She wasn’t a hardy dreadlord. Roseline had to be honest with herself when she was twelve years old and had to accept that her magic wasn’t suited to ripping enemies apart. It was a sad day for her, filled with disappointment and tears and blood as she put dear Freddie in a deep sleep before stabbing him in the chest a couple of times. Yes, very sad day for her indeed.
But there was good news when she had learned that centering magic in certain parts of the body could help protect them! Mixing that with some runes for self-defense, stealing some enchanted armor, and knowing a little (or a lot) of this defensive magic and Roseline felt sure enough to handle herself in a fight.
For a minute or two. This sort of magic was draining her and fast. She could feel little pinpricks of mental fatigue already, and soon enough the physical fatigue would tire her out further. But she had to get close enough to Zola. Even if it meant going the long way— which she had to do, not quite sure enough she could withstand longer than Erodin’s wraiths after whatever attack Zola did (and it had to be Zola, didn’t it? No one else could manage such a thing!)
Roseline, peaked out from a short stone wall that was starting to fall apart, cracks crisscrossing like intricate spider webs. She took a deep breath. She wouldn’t be able to get closer than this, she suspected, and so she began to nurture between her hands a shimmering ball of light. Purely made of magic, the rainbows that danced around were only reflections of the mass of arcane energy being condensed into such a small area. Tightly wounding these threads together like maid tightening a whalebone corset, Roseline was sweating profusely.
If it worked, wonderful. If not, she’d have to hide and fast.
She had the ball of light resting in her hand, lighter than a feather, and when she threw it over the stone wall, everyone who looked at it would see the glittering ball turn into a eye. It blinked and when the white lids open, the iris was a bright swirl of color putting anyone who looked that way into a deep sleep and a very happy dream.
Zola Erodin
But there was good news when she had learned that centering magic in certain parts of the body could help protect them! Mixing that with some runes for self-defense, stealing some enchanted armor, and knowing a little (or a lot) of this defensive magic and Roseline felt sure enough to handle herself in a fight.
For a minute or two. This sort of magic was draining her and fast. She could feel little pinpricks of mental fatigue already, and soon enough the physical fatigue would tire her out further. But she had to get close enough to Zola. Even if it meant going the long way— which she had to do, not quite sure enough she could withstand longer than Erodin’s wraiths after whatever attack Zola did (and it had to be Zola, didn’t it? No one else could manage such a thing!)
Roseline, peaked out from a short stone wall that was starting to fall apart, cracks crisscrossing like intricate spider webs. She took a deep breath. She wouldn’t be able to get closer than this, she suspected, and so she began to nurture between her hands a shimmering ball of light. Purely made of magic, the rainbows that danced around were only reflections of the mass of arcane energy being condensed into such a small area. Tightly wounding these threads together like maid tightening a whalebone corset, Roseline was sweating profusely.
If it worked, wonderful. If not, she’d have to hide and fast.
She had the ball of light resting in her hand, lighter than a feather, and when she threw it over the stone wall, everyone who looked at it would see the glittering ball turn into a eye. It blinked and when the white lids open, the iris was a bright swirl of color putting anyone who looked that way into a deep sleep and a very happy dream.
Zola Erodin