This had not been his smartest move. A more cautious man might have stayed on the main road and ignored the smoke. Counted his blessings that the darkspawn were distracted elsewhere. Tiberius had never been very good at being cautious though – at least not about the right things.
His snare had caught half a dozen darkspawn, binding them to the earth. This was his first time face to face with this enemy and his initial thought was that they looked not so different from undead. White eyes, pale bloated flesh, ragged voices from corrupted throats. He sensed no animating demon or spirit, however. It was all just the baleful poison of their blood. If there had been fewer — …
The closest two sprouted bloody needles of ice and – for the span of a breath – Tiberius worried that Despair had slipped the leash of his skin. Of the monsters, a genlock recovered first, hefted a crossbow and let fly a bolt. Tiberius ducked behind Lyric’s wall of ice a moment too late, bruising bone-scraping pain blooming in his left leg. He bit his tongue, tasting iron. His hand found the bolt up to the fletching in his lower thigh. A choked spell and a flash of violet light scabbed the wound over and did nothing at all for the pain.
Leaning on the ice, he reached out and altered his spell. The shadows rose higher, swallowing the remaining monsters up in sticky bands. Then they turned sharp and inward, piercing and slicing. Panting, he searched for Lyric. Found her.
“You didn’t tell me you could do ice. Not fair.” Groaning, Tiberius took to his feet and limped toward the farmhouse. He could make out faces at windows – an old couple, a man near his age, two youths who could only be that man’s burly sons. One of those, pounding the glass and pointing at the barn. Tiberius couldn’t make out the words through the roaring in his ears.
None of them seemed relieved or, Maker forbid, thankful. Perhaps suspicion against mages was alive and well even still?
“If it is so important to you – fine.” There was a well nearby and he leaned heavily on the stacked stones that walled it in, leaving a dark and bloody handprint on the mossy rock. Water siphoned up in a rush, directed toward the burning building with a wave of his hand. The fire began to recede, unhappy embers and a great deal of smoke.
Then he heard it. The farmer’s son hadn’t been pleading for their livelihood – he’d been warning Tiberius about what was in the barn. An ogre loomed up out of the smoke and steam, burned red as boiled crab but still very much alive. It screamed and charged Tiberius, whose only initial, stupid thought was to redirect the funnel of well water at it.
His snare had caught half a dozen darkspawn, binding them to the earth. This was his first time face to face with this enemy and his initial thought was that they looked not so different from undead. White eyes, pale bloated flesh, ragged voices from corrupted throats. He sensed no animating demon or spirit, however. It was all just the baleful poison of their blood. If there had been fewer — …
The closest two sprouted bloody needles of ice and – for the span of a breath – Tiberius worried that Despair had slipped the leash of his skin. Of the monsters, a genlock recovered first, hefted a crossbow and let fly a bolt. Tiberius ducked behind Lyric’s wall of ice a moment too late, bruising bone-scraping pain blooming in his left leg. He bit his tongue, tasting iron. His hand found the bolt up to the fletching in his lower thigh. A choked spell and a flash of violet light scabbed the wound over and did nothing at all for the pain.
Leaning on the ice, he reached out and altered his spell. The shadows rose higher, swallowing the remaining monsters up in sticky bands. Then they turned sharp and inward, piercing and slicing. Panting, he searched for Lyric. Found her.
“You didn’t tell me you could do ice. Not fair.” Groaning, Tiberius took to his feet and limped toward the farmhouse. He could make out faces at windows – an old couple, a man near his age, two youths who could only be that man’s burly sons. One of those, pounding the glass and pointing at the barn. Tiberius couldn’t make out the words through the roaring in his ears.
None of them seemed relieved or, Maker forbid, thankful. Perhaps suspicion against mages was alive and well even still?
“If it is so important to you – fine.” There was a well nearby and he leaned heavily on the stacked stones that walled it in, leaving a dark and bloody handprint on the mossy rock. Water siphoned up in a rush, directed toward the burning building with a wave of his hand. The fire began to recede, unhappy embers and a great deal of smoke.
Then he heard it. The farmer’s son hadn’t been pleading for their livelihood – he’d been warning Tiberius about what was in the barn. An ogre loomed up out of the smoke and steam, burned red as boiled crab but still very much alive. It screamed and charged Tiberius, whose only initial, stupid thought was to redirect the funnel of well water at it.
05-08-2024, 04:45 PM
