Legend of Ransera

Posted: **Sun Nov 19, 2023 3:22 am**

The Dawn Will Come
68th of Glade, Year 390 of the Age of Sundering
Part I, Part II

The female cultist cocked her head as she regarded the dawnmartyr, her demon eerily mirroring the gesture. The woman was human, probably slightly older than the siltori. She would have been beautiful with her long brown hair and delicate features if it weren’t for the unsettling way her lips pulled back into a snarl.

Summoners were always tricky ones to manage. No matter how much experience Veriel had in facing various magic, it was nearly impossible to quickly figure out what the summoned spirit’s abilities were - and that was dangerous. On normal occasions, Veriel would have Nasyra, their resident expert sembler, to help discern information. But today the lieutenant was alone and the best she could do was avoid it as they fought.

Then there was the Kinetic. She noticed that he had closed their distance to throw her back with his magic just now, before retreating back. His range must be quite limited - which was a boon to the dawnmartyr. The bad news was that they were standing amongst ruined buildings and rubble, offering the man plenty of projectiles to throw at her as he pleased. He needed to be the first one to go.

The siltori looked at the summoned demon, a skeletal creature with a dozen fleshy arms protruding out its back. She broke into a run once more, jumping over the broken walls that stood in her way.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the male cultist move, trying to close in so that she was in range for an attack. Abruptly, Veriel turned her head towards the Kinetic instead and threw Dawnstrife towards him. It soared, directed right into his heart. The male was taken by surprise, but he managed to jerk away just as the blade sunk into him. Instead of getting his heart, the blade found its way deep into his left shoulder.

It was better than nothing. When her cursed blade buried itself into a victim, it meant the affliction would persist until the sword was taken out. He would be paralyzed as her magic bled away his aether bit by bit. For now, the dawnmartyr could focus on the two opponents standing in front of her.

Unfortunately, that stunt had left only Iratallin in her hand while the other blades hovering around her were mere duplicates - which meant they were not varnished with her hexes. She would have to get close to afflict them because she didn’t want to risk losing her pact weapon in a weakened state like this.

During that, Veriel didn’t stop running and in a few moments, she was already a sword’s length away from the two. The demon reacted first as it howled and brought one of his hands down, trying to claw at her face. The siltori was quicker, in a flash of metal Iratallin sliced through its wrist and the severed hand fell with a soft thud. The creature stood frozen, a reassuring confirmation for Veriel that her hexes would work on the spirit - there was no guarantee on how long though.

Veriel turned her blade to the human woman and slashed at her, but she managed to jump out of the way. Undeterred, the siltori lunged again making a grab for the woman’s arm. The moment her wrist closed around it she felt something hard instead of flesh. She would’ve guessed that the summoner wore some kind of armor underneath her robe.

The cultist looked smug. “That’s right, witch. You can’t curse me yet.”

The dawnmartyr almost laughed out loud if she wasn’t so exhausted. The bitch must have thought she was smart. Affliction was never the most popular among the magical arts. Sure, it had its infamy, but due to its presence being shunned and banned from certain societies, most people knew very little of it. Even among magic wielders. Of course, there were tall tales and gossip that were whispered through villages. Scary stories to make sure children wouldn’t play around at night. Some were true, but most were false.

And Veriel was one of those few who happily kept those false myths alive. One of them was that afflictionists needed direct contact with skin to exert their power. It was certainly true when it came to her pact weapons. The blades would need to make a scratch - even the most minute contact that wouldn’t even draw blood - on her opponent’s flesh.

Unfortunately for everyone, it was a whole different story when it involved her own body. It didn’t matter how many layers you wore, what thick metal protected your flesh - unless it was warded against her specific magic… The moment she came into contact with anything attached to the body, there was no escaping the affliction.

In her haste, however, Veriel let the jinx of pain seize her opponent. It was a rookie mistake. Paralysis should always be first. That mistake cost her. Despite screaming in pain and her legs buckling, the summoner still managed to throw a punch right into the dawnmartyr’s jaw. Veriel had to let her go and stumble back a few steps.

The young elf tried to lunge for her opponent again, but the cultist had managed to grab hold of a broken wooden beam and began waving it around. It struck Veriel’s head once before she stopped the next blow with Iratallin. She wisely kept her distance from the siltori. They struggled in awkward dance until the jinx’s effect started to fade.

Veriel could hear the demon lumbering toward her from behind, but she couldn’t afford to take her eyes off the cultist in front of her. She sent all of her duplicate swords to hold it back. It cut and slashed at it, managing to sever two of its arms but the swords were outnumbered. Veriel could hear one of the swords being broken into two. Then another one.

The dawnmartyr knew somehow the creature had enough strength to break all of her duplicates. Fortunately, it wasn’t a stealthy thing and she could hear the exact moment it got too close to her.

She rolled out of the way as it tried to swipe at her, but she was too slow. Veriel could hear its claws tearing through the steel of the armor on her back and into her flesh. The moment she felt the searing sensation, the siltori knew it was poison. She gasped as pain and nausea seized her. Her muscles began seizing and she lost her balance, falling right into her back. It took every bit of her will not to drop the sword in her hand.

Her heart pounded as her aether frantically traveled through her own system to seize the poison. It was hurried and sloppy and Veriel would suffer for it later, but right now her magic managed to find the vile poison and drag it into her own weave of afflictions. Immediately, the effects began to fade away, but she still wasn’t fast enough.

The demon’s foot landed on her chest, pinning her down. Veriel swung her sword upwards, trying to slice off the arm, but her angle was slightly off. In a surprising bit of intelligence, the creature blocked off the attack with one of the severed arms

Her muscles screamed as they strained to hold its place.

Somehow black blood still dribbled down her sword from the dead arm. The moment the thick liquid dropped into Veriel’s skin, it started blistering and a cry escaped her lips. Still, with a shaky hand, the young dawnmartyr poured more aether into the pact weapon, willing it to hold. But every second it pushed the blade further down, inching closer to her face.

The woman grinned as she stood over the dawnmartyr while the demon reared its arms, claws out and ready to tear through the elf’s body.

Instead of struggling, Veriel smiled back. Dawnstrife, the blade that had been keeping the male cultist paralyzed, flew through the air and drove itself through the woman’s skull. Her eyes widened for a split second - whether from the surprise or the pain or just the twitch of her muscle as she died. The first few drops of blood fell right onto the siltori’s forehead and soon a lot more than drops followed. The summoner went limp, the body slumping over Veriel and knocking the wind out of her. For a few seconds, she could hear the demon screech in frustration before it faded into nothingness. Her blades clattered to the ground loudly and the young elf let out a sigh of relief.

With a grunt, Veriel shoved the dead body off her and sat herself up. She would have a few minutes before the hex fizzled out of the male cultist - maybe less considering that her exhaustion might weaken her magic. She had to use her sword to pull herself up and for a moment the world turned.

There was no more time to waste both Iratallin and Dawnstrife took to the air to deliver the final blow before the paralysis faded away.

Of course, things would never be that easy.

Posted: **Sun Nov 19, 2023 5:12 am**

Broken pieces of stone formed a shield in front of the man’s body and her swords were easily deflected. Before she could even recall her weapons, the same pieces shot out towards her. The first one slammed into her right chest, her ribs buckling under the pressure. The next came for her arm but she managed to angle her body so that it whizzed harmlessly past her. She wasn’t so lucky on the third strike. At first, she couldn’t tell what hit her. Her eyes went dark for a second as her stomach tightened. Pain bloomed from her abdomen, exactly where a wooden stake had pierced through her flesh and dug itself into her body.

Her breath hitched at the realization and she nearly fell over. Her first instinct was to yank it out, but Veriel had learned enough medicine to know that it would be a terrible idea. There was nothing she could do but siphon the pain into her aether, but she knew that was as far as she could do. Her affliction could not heal mortal wounds, only spare her from some of the suffering.

Even from the distance, Veriel could sense the fury and determination as the man looked at her, at his dead companion, and back at her again. It was not unlike the drive that fueled the siltori to protect her people. Besides the wound to his shoulder, he was visibly uninjured while she could barely keep her head up. There was no need to wonder who would win the fight.

A part of her simply wanted to lie down and let fate take where it pleased. Every muscle on her body ached and her vision was getting blurry. She could see the cultist taking his time striding towards her - probably drawing the same conclusion as she did. Veriel was in no condition to fight, not anymore.

But the light in his eyes burnt with retribution. “You’ll die here, Dread Witch. You’ll get the painful death you deserve here.” With every step he took, more of the rubble started floating around him. “Your little sacrifice will mean nothing. I’ll find your men and those people you so bravely saved and I’ll tear each and every one of them apart.”

She believed him. There was no doubt in Veriel’s mind that the moment she fell, he would seek after Lorgan and Jerys and the villagers. He needed to be stopped here. Even if it meant she would have to die with him.

Oddly enough, the thought washed her with a sense of calm. This was her mission and she knew exactly what to do. Veriel didn’t know why exactly, but she thought of the day she was finally inducted into the warforged. She had been so giddy that day, nearly jumping up and down from the excitement. They made her swear an oath and now, the words echoed inside her head.

I am the fire of the Dawn.

Both of her pact weapons returned to her grasp, but she barely even had the strength to keep them up. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw something dark hurtling right towards her. But she noticed it too late. The rubble slammed into her left and she was knocked off her feet once more. As she fell, the right side of her head slammed into what must be a broken roof. As the world spun, the elf could feel the warm blood now trickling down the side of her face and inside her mouth.

I am the light that rebukes the wicked.

The dawnmartyrs forced herself to rise up, using her right arm to push her body off the ground. Her movements were stiff and slow, but she did it. Veriel looked up only to see another rock hurtling right into her face. Reflexively, she brought her left arm up to shield herself. The moment it connected, she could hear a sickening crack as her bones shattered. The sound of her scream pierced the skies above them.

Still, she managed to stand. Despite her depleted aether, Veriel made herself summon five duplicates of Iratallin and Dawnstrife. It was clearly a desperate attempt, but she sent each of them to him, all directed to a vital part. With a wave of his hand, wooden planks rose up from the ground and crashed into the blades. The duplicates were weak, like her, and they shattered on impact. Still, she summoned more and more.

In the flames of righteous anger, I have been forged.

The two pact weapons on her hands were starting to rust. The pain of overstepping started from her hands, inching up and up her arms. But she didn’t really care. Every time a duplicate fractured against his defenses, she would conjure another. It would shoot toward the cultist and be easily deflected and destroyed. So she called upon another and another and another.

Bring now the morning, for by my fury…

He was laughing now as he watched her struggle. Her attack never stopped. It didn’t matter that none of them came close, but blade after blade came for him. Veriel even threw Iratallin at him, which he dodged easily, the sword soaring harmlessly past his head. Still, she didn’t stop. She would never stop. Not even when she watched him gather all the stones and wood and dirt around him and lift them up into the air above her. More and more gathered until it blocked out the sky above her. It was clear that he was planning to crush her underneath it all. Even as he did this, he still had enough strength to still block her dancing swords.

I shall usher in the promise of a new day.

But not all of them.

The golden-haired man suddenly stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide and his mouth opened in surprise.

It was indiscernible, at first. The metal tip of Iratallin was only a small dot as it emerged from the cultist’s chest. Between deflecting her forward attack and planning her death, it had never crossed his mind that her blade would come from behind. With a cry, she fueled the sword with her last bit of aether and the rest of the blade burst out of his body before flying right back into her grip. The hilt was slick and warm with blood and Veriel could only hold it for a moment before her fingers wavered and let go.

Without his magic holding it up, all the rubble started falling from the skies. There was no time to think. Veriel used what little strength she had left to launch herself to the side, an effort to avoid death raining down from above. It wasn’t a graceful thing. Veriel landed on her back and she groaned as pain only flared as she landed. The world shook as the wood and stones slammed into the ground, missing her head by a hair’s breadth. She didn’t even have the strength to flinch.

Veriel to pull herself up, but she could only manage an inch before she fell back down. Gingerly, she lifted her head and finally saw what kind of damage her body had sustained. Her left forearm was crooked and she could only manage the slightest twitch of her fingers before the pain burned through. Countless lacerations decorated her limbs, caked with blood and dirt. Her eyes were caked with blood that flowed down from her own head. But the worst of all was the piece of wood still lodged in her right stomach, its jagged edges protruding out of her like a monstrous arm. The burn of her torn flesh was starting to return and she didn’t have the ability to draw it out into her aether anymore.

She let her head drop back to the ground and closed her eyes. By the time they found her, Veriel probably would have bled to death. If her parents found out, they would have scoffed and told everyone they had seen this would happen. They would say that she was wasting her life. For a d’Revrinti to die at the young age of twenty-nine? As a warrior on a bloody battlefield? That was unheard of. Her brothers would say she never should have left. That if only she hadn’t left for her silly dreams of saving the world, she would be safe and thriving.

Despite their words, she knew they would weep. They would cry and curse at the skies and beg her to come back.

Then, she thought of her friends back at the camp. Nasyra had promised to cook them rabbit stew tonight. They were supposed to have dinner together, the four of them. She wondered how they would react when the news arrived. Of course, they would drop everything and start heading her way. With his wings, Ryo would probably be the first to arrive. He would be the one to find her broken bloodied body.

I don’t want to die.

There must be some kind of mistake, right? After every night she had spent training, every pain she took, every curse she suffered through… How could this be it? Veriel always thought she could die gracefully, but it seemed like she was actually a coward. Her breath hitched both from the pain and her own sobs. The tears started flowing down her face. Perhaps she should be grateful that no one was around to hear her cry like a child.

She didn’t know how much time passed. It was a disconcerting sensation, but Veriel felt her own breathing slow. Her thoughts turned sluggish and the pain started fading away. Her muscles which were just so tightly wounded began to loosen. A white-gold light burned in her eyes even though they were closed. She waited for it to disappear, for the darkness to swallow her but the light only shone brighter.

Hesitantly, the young elf opened her eyes. A figure stood over her prone body, swathed in the sun and warmth. The light was so bright that she couldn’t even make out the man’s face. Veriel opened her mouth to ask who it was, but the words turned into coughs that wracked her body instead.

“This will not be the day you fall, Laveriel of Blades,” a voice said, echoing inside her skull. It sounded familiar, like someone she knew, but her brain couldn’t come up with any name. Her fears slowly ebbed away and for a moment, she could almost imagine that she might survive after all. Veriel could see his mouth moving, but she could not make out the words.

He knelt down, arm outstretched. The moment the figure tapped the center of her chest, warmth bloomed inside of her. For a split second, all the weariness and her pain faded away. Strength flowed through her vessels and it was as if all her wounds were healed. But the feeling was gone as soon as it had come. By the time she looked up again, the figure was nowhere to be seen and she was staring up at the red sun.

The glare, the light was making her head pound. Her mind couldn’t make sense of what just happened. Veriel blinked. And blinked again. Her eyes refused to focus, but she swore she could make out a pair of gray wings. The siltori tried to reach out, to wave her arms to get his attention, but her body refused to listen. Her limbs were weighed by stones and dark spots bloomed in her vision. She heard a familiar voice screaming her name before there was nothing else.

Legend of Ransera

[Memory] The Dawn Will Come (III)

[Memory] The Dawn Will Come (III)

Re: [Memory] The Dawn Will Come (III)