Fable - Ask Breaking The Chains

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Getting rid of the underling had been easy, but the pain searing through her caused her to grit her teeth. She was a Dreadlord. This pain could not stop her, not when they were taught to overcome such small hurdles.

She got up, going to the girl and nodding as they ducked beneath the stone dome.

The Underlings came for them, but Zephyrine knocked them back with the bits of stone and dirt from the dome, buffeting them to clear a path for their escape.

"This way!" She had spied a horse, a desperate idea. "A horse is faster than being on foot!"
 
She nodded and regretted it as she took to follow. Other parts of her body were starting to register their complaints now; the searing light nearly blinded her and made everything too bright. Worse, the flash-burns across her face and exposed belly and legs screamed agony. Her bruised throat was some distant thing by comparison.

She followed Zephyrine with a gasp of pain at the first step; the Dreadlord was a hazy shape in front of her. Behind her, the twisted shape of Traveler remained with back bent and masked face staring at the sky; motes of dust swirled in the light streaming in from hole in the dome. The creature was not dead; the stirrings of power rolled from it like some twisted heartbeat.

Most of the undead had collapsed where they were standing when the heavenly bolt struck down. Some of the broken bones began to shiver and pull themselves back together again as bits and pieces of Traveler pulled themselves back together.

"Don't go too far," she managed to say in a pain voice as she staggered along behind. "Not...see well. Not run..." she whimpered as she stumbled, only just keeping her feet. Blisters were rising on her skin.

"My...horse?" She couldn't see clearly enough to know. She hoped so, because she still had other weapons in the sling on her saddle. The spear she had struck Traveler with had fallen from her hands while they were choking the life out of her.

Behind them, Traveler continued to pull itself together. Oddly, there was the sense of many creatures entwined in the ashen figure.

And every single one of them was furious.
 
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Zephyrine groaned and came up to take some weight of the young woman, hastening her steps but slowing down the Dreadlord considerably.

"It's a black horse." She provided. There was a saddle and gear, probably too much weight to add two people to it. She would need to construct something, like a wagon to be drawn by the single horse.

The thought had come, and the recreation began to construct itself before them both, ready to be kitted with the horse to be drawn. She figured the stranger would ride the wagon, only made for one, just so Zephyrine knew that if she passed out, she wouldn't fall off a horse. But then a pain struck her. In her back, where the wound had been, it began to throb and threatened to riddle her with searing pain.

Holding up the stranger was taxing.

Zephyrine didn't have the time to heal herself. She was still too slow to mend flesh, but if they made it to the horse, perhaps then she would have the time.
 
"Not mine," she said thickly. She strove not to put her weight upon the other woman but it was proving difficult. The flash-burn from whatever otherworldly sorcery was registering itself in an ever louder voice that her nerves found increasingly difficult to ignore.

Flashes of power rolled through her like a pulse. It carried a presence that she could not fathom with it - a thing of ancient and unknowable intelligence. She could see it in her minds' eye.

Half rotted, try and dusty. The coiled remains of a wyrm long, long, long dead. And yet... not.

That regard was on her now, the faintest whisper of something long gone to dust. You must eventually face the truth. Not her words nor her thoughts, not especially when delivered in an unknown language that spoke of antiquity. It carried much of the ancient way of speaking that her and other Seers used in their benedictions to the Seven.

Aeyliea stepped away from Zephyrine and clicked her tongue. Blurry though her vision was, she could see well enough now that the animal in question would serve. "This beast... will serve," she said. Power throbbed within her, beckoning her to use it. It was different in nature to that which the Dreadlord used. "Help me up," she said.

Behind her, the demon reshaped itself. Its missing pieces were nearly whole again and a song of rage began to rise from it on the edge of hearing.
 
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Zephyrine was not going to argue with the Stranger, but she did not let go of her doubt that the woman was in no shape to ride.

Then they would leave the cart. The horse was sturdy enough to carry the both of them.

"Here." Zephyrine kneeled, prepared to help the Stranger up to the horse. She would give her that needed boost to mount, and only when the other woman had swung a leg around, the Anirian would move to sit behind her.

"Lean forward, keep low." She instructed, ignoring the pain that begged for her attention and discomfort. "If you fall..." Zeph left her frustration there.

Never had she met something she could not bring down with the might and strength she had learned from the Academy. Never had she realised how human and insignificant against something so Old.
 
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Stubborn pride would not allow her to bend her stiff neck in the slightest. She made a noise at the back of her throat, part irritation and part pain as she stepped into the stirrup and swung herself up with practiced ease. The effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that she was unable to easily lift her leg and the hiss of pain. She managed to catch herself and receive a boost from the young woman. Fresh trickles of blood from the lacerations on her back and from blisters on her belly and arms that burst at the twisting motion.

That she wobbled a bit in the saddle was understandable.

"Thank you," she said. One hand on the saddle horn, she offered a blood-smeared hand to Zephyrine. "Will not fall," she added. The certainty in her voice was at strong odds with reality though.

You shalt use my breath, something whispered in her mind. Aeyliea shivered in the saddle, makign a quick warding gesture with her free hand as the other tightened to a white-knuckled grip on the saddle. The shape of Traveler had blurred now. Something enormous was shaping itself from the now misty form in the middle. Bits of stone and ground sloughed away and trickled into the thing that was growing.

Aeyliea knew what it was. So did Zephyrine, likely. There were not too many things the size of a small house with wings on it and indistinct as it was, the shape was nevertheless familiar. <"You are a demon,"> she whispered to herself in her native tongue, addressing the unwelcome voice and completely careless of present company. The dusty-dry not-voice in her head laughed. <"I will not use the power of a demon,"> she added.

"What you...need me to do?" She asked of Zephyrine instead. The horse shifted uneasily beneath her, hand outstretched to assist in mounting whether capable of helping or not.
 
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