Private Tales The Last Resort

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She collapsed as soon as the elf stopped, unable to so much as stand. Her sides her with every breath, her legs burned with an inner fire that was wholly unpleasant. Ragged gasping from breath was all she could do for a moment, before she could get up on her knees, still breathing hard.

"We...cannot leave these people...to that thing," she rasped. The thought of her staff, so tantalizingly close and yet so far, was daunting. It would allow her a great deal more resilience in her practice of the Art than would otherwise be the case. She needed to refrain from using it for the moment. Not that she could while she panted away.

"They do not...know. Cannot know...the danger." The source of power had not really winked out, only muted itself. The Sidhe was left to wonder if Lore was still slaying people or not. Almost, she hoped she was, because what she had witnessed already was terrifying to behomd.

 

[Draedamyr]

"I thought we had left the demons behind."

It was his way of saying that she was right. They couldn't leave the villagers. Whatever evil that woman - or whatever she was now - brought into this world could soon be on their heels on the road.

"We can't take her head on. I need a way to get close without her attention."

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"I can distract her," she said unhappily. Her breathing was finally slowing, although the stitch in her side still hurt like murder. It was a struggle to keep the pain from her face.

"But maybe...maybe it is not too late for that girl. For Lore?" She had to admit to herself she had no idea what had happened to the girl. The creatures of Pandemonium had all been distinct from the outset, and those that had changed - that she knew had - looked and felt little different. The girl still felt human, but something poisonous had taken hold.

Could she break it?

She sat back on her haunches, chest rising and falling rhythmically now. There was still pain, however. "We can try, or not. I can distract the girl either way. All of those creatures have been deeply interested in me," she said sourly.

 

[Draedamyr]

"I don't want to use you as bait," Draedamyr said sternly. His selfish side apparently found a moment to read its head when he was struck by he possibility of losing something dear to him for humans he had never met.

"She isn't casting with words or gestures. I don't think I can stop her unless I knock her clean out. If I do that there's a good chance it will kill her anyway."

From the little he had seen of her she looked quite a delicate girl. This wasn't an orc with a thick skull.

"We can try, but I won't risk...much more...for a small chance for one girl," he stated.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"Everyone deserves a chance," she replied. "Maybe there is some sliver of who she was buried in there that we can still reach." It was better than nothing, and certainly more than most would have given her in the same circumstance. Overpowering the girl was an easy prospect, but the price was high.

Especially with a town that was not on their side and had no idea that they were trying to help.

"If you have a better distraction than keep, I am all ears. I have no desire to play bait, but you would have to distract her from me as well as yourself and whatever else it is she is doing." And there was a question. What was it the demon was up to, masquerading as a human within this enclave of people? Was it simple bad luck they had come around the time it started to show its face, or had it already been at work here?

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr said what was considered a very rude word in elvish. The inflection he used turned it into something which meant utter dismay at a twist in fate. To the untrained ear or a clumsy human tongue it was rather similar to the word tree. A fact which had brought silent humour to his people for a very long time.

Draedamyr gathered his resolve and stood tall. He could hear Lore. Her voice was back to a quiet, nasal complaint. Somewhere she was whining to someone. Playing innocent to the villagers who had come streaming out of their houses. Too many of them for Draedamyr to hide from. The girl's true power would be revealed again soon.

"I'll go around," the elf said. He darted between the buildings and tried to take himself in a circle to come around and at Lore from the direction opposite Seska.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

A dull ache was setting into her back already, competing with the stabbing pain in her side. The dress she wore was likely ruined quite aside from the slashed fabric; she could feel her iridescent blood running down her back and soaking into the cloth.

The dialect of elfin that Draedamyr used was unfamiliar to her, but it didn't much matter. She recognized someone swearing without any need to understand what the swearword was. If only she could offer him words of comfort, of amelioration at having to partake a particularly ugly task...

But they would be empty words. They had their roles to play, seemingly handed down to them by the gods themselves, or at least the rotting corpses of the gods.

She nodded to his intention, and stood up, barely suppressing a wince. No sense in making him more concerned and less likely to do what needed to be done, after all. With an errant thought about running being the death of her, and looking forward to walking or riding once more, she went the other way, magic quiescent within.

---

"She escaped! I couldn't s-s-stop her," the girl whined, fear bright in her voice and in her eyes. All around her were the dead, crushed as if by a great deal of force or else burned and twisted. A few still stood, looking oddly dazed, as though they had had the lights turned off inside, and they moved without any seeming purpose, seemingly checking on the dead. The light of their lives was within Lore's soul, now, their lives the fuel that sustained the pitiful power within. It was nothing like the greater ones held, but still greatly beyond anything the humans could use.

No one important was here, yet. A bunch of townspeople, the original owners of this place, and a smattering of the so-called soldiers. They would all become either fodder or food for the eventual return, but for now they were needed in securing a greater power. That ancient magic was savory, and she had yet to even taste it.

Caution, a voice breathed through her, and Lore shuddered. There was more than one soul within her now, of course, a blend of several. They granted her power, granted her completion. She was Ascending, after all, and she only wished to offer that gift to the little girl with the wild eyes and silver hair.

How could she refuse? Why would she?

Caution...

 

[Draedamyr]

Despite his agreement he didn't have much in the way of sympathy in his heart for the girl. He knew that it was not her fault, but practically he saw it as beyond the point of no return. Too many things had to go their way to save her. Too many unknowns.

He was no master thief but the darkness was a good shield. The villagers were hardly difficult to avoid. His stolen cloak were have made it even easier, but that would have burned to cinders by now.

He wished he had his crossbow and some poison for the bolts. Even the greatest mage could be caught out unawares.

There was no hiding over the clearing Lore stood in. No way past the peasants around her without being noticed. By his reckoning one of them would shout when he was still a handful of steps away. That would not be close enough. Not even the wards he had would hold together for more that a heartbeat under the power she unleashed.

All Draedamyr could do was hope that Seska could hold her attention - and the attention of those townsfolk who were now her unwitting watch dogs.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

Too much activity for this time of night, but given the unveiling of sorcery she had borne witness too, perhaps unsurprising. It made skulking in the shadows difficult, anyway.

The layout of the town was simple. An open space dominated the center of town, what might have been a green before the mists had come and killed most of everything it touched. A few tents had been erected there, slapdash affairs more patch than canvas, in a multitude of sun faded colors. Keeping to shadows, and keeping her magic dormant, she watched as Lore moved into the clearing, several people around her. They went into a tent, half a dozen men and women speaking to the girl.

Too far for her to hear so much as a word of what was being said.

She needed to find a way to draw the girl out without bringing the entire encampment down on her head. It did not seem possible. She did not know the design Lore was weaving here. Or, rather, the creature that was inhabiting her body. Were the people here all innocent victims of her - or its - manipulation? Or were they in on it? All of the possessed, or enough as to make no nevermind.

She backed away into an alley and waited,her back aching. If Draedamyr had not taken any action before much longer, then she would act.

It would be precipitous.

 

[Draedamyr]

He had to very, very slowly apply pressure to the canvas of the tent. Eventually he applied enough that the tip of his knife could tear through the fibres. Eventually enough that he could bring his eye close and look inside.

There were enough people inside that they would probably try and defend Lore from him if he showed himself. They weren't fighters, but a few rough looking men in there would at least try and get between him and the girl. They would foolishly try and protect the one who was in fact more dangerous than the rest of the town combined.

A crossbow could have done the job now. He could see no way ahead that didn't lead to more of the townsfolk suffering. Lore had killed so many already, she wouldn't hesitate to hurt those around her. Perhaps if he showed them what she was then this group would flee before they could be hurt.

He calmly strode around to the front of the tent and stepped inside. Within a heartbeat of appearing the knife was in the air, spinning end over end towards Lore. She would stop it, or she would be dead. Either way, he had already ducked back into the darkness.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"They know we are here," the girl said with a tremor in her voice. The people gathered around her looked askance at her, but paid little more mind than was necessary. She was a witch, obviously, and a strong one at that...but too young to give credence to her words, and addled beside. Especially now, after such a narrow escape.

"Do we really need to worry about this right now?" The speaker wore heavy wool and had a sword at their hip. In his middle years, he actually carried himself with a degree of authority. He looked at the four others with him. A table with a map spread out on it lay between them all, almost as if this was a campaign. It was not.

"They killed-" Lore began, but the nameless man cut her off with a gesture. The look on the girls face flickered momentarily between concern and venomous anger and back again. The swordsman didnt see.

"They would have run. They do not matter, we have more important things to worry about," he said. The others nodded.

"We need to keep bringing in all the food that survived the mists so we can ration it through winter," a woman at the table said suddenly. "Maybe the ground will take seed again after..."

"But-!" Lore tried again. Satellites moved through the tent, heading in and then out, always two or three within easy reach. Their minds were numb, now, and they followed orders that never needed to be spoken.

These people were fools. The ground had been purged of everything that would allow it to grow the native life of this world. It would support those from beyond the stones without issue.

"...farms on the outskirts. They have some able bodied boys..."

They thought they could gather people together to stand against the demons if they came again. They did not understand that they were trying to help these wayward people, bring them back to the truth.

It was one of her satellites that saw the threat, acting selflessly to save its mistress. A young man leapt forward with a cry, and took the knife high in his chest with a strangled mewl of pain. Lore could feel it, distantly, but it was meaningless. Just like that faceless drone was, something to be used and cast aside. Somewhere deep within, something recoiled from that truth, disgusted and horrified. The real Lore, probably, the one slowly being subsumed.

She shrieked in terror and dropped to the floor even as all the others spun to face the threat, only just catching movement diving back into the shadows. As one, all but the woman ran to try and catch her while the woman that had been speaking raised the alarm yet again.

There would be no escape this time,not without a reckoning. Lore smiled.

 

[Draedamyr]

That was unexpected. She had thralls. There was no other explanation for the glassy-eyed man throwing himself into the path of the knife. There was no desperation on his face, no love for Lore or anger at Draedamyr. That was one person dead.

They should have waited until the dead of night and slit Lore's throat. He knew they couldn't have. Not because of a lack of his will, but because they could not have hidden for long.

The elf circled around the tent, hoping that some of them would emerge from the door on the other side. The alarm had been raised and they had to be quick. Even if they purged it the townsfolk were simple. They wouldn't understand. Enough people with pitchforks could kill almost anything.

Reverie came down once, splitting open the tent. Lore was on the ground.

"Get away from the demon," he snarled. "We will drive it out of her!"

He hoped his wards would hold long enough to survive if she took the bait.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

It was time to act.

Draedamyr burst through the side of a ragged tent, within line of sight of the hidden sorceress. The call to arms, cries of alarm, radiated away from the green rapidly. The reactions were mixed, of course; most of these people were not soldiers, and had never held a weapon in their lives prior to the killing mists.

People raised weapons and turned to face the elf...and hesitated. And Seska, well, she was torn with indecision. It was so easy to kill. Too easy, in fact. But each of those slain would be a person, with all the hopes, dreams, and troubles that entailed. Family, loved ones, bitter rivals and sweet trysts. It was too easy, when one was powerful, to think the weak were not worth taking the time to save. Once, she had killed with little care about who was dying.

Once, she had been a tyrant.

She stepped from cover, sweet power flooding into her in a torrent strong enough to make her legs feel watery. It was a show she put on, now, as terrifying as she could muster with as little of her strength spent as possible.

Earth exploded into the air like fountains of dirt and stone, sending people sprawling to the ground.

Fire erupted within the tent, sending people shrieking in terror as cloth flashed to ashes.

Wind bowled people over, thunder rolled in the heavens as inky clouds, unseen, boiled into existence.

The effect was a tide of screaming people running the other way. No one wanted to be caught in a battle between mages. Most ran. Here and there, though, blank faced people swam against the current, heading toward the maelstrom instead of away. Beyond the dozen or so drones, men and women - a handful, some wide eyed, others grim faced - approached, weapons out. They focused on Seska and Draedamyr in equal measure.

A moment later, Lore came into view, and she was intent on Draedamyr, casting an indifferent look towards the Sidhe before advancing on the lone swordsman.

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr was now convinced they should have killed Lore in her sleep. Hindsight was sometimes perfect and they could not have known that she would have surrounded herself and brought thralls to her command. Saving her life would seem a hollow victory if it involved killing a dozen she threw in their path.

He didn't wait for them to come to him. Feeling a tremble of magic he darted forwards. The earth where he had been standing collapsed.

Seska had wanted Lore's attention on her. Draedamyr supposed that as long as her attention was on one of them then the other would have an opportunity.

He darted into the wave of townsfolk coming for them. If he could keep moving between them then perhaps it would extend his life expectancy in the situation. Last time however, Lore had simply annihilated everything around her.

A rusted sword was raised but he had already stepped inside the swing. Reverie came up quickly and cut the back of an arm. Poise, balance and his magical elven sword lashing out kept him moving through the townsfolk. Lore was coming towards him now. If Seska didn't see an opportunity, then his was going to be very brief.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

The scene was thinning out. The majority of the people continued to flee, and in moments it was only Draedamyr, Seska, Lore, and seventeen men and women. Most of the nameless faces had blank eyes, but despite the lack of their own will guiding them still moved with the limited confidence and snap natural to them. The ones who were not so enthralled looked horrified to find themselves there, but most remained grimly determined.

"Demons!" Lore's voice no longer had a whining quality to it. There was command in it that had not been present before. She flung a hand forward, and lurid sorcery flared into life, stabbing tongues of lightning in odd colors. Unworldly.

Seska did not even need gestures, but flung up her own hand anyway. As before, a barrier sprang up between Draedamyr and the possessed sorceress, absorbing the seeking bolts and shattering into glittering notes. She did not have much time to do more, though, as a woman and two men turned and charged towards her. They were armed, and she was not, sword and pole in hand while her staff was miles away.

She jumped back from a clumsy swing of a sword, slack jawed man wielding the weapon grunting in surprise as an errant gust of wind slammed into his belly with intense force. He flew away from her, rusty blade flying free from his fingers as he landed hard a dozen feet away. Seska managed another burst of fire, deflected and ineffective to Lore, before she had to jump back again. The woman that had come to deal with her was a fair bit harder if face and feature, and knew how to use a sword as well.

 

[Draedamyr]

Draedamyr barely shifted his weight to avoid a mace swinging for him. Centuries of duelling gave him the confidence to follow economy of motion to do the least possible to avoid arm. It was not so easy for him to put distance between himself and the thrall without doing serious damage.

His counter swipe opened up the back of the man's hand. Reverie was so sharp that it had probably severed tendons and would leave the hand lame forever. The mace ended up on the floor.

Permanent wounds aside he was better placed to deal with the thrall whilst Seska nullified Lore's abilities. Once they had their opening he was concerned that the energy dumped into the aether by the two going head to head would be incredibly destructive.

A lick of power crossed the air and Draedamyr had to dive into a roll. He felt the temporary ward he had opened flicker into life at the brush of magic.

The sound of two swords rang out. The sword being swing at Seska coming to an abrupt halt. Reverie's magically hardened edge had chipped into the blade of the sword being swung at Seska.

"Swap?" Draedamyr offered. He drove the sword upwards and stepped into the space. He used his knee to strike the woman, but he managed to keep her footing.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

"Yes!"

The word was sharp and frantic; she did not like being so close to people with weapons without a a shield between her and them. Draedamyr served for now, but the odds here were overwhelming. Even his skill with a blade would be trumped by sheer weight of numbers.

She got to her feet only to stagger under the intense arcane pressure being exerted by Lore. Power swirled around her, invisible but for the occasional crackling spark of mana making itself manifest. The possessed girl did not fling more spells at the Sidhe. Instead, she exerted her will on her ancient foe in a bid to succeed where the many-faced thing had failed.

Like needles driving into her mind. Like hands pressed into her temples, thumbs digging in. The sorceress gave up a mewl of pain, staggered as if struck...but remained upright.

Thrills closing in. A dozen blades, a few welded by minds not addled with adoration for their mistress. And every one of them converged on Draedamyr, intent on disabling the swordsman to add to their number someone of skill. Lore cackled, an inhuman sound that echoed strangely, and lashed out at Draedamyr as she - or it - was doing to the meddlesome witch with the silver hair.

 

[Draedamyr]

It was selfish, but he had reached the point where he could no longer hold back. Either some of these thrall would die or he would fall. He valued his own life more. Especially when their future - if he failed - held nothing more than servitude to this monsters. It wasn't the same as when he had stood with Seska on that ridge and held his ground to give the humans time to escape.

A sloppy swing of a broken club was punished by Reverie singing through the air and opening a man's bowels. Draedamyr had to use a long knife in his off hand to defend himself now. A shield or buckler would have been better suited.

His wards started to falter under and ever increasing pressure. Lore was doing something that didn't even meet their full defense, slipping past them like a wraith.

He darted below a mallet, driving his knife through a forearm. His concentration slipped and Reverie missed its mark and a villager shoulder him into a stumble.

The weight of Lore's presence fell upon his mind. He was slow to find his footing, swinging widely. He killed another thrall and missed another. They slowed their advance, forming a circle around him.

Draedamyr dropped to one knee. His vision started to blur. The knife felt heavy, dragging his hand down. Yet Reverie was a part of him, of his hertigage. The magical blade again swiped at the air to keep a thrall back.

"What...do you even want?" he called out to Lore through gritted teeth. He could hear more villagers coming, not knowing if they would side with Lore or simply flee the scene.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

<<To bring you the joy of belonging,>> the thing inside of Lore replied. The words entered Draedamyr's mind without passing his ears, and Lore's lips did not move. <<There is no unity in individuality, no strength if purpose in the silence in your mind >>

It pressed on Draedamyr's mind like a vise, seeking a way in. The elfin swordsman was a harder nut to crack than the peasants it had already conquered, but was his fortitude enough?

There was a deafening silence in this land. Ever since the portal stones had fallen quiescent, ever since the mists had receded, not a whisper had traversed this alien world. The one within Lore had only ever known the comfort of the near hivemind of that other world, all connected with all in some way or another. Here, it was not so.

<<Relent. Give in. You are incomplete as you are now. There should be no 'you' at all. We are stronger than each of your individual minds...>>

"About that," a high pitched voice announced into the eerie silence of the square.

--

Was it a weakness or a strength that she found herself so reluctant to use her abilities on people in general?

Seska was again faced with a dire decision to make: take action on a group of people that had no idea what they were up against, and who fought because they were mislead about what it was they fought for, or struggle to stay alive while avoiding the brazen use of her own power against others. It seemed foolish and trite that she had thus far abstained from a full unveiling of her sorcery, especially when she could have carved a swathe through their enemy, made them flee in terror so that all they had to face was this otherworldly witch...

But, there had been a time where she would have and never hesitated. It was for those times that she now felt doubt about the morality of those decisions long made.

How had she survived so long, putting the lives of others on the same level as her own? Simple, really; she avoided places where many people gathered, and ultimately she would not sacrifice her own life for another.

This creature in the girl. Seska could sense its separate soul from that of the girl it possessed,but increasingly it was becoming obvious that for Lore, at least, there was nothing that could be done. If Seska managed, somehow, to drive the demon from the girl's body, there might not be anything left but a husk. That the demon would do likewise to her and to everyone in this town...

The things it said made her skin crawl. She did not want that fate, and imagined few would.

"About that," she said suddenly, mind made up. The pressure was relentless, but she cast it off for a moment, spinning magic from chaos and striking as she spoke. The burst of wind should have been enough to topple her, send her rolling across the ground...except no sooner crafted, then stolen. Insidious magic threaded through the pattern she had made, twisting it.

She had forgotten these things could do that, even as her own power was twisted in upon itself and lashed back at her. Inky coils grasped at her, tainted and foul enough to turn her stomach. She cut the flow, startled that for a moment that she could not, and that a connection was forming quickly between her and the demon. Ghostly images - thoughts? - drifted through the link before it was severed.

The demon was facing her now. She had succeeded in drawing its attention at last...but was no longer certain it had been wise.

<<No. It was not.>>

Fuck.

 

[Draedamyr]

It was like hearing one member of an orchestra subvert the melody with discordant notes. He had felt this before. The magic of change that these demons seemed to possess.

Draedamyr couldn't give such things his full attention. One of the thrall, heedless for its own safety, had flung itself at him. Still recovering his senses from that force bearing down on his mind, Draedamyr was too slow to react.

Reverie was pinned to his side. His feet slipped on wet grass and he was down. He saw a brief outline of a boot before it struck him above the eye. Everything went white. His world span. Blood gushed from the gash opened up on his forehead. Another foot started to give his spine some attention.

Growling in frustration he wriggled his left arm free. Without looking his struck over his shoulder. The blade sank deep into the neck of the man holding him down. The warmth of his lifeblood sank through Draedamyr's tunic almost instantly.

Reversing his grip on the knife he brought it down on the boot that was preparing for another swing at his head. The woman howled as her foot was pinned to the mud by an eight inch blade.

Draedamyr wriggled, the dying man clinging to his side falling over his back, shielding him from his third attacker. This was a brutal brawl, not one he was suited to.

He rolled away, coated in blood and mud. He found his footing, head still reeling. One glance towards Seska, seeing her expression, was enough to make up his mind.

He turned towards Lore. With his left hand he reached inside his tunic. The first ward from the broken stretch of enchanted wood had faded, but the coin close to his skin with icons etched into every millimeter of its surface had some life yet. He snapped the chain, removing himself from its protection.

Four swift strides, a break in direction on the second and third to give some chance of avoiding any direct attacks his way and he closed the distance between them. The ward wouldn't stand up to get full attention, but he wondered what it would do to that demonic presence if pressed to Lore's bare skin.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

What ensued was a battle that was more one-sided than she would like to admit. Without her staff, she did not dare push too hard...but, somehow, the possessed girl had enough strength to stand up to her directly and all the while suffered not one whit for it.

For a a moment, nothing happened. The battle was unseen by any without any talent in the occult; spell and counterspell, weaves cut to ribbons before being blasted apart by their counter, and so forth. Invisible shards of shattered mana drifted through the clearing. A bead of sweat appeared on the Sidhe's brow, followed by another. It was clear who was more skilled here, but the young human child seemed to have so much magic available to her. Unnaturally so.

<<Futile. You are but a singular creature, and we are many. You cannot stand against us. Give in. Join us, and become powerful beyond your mortal imagining.>>

Seska laughed aloud, a hysterical sound. her eyes were narrow slits, concentration on the task at hand growing as tiredness crept in. Unseen by either of them, a thrall slipped to the ground, quivered a moment, and then stopped moving.

<<Give in. Give in. You must give in. You have no cho->>

A shriek of a rage. A voice echoing in their head that was a multitude, more than one combined into a crescendo that made the Sidhe want to shriek in pain. Suddenly, the assault on her lessened, and she struck with all her might. The ground burst beneath the sorceress, tossing both her and Draedamyr - who had managed to press his ward against her skin - into the air.

The rage vanished. A moment of silence, and as they both came down hard on the ground, the girl got back up, one arm bent at an odd angle. <<Futility,>> that voice in her head crooned. The arm straightened with a sickening crunch, flows of otherworldly mana twisting it back into place. <<A momentary distraction at best.>>

"Dreadamyr..." Her voice was hoarse, but she was already on her feet and running as hard as she could. Several of the thrall were on the ground now, motionless. odd, that; Daedamyr had not injured many of them, and neither had she. "We must go., now!"

<<Yes, flee children. You know not what you face!>> The voice cackled in their minds as the Sidhe reached the swordsman, assessing the extent of what she had inadvertantly done to him and fearing the worst.

 

[Draedamyr]

He opened his eyes. They did not quite focus on the sidhe. She was trying to rouse him, there was urgency in her voice. His fractured sense of awareness felt something smooth and warm in his hand.

Draedamyr rolled his head, looking down at the sliver of metal. His ward, but now the intricate etchings had been burned from its surface, leaving it a plain metal disc.

"Fuck," he muttered, trying to roll onto his side. Everything hurt. His right arm didn't want to move. There was blood all over him and he had no idea how much of it was his own.

As Lore recovered more of the townsfolk had arrived. Whether they were going to slow the pair down or distract the demon he did not know. Just getting back to his feet was enough of a task. He took up Reverie with his left hand and picked a direction.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

We will see who the the child is, she thought to herself heatedly. She grabbed hold of Draedamyr's hand and tugged at him, trying to guide his steps in the right direction. If he fell, she would be unable to shift him. Too weak, too small.

Helpless. She did not like feeling helpless, and this situation made her feel as though she were less than useless. She was a magnet drawing the ire of an implacable foe, but she could not simply deal with the threat directly. Innocent lives lay in the balance.

And the life if someone she cared for. It was a weakness seldom known, to her.

<<You can run...but not forever, and not far enough.>> The 'words' were filled with such complete conviction that she felt a thrill of existential fear at them.

She cast a backward glance. Fleeting, momentary, but chilling nonetheless: Lore, looking on with blank eyes, standing tall and proud. Standing, but not pursuing them, with drones gathering round her like a phalanx. How many of the town had their minds poisoned, or else stolen from them?

It made her feel cold inside.

"Come on, Draedamyr. Do not stop, we need to...need to..." What? There was no answer forthcoming. They had tried tolay the girl low, and failed. Without her staff, she was half what she could have been. Even now, the ache was already setting into her bones again.

At least the immediate area seemed clear of townspeople. Where had they gone?

 

[Draedamyr]

A crushing sense of despair fell over him. Like a heavy cloak draped across his shoulders. A weight that dragged him down almost as much as his exhausted limbs. The weight of failure.

He focused on putting on foot in front of the other. The town was opening up, the hasty palisade looming ahead of them.

No one moved to block their path. He would have barely been able to lift Reverie to defend himself if they had.

Only when they reached the treeline beyond the town did he feel that demonic presence receding. They finally arrived at the clearing. At a run it was not even that far from the centre of the town.

"Seska..." he muttered quietly. He slumped to both knees. He managed to get one hand to the floor before he finally crumpled onto his side.

 

[Seska the Dragonslayer]

She is letting us go...

The words repeated themselves in her head as they ran at an irregular pace through the town. No one came to challenge their escape, and the few she did see were fleeing just as hard as they were, only in a different direction. There was no time to think on the why, only time to consider the next footfall, the next patch of ground. Time to watch for drones that never appeared.

Trees blurred past. The fire in her legs and lungs were almost unbearable, and when they finally stopped she sprawled on the ground, chest heaving. Curled into a ball of pain, it was long, long minutes before she could even think clearly again.

And when she could, she did not like what ran through her head.

They had been allowed to leave. Why? Myriad possibilities ranged out in her mind, from them simply not being a noteworthy threat to consolidation of the witch's power. Perhaps the town had been roused from its slumber, the rise exposed to be the lie that it was? As if in answer, something burst in the direction of the town. Even this far away, she thought she could make out the sound of boards raining down, and her mind supplied the image of smoke and flames.

She heard her name through the haze of pain, and sat up wearily. Draedamyr lay on his side, and she recalled suddenly that he had suffered for her knee-jerk strike against the witch.

Respite then trotted out of the woods where he had been hiding, whickering softly. No words were necessary, after all; the beast of burden came close enough that she could slide her staff from its scabbard. Reunited, she felt a confidence return to her that had been lacking. Even so, she had to hobble painfully to Draedmyr's side, reaching down and gently touching his arm. Power flowed in that familiar way, diffusing both of them with light and life. She relied more heavily on his essence than her magic, this time. A decision was being made in the quiet of her head.

She would need her strength.

"Wake up," she said simply. The pain of healing might already have done so, but given his injuries it was likely he would be weak.