother who spotted the dark robed figure approaching took her child’s hand and fled, dropping some of her groceries in the process.
When no one moved to claim the precious morsels, Ilya stepped forward, picking up a fallen plum and biting into the flesh. It was a little sour.
She continued her stroll as the lucky meal was consumed, pit dropped behind her with little care when it was over. Her wrap around the district led her to the market square, less empty than the last time she had seen it, but not a big improvement. There weren’t any active stalls, and the only townsfolk present were in the middle of some kind of shouting match.
An elderly woman sat on a box near the wall of a building, gaze calmly fixed on the sky, her serene expression contrasting harshly against the chaos all around her. Many seconds passed before she noticed the little shadow staring.
“Ah… the rumour burning through the town had some merit after all.” She noted aloud. “You must be her, that cultist everyone is talking about.”
The servant of Chaos tilted her head, she wasn’t a cultist, she was just Ilya. “What rumour?” Ilya asked.
The old woman let her eyelids fall closed, smiling. “It started a week or so ago, street kids saying an older girl was skulking about in the Bowl, offering a deal and promising salvation.”
“It spiralled out of control from there, tying in missing people and nightmares. I thought the stories of a stranger in black were similarly embellished- until now at least.” She gave the corrupted church habit a once over.
“I don’t know about nightmares, but that first part was me.” Ilya confirmed with scrunched brows. A second later they shot upwards, her face brightening with hope. “Wait, wait- did you want to join!?”
Cataract clouded eyes returned to the sky, watching- waiting. “What I’d like is for that beautiful dragon to grace us with their presence again.”
Ilya leaned in close, her excitement obvious. “Me too! I also want that! That was my Lady. She’s really mad and I’ve been trying to think of ways to calm her down.”
“Your Lady?” The lenses of the woman’s eyes almost seemed to clear slightly. “Then it’s as we wished for…”
“…A dragon priestess, as I live and breathe.”
Inhaling deep and blinking away some sort of emotion, she tapped her cane against the paved ground. “Well, young priestess, what have you come up with so far?”
Ilya’s thoughts split like a creek, one half working on responding to the question while the other turned the words ‘dragon priestess’ around and around in her brain. “Uhh, I was thinking about gathering more gold to offer to my Lady, she really likes coins and shiny things.”
“In that case…” The old woman reached into her pocket, pulling out a simple gold locket that she then placed into Ilya’s upturned palm.
“You take this to your Lady.” She said, closing the little priestess' fingers around the necklace, gently shaking their clasped hands for emphasis. “You take this and you tell her that old granny Greta made the first offering.”
“My family remembers the power and majesty of dragons.” She explained with a wistful expression that then turned hopeful. “We revered it once, long ago, and we are ready to revere it again should she be willing to have us.”
Ilya’s eyes widened further, stars sparkling in the lightless void of her irises as every other thought process was thrown out. A new servant? Multiple new servants? An entire family who wanted to worship her Lady like she deserved? It felt too good to be true.
“Yes, I- I would love that- She would love that!” She cried, excitement growing stronger with each second longer she thought about it. “My Lady is the only worthy master in this world, it’s only natural to bow to her- it’s right!” Ilya’s fingers slid up to cup her own face, feeling the wide grin in her palms. “Ahh~ to know there are those who feel the same!”
“Life in this world is so lonely and painful, filled with danger and hardship, but those who serve Her faithfully know only bliss! Free from disease, free from hunger, free from the emptiness of a purposeless life! Visnavik’drok’sahrot is our one true Queen: powerful and fair, worthy of every tribute, every sacrifice and worship!” Ilya was shouting now, the feelings that she had once kept to herself overflowing from her heart to flood her arteries with a powerful mania.
Her hands fell from her face to clasp at her chest, dilated pupils staring longingly into the sky for any sign of the black dragon’s return. “This land and everything in it belongs to Her: the trees, the water, the stones and mud! They have since before this kingdom was born! Her anger comes from this simple truth being forgotten; from her subjects not revering her as they should!”
“Give yourself to Her and all will be made right again! You will never know fear! Her wings will surround you, her magic will protect you, her desires for this world will guide you!” It was the loudest and most energetic Ilya’s voice had ever been, fueled by a burning passion for her Queen and channelled by skillsets she didn’t know she had.
When the haze of her madness and euphoria cleared, Ilya snapped back to the present, dropping her gaze from the sky to check her immediate surroundings. A small crowd had formed around her at some point, hopeful faces, interested faces, skeptical faces, all looking her way.
She should have felt uncomfortable from all the attention, but all other feelings were currently being overwritten by confusion and vague satisfaction. What was that? It was like she had suddenly become Annabelle, preaching the good word to a packed church.
The words ‘dragon priestess’ resumed their turning motions. Maybe she was a cultist after all.
Before she could think further on her sermon, a young man at the front of the crowd spoke up, nervously tearing at his nails. “If no reverence angers her, will worshipping her spare our families her wrath? How do we convince her we’re sincere?”
Ilya stared at the man for a silent second, causing him to break his gaze and stare at the ground.
“My Lady is a dragon; she likes precious metals best.” The new priestess eventually explained, remembering her orders from what felt like forever ago. “Give up what gold and silver you have, take from others if you have neither. If you make an offering to our Lady, she will be pleased.”
“When our Lady is pleased, she is generous. From her generosity, everything good comes.”
Shifting her attention to include everyone else, Ilya clapped her hands together in front of her chest. “We will all be rewarded when the day is done.” She assured them.
“Let’s get to work!”
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Over the following hours, the town continued to fall apart.
Chaos in the east centred around a near-riot at the adventurer’s guild, where dozens and dozens of wealthy residents attempted to post a quest at the same time, desperate to find a group of heroes to save them. The guild refused every one of them, citing the extreme threat level of the quest and the lack of suitable teams to take it, things that only heightened the crowd’s anger.
Chaos in the west was widespread, fear igniting a metaphorical tinderbox that had been building for decades. The town’s poorest lashed out at everything, attacking random guards in the streets, breaking into shuttered businesses and homes, stealing anything they could, up to and including ripping crops straight from farmer’s fields.
The mob at the lord’s manor had grown to an uncontrollable size, and with the town guard spread too thin to assist it was only a matter of time before they broke through the gate and into the manor proper.
Ilya and her new recruits were quick to take advantage of the situation, entering behind the mob to ransack the building while their cover struggled with the lord’s guard further inside.
The manor was somehow more fancy than the east side cafes or the church of Amasur, places that had until recently been as high as Ilya thought luxury could go. It seemed like even the most basic things were decorated with valuable materials, from the chairs to the doorknobs, giving the little priestess and her dagger lots to do.
Maids and other servants of the house made no attempt to stop her, cowering when she entered the room and escaping when it became clear the cultist only cared about the platinum rivets in the furniture.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
In one of the many sitting rooms she had taken apart, Ilya found a large painting of a man with a moustache wearing incredibly colourful clothes. The hair on his head was long and white and very curly, while the hair above his lip was brown and pointy; his lips looked to be painted with something like blood. A wide brimmed hat completed the look, stuffed with a frankly ridiculous amount of coloured feathers.
‘This is probably him…’
For all the trouble he put her through and all the insulting offerings his family had made to Lady Visnavik, Ilya found herself unable to think of Bearwood’s ruler as a real person. He was more of a concept or force, something that she knew affected her life and her Lady’s lands, but that wasn’t a physical thing she could see and touch.
Looking up at his painted appearance somehow didn’t change that feeling.
Ilya should have hated him, but she just… didn’t? She didn’t feel much of anything. His guard could successfully push the mob out and restore peace or they could string him up on the tallest tree and she wouldn’t care either way. The bags full of shiny things she would leave with were enough to balance the ledger between them, and that was all that mattered.
Just as her pouches were nearing capacity, Ilya began to hear screams: the mob had lost their first member, and the reminder of mortality would likely cause many more to flee. It was just as well, the outburst of anger had made it easy to enter, and the wave of fear would make it easier to leave.
She called her followers back to a room before the main entryway, and when the rush of people came, they let themselves be carried all the way to safety.
The fledgling cult reconvened at the edge of town, pooling their gains, ill gotten or otherwise, into a single shipping crate taken from the market square. It was almost completely filled with precious metals: goblets, silverware, coins, accents, weapons, and heirlooms of all kinds.
“Yes, this is perfect!” Ilya beamed with pride. “Our Lady will be so happy when we give this to her!” She looked up at her followers and their families, overjoyed to see so many gathered in the black dragon’s name.
“You guys did good.” She affirmed directly. ”I’ll make sure to tell our Lady that you’re all worth keeping around.”
There were many sighs of relief and a few smiles, some recruits turning to speak with their spouses and children who still wore worried expressions. They would come to understand, everyone would, and together they would serve Lady Visnavik for the rest of their lives.
What a future that was promised to them…
The sudden calls of dozens of birds drew the cult’s attention to the forest, where entire flocks fled from something within.
“What’s got them so riled up?” One of the members who had followed her into the manor asked, watching the birds as they dispersed in all directions. “Has your Lady returned?”
Without any further thought on the suggestion Ilya excitedly ran out into the field, looking between the sky above and the forest in front of her for the sight of black scales. The trees shifted like something was moving between them but nothing was knocked over and nothing withered, lowering the likelihood it was her Lady and shrinking her smile in kind.
Eventually the bushes at the edge of the forest rustled, and a figure burst out from the foliage, sliding backwards as they tightly gripped their twin blades. They were covered in blood, a shirt that might have been white once now completely stained red by the fluid of life and death.
“Eh?” Ilya’s eyes widened slightly in recognition. “Lucia?”
The black dragon’s newest slave dodged back again, avoiding the swing of a giant rotten fist as large as her head. The fist’s owner emerged from the brush after her into the farmer’s field, covered in the proof of Lucia’s fierce resistance. Its skin had been sliced to ribbons and countless long grooves had been cut into its flesh, the most prominent travelling from its hip to below the opposite shoulder where an arm had been until very recently.
“Hhh…” The adventurer wheezed, stumbling over her own feet, visibly exhausted.
Drawing the last of her strength Lucia dashed in with an enraged cry, using her momentum to drive both blades deep into the undead’s neck before forcefully opening her arms and ripping the spine apart. Without its anchor to the rest of the body, the creature’s head was sent sailing off in an arc to land somewhere among the crops.
The zombie brute’s body teetered, then toppled, landing on its back with a loud thud.
Stumbling back from her kill, Lucia did the same.
Some of the men in the cult ran forward with their priestess to check on the fallen woman. “What happened to you, girl?” One asked, carefully lifting her up while keeping her neck secure. “Undead… tons of them.” Lucia got out, her eyes struggling to stay open. “…they’re coming.” With that her body went limp.
“Luciaaa~ Hey!” Ilya called, clapping repeatedly in front of her friend’s face. “It’s not time for sleeping!” But Lucia did not respond- she was out cold.
The others anxiously looked between one another. “Did she say there were more of them than just that big guy?”
“I thought something like this might happen.” Granny hummed as she slowly approached, her wrinkled face creasing further with a frown. “When a dragon leaves, nasty monsters always appear to fill in the gap.”
Ilya thought on the new information for a moment. The area around her Lady’s swamp was completely devoid of non plant life; for an hour in every direction not a single animal or monster could be found. She supposed it made sense that her Lady leaving would cause them to return.
“Maybe we should get out of here then, at least to the other side of town.” She suggested, looking from Lucia, to the forest, and then to her followers. “Our Lady would be mad if her servants all died.”
“Is this girl here one too?” Greta asked. “You seem to know her.”
Ilya nodded with a smile. “Yeah, Lucia’s like me. Look at the top of her arm here.” She pointed to the fresh scars that formed a draconic word. “We both have this, it marks us as belonging to Lady Visnavik. This one-”
Horrific shrieks interrupted Ilya from explaining further, bringing all attentions back to the forest. In between the many trees, pinpricks of light could be seen illuminating empty sockets; burning with hatred.
The recruit that was holding Lucia- his name might have been Thomas? -quickly stood up, carrying the fallen adventurer in his arms. “I’ll take her. We need to go now.”
“Come on, Granny.” Another member offered, allowing Greta to hop up on his back, and together the cult started to run, Ilya shouting for the others with the precious crate to do the same.
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Issnur sat in the middle of his tavern, staring up at the ceiling as loyal patrons taking shelter alongside him burned holes in their tables.
He rarely drank from his own stocks, but the events of the last day were as good a justification as he had ever gotten.
He hadn’t even finished purifying his bar of necrotic miasma when the ancient’s roar washed over the town, and it wasn’t too long after when the monster herself flew low enough to scrape the rooftops. There were still shards of glass scattered around the bar counter.
He didn’t want to think that what happened next was inevitable, but it definitely wasn’t surprising. Mortals, by their very nature as such, valued their lives above all, and the fear of losing their lives could make them do terrible things.
So much destruction and misery was taking place just beyond his doorway, but there wasn’t anything he could do to stop it.
He couldn’t tell the innocent and guilty apart in the chaos and he didn’t have the authority or presence to reestablish order, not in his current form anyway. And yet to change forms would draw Death’s ire, bringing the metaphorical hammer down and dooming them all.
There was nothing he could do- about any of it. So he sat there with what few he could protect, listening to the shouts and cries outside as they blended together into fuzzy static.
As his ears began to numb to the sound, rapid thumping suddenly filled the tavern: someone knocking at the front door in a panic.
“ISSNUR!” Came the desperate voice. “Come on man, open up! There's undead! You gotta open up!”
The snow elf jolted up from his slumped sitting position, running over to the door peek outside. One of his regulars was visible through the glass, frantically checking between the tavern’s entrance and somewhere down the road. “Come on, come on, come on…” He was repeating to himself.
“Francois?” Issnur greeted, ushering the dark skinned human in with his much paler hands. “What’s going- shit!” He pulled his patron inside just as the answer to his question caught up, slamming the door in its dripping face.
“Praise the gods!” Francois sighed in a mix of panic and relief, pressing his back against the wood. “There’s tons of them, they just showed up out of nowhere, out of the forest!”
“HEY!” The bartender yelled into the tavern to the rest. “COME HOLD THE DOOR!” She had something to do with this, he knew she did. He should have known better than to think a creature of Chaos would uphold their word.
When his patrons did as instructed, Issnur closed every latch and lock before running in the direction they came from, vaulting over the bar to the other side. He shoved mugs and mixing implements to the side to reveal a rarely opened secret compartment.
Quiet whispers and a glow of magic caused the wood covering to disappear, allowing the knight of Order to take up his armament once more.
A brilliantly crafted partisan of the highest quality sat in his hands, decorated in silver and plated in gold; infused with blessings that banished evil. The familiar weight of it brought back all manner of memories, both the good and the bad.
He had no armour to wear, nor did he need any, so Issnur donned his apron in its place. Defending the establishment from threats wasn’t something he expected from employees, but cleanliness certainly was, and as the employer it was up to him to set an example.
“Thank you, loyal customers.” He said, bowing his head when he once again stood at the tavern’s entrance. “Please return to your seats while making a barricade out of any unused tables. I will take care of this.”
His patrons gaped at his weapon, then at him once they realized what he was saying. But his expression was stern, and they soon obeyed, allowing him to unlock the door and swing it open.
As soon as the wood and glass was out of his way, Issnur burst forth from the tavern, rushing through the skeleton with enough force to shatter into tiny pieces.
Before he did anything else, Issnur raised his finger, drawing a circle in the air in front of the door. With a gust of air and a click, the door swung shut; Issnur could hear all of the locks re engage. The glowing outline of a circle now floated just above the surface of the wood, containing within it the outline of a generic looking lock. Issnur nodded to himself, satisfied that his customers were safe.
When he turned back around there were more coming down the road, the same skeletons as before, slow and lumbering; dripping with black sludge. He rushed forward once again, the air parting around the tip of his spear, creating a visible cone of wind around his advance.
The sound of cracking bone and splattering fluid filled Issnur’s ears as he barrelled through his enemies, continuing down the road and toward the lumberyard. Just as his loyal patron had said, dozens of risen creatures flowed from the treeline: normal skeletons, skeletons covered in sludge and corpse wax, zombies, and even a few wisps. The undead were predominantly human and orc, but the bodies of many different animals were sprinkled in, from deer to direbears.
His partisan jabbed forward at them as they approached, golden afterimages attacking alongside him. Nothing survived more than a single hit, the corporeal exploding into their component pieces and the incorporeal scattering into motes of light.
Out of nowhere, a bolt of lightning descended from the sky, striking the earth where Issnur was only a second ago. Sliding to a stop from his dodge, Issnur looked up, very quickly locking in on the attacker.
Hovering in the air a few metres above the trees was a spirit of some kind, formed around the bottom half of a skeleton. Its spectral form was a very light purple, contrasting against the green of the forest and the fading colour of the sky. Its ghostly appearance was feminine, a very large mage’s hat on its head, long straight hair spilling down like curtains to reach past its knees.
“...Eleanor.” He breathed, staring into her empty white eyes. After being gifted Darius’ head last night, his hopes for her survival weren’t high, but his jaw clenched tight anyway.
The deceased aeromancer didn’t say anything, instead slowly raising a sparking finger to point in his direction.
He dodged out of the way as another larger bolt came down, continuing to spear down undead as he did so. There were still so many skeletons streaming in from the woods, enough that Issnur began to question how there were enough bodies to fuel their creation. Bearwood was not a large town and its graveyard was in the exact opposite direction.
Eleanor’s ghost did not have breath to catch, rotating into the next spell immediately and without pause, her arms flowing through its somatic components.
Dark grey clouds swirled into existence just overhead, crackling with fury that was begging to be discharged. The air came alive with static, making Issnur’s platinum blonde ponytail start to frizz and float behind him.
“So you finally figured it out.” The barkeep remarked, a little proud. “...I hope you got a good hit in with it before the end.”
The inverted crown of electric devastation descended in a flash of light, upturning the fields and incinerating the remaining crops that hadn’t already been stolen. Waves of energy from the ghost’s spell washed over the land, carelessly blowing other undead apart in its attempt to chase down the lone living being.
Before the wave could touch him, Issnur leaped into the air, weaving the wind to guide him ever higher. His left hand gripped tightly to his spear as he closed in, his right hand gently reaching out to the corrupted memory of a gifted woman.
“[ Order’s Absolution ].”
At the point where his fingers brushed Eleanor’s chin a bright light erupted, devouring the spectral figure and sending her soul on its way.
Densifying the air beneath them to slow their fall, Issnur took hold of Eleanor’s remains and hovered down to the ground, laying it out with respect.
Screams of fear rang out behind him as he stood there- he had protected this entrance to town, but the undead had gotten past him anyway. As much as Issnur wanted to advance into the forest to find the missing pieces of his customer’s bodies, the living out prioritized those already gone.
Spinning around, he dashed back up the road towards the cries. He couldn’t defeat all the evils that threatened the world or even that threatened just this town, but undead? That he could do.
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The horde entered the town from the west and slowly pushed eastward, rolling over the distracted and unsuspecting poor, ripping to shreds any who didn’t have the strength or will to run. Riots and mobs were snuffed out the instant their participants spotted lights in dead eyes, morphing angry unrest into panicked stampedes as people tried to flee in any direction they could.
While the undead that were weighed down by black muck were slow, and the zombies were slower, the skeletons were not. They were able to move just as fast as any person, chasing their targets through the streets until the person was slain or until they escaped into a building with a functioning door and latch- a rarity on the west side.
The wisps hovered silently over all of this, soaking up the fear and chaos like leaves in sunlight.
Word eventually reached the adventurers guild and the crowd of indignants that stood around it, piercing through the worries of a future threat with the announcement of a very close one. The shouts warned of an undead swarm, a horde that counted one of the guild’s own in its numbers and would take many more if not halted.
As the guild members mobilized, the prospective quest givers swiftly ran for safety. East side homes and businesses were built sturdy, with strong doors and thick shutters that could cover windows, allowing those with the money and the means to lock themselves away.
With his manor devastated and his front entrance blown wide open, Bearwood’s ruler could not do the same, forced to flee alongside those who had done the damage. Many in the same position made a break for the church, the last definitive safe harbour in town- a place that would surely accept just citizens like them, but when they arrived, all were met with magically sealed doors and silent stone walls.
Had the gods abandoned them? Was that why such terrors came within the span of a single day? The forsaken had little time to grieve their situation as a skeletal direboar rounded the street corner and charged, chasing them further east.
On the other side of town. Issnur saved as many as he could, opening paths for those trapped in the west to evacuate in the same direction as the rest of the town. He was far stronger than any lone elf but he was still a lone elf, limited in his abilities by the small form he had been locked into. Eventually the number of different twisting roads and ways undead could subvert him became too much, and he had to fall back to assist the main defence.
Anyone still living who had not or could not lock themselves in their homes were funnelled into the main street where their escape could be protected by the combined forces of the guild, the town guard, the lord’s personal guard, and one very powerful barkeep.
Noncombatant members of the guild helped in other ways, guiding people from the rooftops, relaying messages, and leading groups of civilians at ground level.
One such guild member, Penelope, a girl who worked the front desk on most days, had just successfully escorted a number of civilians out of the town when she was met with an odd sight.
A crowd of people were already gathered there, and seemed to have been there long before the first proper evacuees.They sat around a shipping crate with a small woman in black giving some kind of speech from atop it. Her face was lit up with excitement as she spoke, the joy in her eyes running counter to the bleak state of the town and its continued existence.
Laying down in front of the crate was a person: another young woman, covered in blood but still alive as evidenced by the slow rise and fall of her chest.
“Isn’t that…” The secretary murmured to herself, memories itching with familiarity. Then all at once, body and face matched name and file and she hiked up her skirt, running towards the circle of people. “Miss Lucia!”
The little lady on top of the box greeted her first. “Oh, hey. I guess the skeletons caught up, huh?”
Trying not to get bogged down in how this girl spoke so calmly about undead abominations and enemies of life, Penelope nodded. “Yes, they’ve taken over the west side of town and have pushed deep into the east. I saw Miss Lucia here and hoped we could get her back in the fight.”
“Lucia’s sleeping right now.”
“Yes I can see that, but I’ve seen her file; her help would save many lives.”
The strange girl looked down at Lucia, nodding her head. “Mmm, she’s pretty strong.” When Penelope followed her gaze, she saw many scabs and scars covering the woman’s body, like they had been left to heal naturally. It wasn’t uncommon for regular folk, but it was rather rare for such a seasoned adventurer.
“Her injuries look like they haven't been healed, why?” She asked the girl, who wore what looked to be a habit of dusk at closer glance.
“My [ Heal ] would probably hurt her.” The little priestess replied, causing Penelope to blink hard in confusion. “What? What does that mean?”
Behind them, townsfolk continued pouring out, joining the rest of the evacuees in the fields outside the shipping yard. Eventually the defenders fell back to the town’s exits, trying to slowly whittle down the largest hordes with the help of the tighter streets and safer backing.
Undead constantly spilled out of the town, the quicker skeletons chasing down stragglers while the slower zombie horde shuffled forward as a moving wall of rot. They were met with an equally constant flurry of attacks: weapons cleaving off limbs, magic incinerating flesh, projectiles of all kinds flying through the air, and the few individuals that knew it casting [ Turn Undead ] over and over again.
Issnur was right at the front, thrusting his gilded spear forward at anything that drew close, obliterating their heads with precision. The line was holding decently, and the basic skeletons didn’t put up too much of a fight, but there seemed like an endless amount of them, to say nothing of the larger skeletal creatures or the wall of zombies slowly approaching.
The living could tire, the dead could not.
When the largest horrors caked in grave wax caught up with the battle, the balance tipped, the barkeep’s group very quickly becoming the only one capable of dispatching the enemy fast enough to not be forced backward.
“That looks kinda bad.” Ilya commented, though her tone was again very strange- like she was talking about fashion choices instead of life or death circumstances.
“Look, I know a little bit of healing, it might help in getting Lucia back on her feet.” Penelope offered. As bizarre as this group was, from the comfortable way the injured adventurer had been laid out it was clear that they wanted her to recover as much as the guild did.
“Do… Do I have your permission?” She awkwardly added when the stares of the little speaker’s audience made it feel like she needed to.
“Sure, if it gets Lucia up.” Ilya accepted, vague curiosity in her grey eyes. “I wanted to talk to her anyway.” Kneeling down next to her friend, she watched the guild girl do the same and bring her hands together in prayer.
“Gods, I hope this works. [ Heal ].”
The orb that appeared between the former cleric’s palms was larger than Ilya’s initial attempt, but smaller than the giant green ball that followed. Pointing the spell down at the target, warm gold magic properly closed up the many scabs all over Lucia’s body, save for the ones on her shoulder which remained exactly the same.
“Huh? Why didn’t that-” The guild girl was about to wonder, but she tossed it all aside when Lucia’s chest rapidly expanded in a deep breath.
“What… What happened…?” She mumbled, eyes creaking open.
“Miss Lucia, you’re awake, praise Amasur!” The guild girl exclaimed, before bowing her hand and clapping her hands together like a prayer once again. “Things are dire, please lend us your strength.”
“What the fuck are you…” The adventurer was about to sleepily mouth off, but her bleary gaze drifted to land on the little priestess instead, immediately clearing the haze from her mind and replacing it with anger.
“YOU!” Lucia’s red eyes flared with fury, yanking herself up from her unconscious position to grab Ilya by her habit. “You traitor!” She cried, simultaneously getting to her feet and lifting the dragon priestess off the ground. “How could you!?”
“Lucia, what’s up with you?” Ilya asked, sounding more confused and concerned than intimidated. “Why did you run off last night? Where did you find all these zombies and skeletons?”
“I bet you know exactly where! Did she send them?!” Lucia’s voice wavered, the spat pronoun sounding unhinged.
“You should have just stayed home with me.” Ilya said instead of answering, holding onto the adventurer’s arms to relieve the discomfort of being held. “I was in our Lady’s clearing all night and nothing showed up there.”
The red eyed woman shook her head in disbelief and anger. This little monster had ruined her life, just as she thought she was getting it together; just as she thought she had found her place to belong.
The defensive wall of adventurers finally broke behind them, panic spreading as skeletons rushed through the gaps made by trampled or fleeing defenders. Any semblance of order or discipline broke down, and it was every man for themselves.
“Miss Lucia please! There’s no time for this!”
Surrounded by undead and screaming civilians, the guild secretary pleading in her ear, Lucia coiled back her arm, fingers clenched crushingly tight. If they were all going to die, she would make sure Ilya went down with them.
Her fist and her eyes flashed together, synchronized in colour, and then her hips shifted, hand surging forward to-
“Stop.”
A pulse of dark energy rocketed through the entire town and into the forest beyond, causing every being, living or undead, to freeze.
All fell completely silent, save for the steady flapping of gigantic wings as a majestic beast descended from on high.
Ilya was the first to move, squirming out of Lucia’s grasp and dropping to her knees, bending forward to press her forehead against the dirt in supplication. Granny wasn’t too far behind, her old bones and rigid muscles cooperating long enough to match the youngster’s pose. More joined in after, those who had heard the little priestess’ words and believed, those for whom seeing was believing, and those who believed whatever would let them live another day.
“Ilya.” Visnavik began, landing gracefully on her hind legs before her forelimbs lowered to the ground with a thump. “What is this?”
The black dragon’s servant kept her head down, shouting her response into the soil. “Lesser beings bowing before your glory, my Queen! As all things should!”
Visnavik stared down at the back of her slave’s head for a moment. “...Yes, very good, but not what I am asking. Why is this town being attacked?” The words ‘without my order’ went unspoken.
That got Ilya to raise from the ground, revealing a fresh splotch of dirt on her pale forehead. “Oh- um.” She looked back at Lucia and the guild girl who were both still frozen in terror. “I found Lucia a little while ago, she came out of the woods being chased by zombies for some reason.” Her attention returned to her Lady, head tilting. “I guess they just like her?”
Visnavik’s jade green gaze swept over the scene before her, jumping from skeleton to human to human to zombie to orc, finally landing on a single snow elf at the back of the crowd.
They locked eyes.
A spiteful smirk slowly curled the black dragon’s lips, an idea offering itself to her alongside it.
“Fearful children of the highlands. My… unknowing subjects.” The great beast began, projecting her address far and wide. “I, Visnavik’drok’sahrot, have heeded your cries for a saviour.”
“Fall in line.”
With another pulse of darkness, every undead horror broke from their frozen states, turning away from their once targets and beginning to arrange themselves into neat military columns.
“Behold my power” She boasted, watching their pathetic faces turn from terror to awe. “With only a few words the undead that threaten you become docile sheep.”
“That which seems certain extinction for mortals is but a minor annoyance for a true dragon. How lucky you are to live your lives so close to one.” Her eyes shifted back to Issnur poignantly. His jaw was clenched, fingers wanting so desperately to shift into claws as they curled against his weapon.
“Do not grip your spear so tightly, good sir elf.” She mocked, calling him out directly- not bothering to hide her malicious grin. “My new pets here might mistake such actions as hostility. Who knows what would happen then.”
Issnur let a stressed and frustrated breath through his teeth, reluctantly obeying by jabbing the blunt end of the weapon hard enough into the soil to plant it there. The helplessness was delicious.
“While I still have your attention…” The black dragon’s gaze lingered on her enemy before sweeping over the rest of the crowd. “Which one of you claims rulership of this town in my stead? The chieftain, lord, etcetera- step forward.”
Rather than step, Bearwood’s leader was shoved in Visnavik’s direction by those he was supposed to reign over.
“That would be I, Y-Your Highness.” With only a minor stumble he composed himself and bowed, taking a complete guess on the honorific. “Marquis Dubois, Lord of Bearwood and her surrounds.” Diversion from their assigned roles wasn’t the only way humanity had changed, it seemed, their fashion had shifted to imitating birds.
“Then it was your family that fed me sacrifices all these years.” The black dragon mused aloud, making sure his people could hear every word. Some gasped, many broke their terrified gaze from the dragon to glare at the back of their lord’s head; she could easily tell which reactions were fake and which were genuine. It was amusing how many already knew.
A bead of sweat ran down the side of the little lord’s once powdered face. “Y-Yes, Your Highness.”
“I noticed the quality steadily drop as time went on, culminating in your most recent sacrifice, who was completely inedible. I had to make use of her in other ways.” A clawed hand raised to gesture at her slave.
“What am I meant to take from this?” She asked next, increasing the amount of displeasure in her voice and the intensity of her attention. “Does your family no longer respect my rule? Do you not appreciate my protection? Did you believe me to be an old family tradition- one that needed not be taken seriously?”
The marquis squirmed, breaking out in a proper sweat as he struggled to both explain himself to the all powerful creature in front of him while managing the ire of the people behind him. “N-No! I- times have been tough for the highlands, our winter stocks-”
“Excuses.” Visnavik dismissed, feigning hurt and disappointment. “I save you and this town and all I receive in return are excuses. Perhaps I should not have bothered.” She silently commanded all the undead to twitch, as if breaking free of her control.
“NO!” Dubois and many others screeched, before the marquis pulled himself together again. “N-No, Your Highness- Your Most Benevolence! We of Bearwood are most grateful for your gracious aid!” He bowed his head, something many others copied.
The dragon once more placed the entire weight of her attention on the little lord's spine, intensifying the pressure right up until he would have collapsed before letting go.
“Then show it.”
“...Ilya. Lucia.” She commanded after a moment of silence.
The little priestess perked up at the direct call, smiling bright while her bloodied and scarred understudy began to shiver like a beaten dog. “Yes my Queen!”
The black dragon pointed towards the forest. “Lead the skeletons to my hoard and give each one as much of it as they can carry. You are to take it, and them, down the cliff to my new lair.”
“Make sure not a single coin is dropped, left behind, or stolen. Failure in this will bring consequences.”
“Of course my Queen! I will not fail!” Ilya obeyed, bowing her head for a second before yanking Lucia close and forcing her to do it with her. “We will not fail!”
“Then I return to the skies.” Visnavik stated, spreading her wings once more. “Should any of you wish to pay proper tribute, I have moved to a homely little cave just down the cliff to the south.”
She spared Issnur one last smug look. “Its last owner was… taken care of.” He couldn’t hide the pain in his eyes.
With that taste of sweet suffering she took flight, commanding the slower zombies to follow her. She left behind a town battered physically and emotionally, deeply unsure of how to feel or how to move forward.