Pernus at Ilma (I)

Eli and Pernus sat on the watchtower platform, cross-legged and lazy, watching the endless sea of black. Tired hands carried worn blades, though it was hardly an issue. He felt a tingling in his back, sometimes an itch, but nothing strong. “So she tells me, ‘we’ll get a dog instead.’ Like, a dog!” Eli laughed. Pernus entertained him, giving a weak chuckle.

The Night watchmen's fingers impatiently twitched. “Hound’s a good thing,” Pernus said, his sword tapping on his toes. “Loyal and steadfast, given the right temperament, and it’ll be a good beast.”

“I didn’t want a dog. Honestly, I didn’t want anything. I just wanted to live my life, but…I guess she wanted a dog. I mean, if she can’t have a kid, then a dog is good, right?” He was picking at a small reed, his nails splitting it apart. He’d then crumple up the strands and then tie them together. After they frayed, he’d pick another, and then another, and then another. Over the course of the night, while he was at the tower, it felt like he would disassemble the platform all on his own. “But a dog dies in fifteen or so years. Fifteen years of love and caring, and then it's gone. And then what? Get another dog? That sounds so egotistical to me, replacing something you love and care for, only to get something new to love and care for. So to me, it doesn't feel like you're caring for a dog, you're caring for something that gives you the ability to love."

"Is that what you want? The chance to love?" Pernus crossed his arms at the words.

"That's what she wants."

"What about you?"

Eli's jaw twitched. Sitting upright, his fingers stopped picking at the threads. He opened his mouth but then closed it again after a click of his tongue. "Okay, so, my turn.”

“I’ve four dogs.” Pernus smiled. “Two of them can walk on two legs.”

“No, you idiot!” Eli laughed before his eyes turned wide. “Wait, two legs?”

“One’s almost twenty; another is…well, I've had difficulties keeping track.” He grinned.

Eli shook his head. “They’re not dogs, are they?”

“Well, they certainly act like dogs.”

“Okay, well, you’re not getting away with that.” His fingers rose, and then slowly, as he was thinking, he pointed at Pernus. “Okay, how about this? How big is a dragon? You said you’re from Owmsver…lock? Lack? The anti-dragon fort, right? How big is that?”

“There are a lot of anti-dragon forts, but you're right. I am from THE anti-dragon fort. But I’d say it’s pretty big. They are imperious masses, tall and straight and jutting, throngs of eyes peering down at unsuspecting and uncaring pastures.”

Eli slapped his knee, not to laugh, but in clear annoyance. Impatient, he asked, “The fortress? Or the dragon?”

Pernus smiled. His finger slowly raised and pointed at the other edge of the town. “I’ve seen fatter and bigger dragons than this town. They call themselves ‘Owms.’ They say it's the sound you hear before they burn you. But that's a curious thing I've always wondered; how do you know the sound from a dead man, melting in the fast of fire even hotter than any mage from the empire? How does someone hear the sound before their death and give rise to the name of 'Owm'?”

“How dangerous are they?”

“Not at all, to be quite honest.” He took another blood meal. “Thirty years on the Lauch, and I’ve yet to see a single dragon emerge from the mountains. They don’t move, and they don’t wander. They’re perfectly content to stay where they are.” He sighed. “Their clan-servants, however, are a different matter.”

“The men of the mountains?”

“Aye. Miserable fools following overgrown cats, hoping that the shadows of their charges would grace them with protection. Sometimes they’d come down from the mountains to find trinkets to bring up to their gods. They've sauntered into the pastures of Ardal's tiny folk, though rarely cause too much trouble." A grim face fell over Pernus as he cleared his throat, "But…if a dragon descends, then that’s a different story.”

“Yeah, a big lizard being a problem, especially if they’re really resistant to fire like you guys use, right?”

“Problem is a trifling word to describe the Owm.” The creaking of the ladder followed a quick Liassus, coming up from behind Eli with her hands on his shoulders, trying to scare him. He jolted, but he wouldn’t admit it. “They’re hardly just giant beasts. Imagine it, a leviathan comfortable anywhere in the world; the seas, the skies, anywhere. And blood so thick and rich with magic that their breath and shit and piss can be used as a fountain of power.”

“Dragon shit? And piss?”

“Rumors say that some men of the mountains can live entirely off the waste of their Owm. I've not seen someone so insane," he said, as he took another swig of blood, "But there's a truth to it, I suppose. After all, there’s more magic in Owm piss than everyone in this village.” Pernus stopped and pointed at Eli, “excluding you, of course."

Liassus shook her head. "Don’t misunderstand, Eli. The Owm don't stay on their mountains because they’re scared of anything below. They’re there because they’re bored. Nothing from sea to sea frightens them, intrigues them, or challenges them. All we can do is hope that they never descend from the cliffs or hunger for something we have.”

Before Pernus or Eli could say anything, they heard the sound of a loud knock at the doors. Pernus shot up and rushed to the balcony, leaning forward to get a good glance at the intruder. It was still dark, but the man at the doors was kind enough to illuminate himself with a torch. It was a strikingly handsome man of golden eyes and ruby red hair. His wild frocks seem to blend into the dancing flames. Liassus froze at the sight.

“Pernus, round the men and women. Prepare to leave.” She whispered to him. Three more knocks. They were getting louder. People jostled out of their holes and tents and homes, curious eyes in the dark staring at the shaking gates. She turned to Eli. “You, we’re moving.”

“Inora! Anaxales! Liassus! I know you’re in there!” He shouted. “Any blood mage who surrenders will be spared, and any who fight will not!” The knocking stopped, and the trail of light slowly fluttered back into the woods.

Pernus held onto his sword. “I’m going.”

“Ormoc has already left. You’ll rendezvous with him - “

“I’m going to fight.” Pernus reasoned. “I’ll hold them off as you round up the rest of the townspeople and get them out of here.”

“No, you’re not going, Pernus. I need you to finish Eli’s training - “

“Then send him to Leanne. Let the faerie finish it; she’ll teach him what to do.” He held her shoulder, his other hand gripping his short sword. “I’m the night watch; let me do my job.”

“I’m not giving you up, Pernus. I’ll drag you back if I have to, I’ll hold them - ”

“I know how to fight Medicalers, Liassus. I know how to fight your brother. The sadistic welp will not be getting the better of me, I assure you. Let me be the night watch. Act as a general for once, if you so fancy those words. You told me to protect this village; let me protect this damn village!”

She bit her lip, her fists clenched. “I’ll escort them out. Eli, you’re coming with me.” She said.

The sound of a whip cracked throughout the air. A black mass slung high into the starry sky, arcing upwards. For a few long, haunting seconds, Eli witnessed a long and fat thing connected by a rope, spinning wildly above them. They could hear the clang of loud, poor metal as it broke apart. The shrill clap of shrapnel followed the heavy thud of rusted iron, and then it all fluttered out. A white mist fell around them, coating the town in a smoky sheet. Some of it touched the tower, but most of it covered the tents.

“Come with me,” She told Eli. “Pernus, go. Now.” The two of them slid down the ladder, with Pernus slicing a small part of his hand. His blood thickened into a warbling cord. He fastened it into a rope around his hand and slung down from above.

Eli followed Liassus, who was gripping him tightly. “What’s happening?” Another blast came from above, like the sound of a hammer slamming into a wall. Again, the shrill, metallic screeching followed by ghost-white mist. It broke into a hazy cloud, fat and particular, like white soot dancing in the air before it glided down as sticky fog.

Liassus didn’t need to explain any of it. They heard screams throughout the village. Fires began to burn. The mist began to glow, and it illuminated the dirt roads. Men and women fell on their knees, honeycomb holes carved into their flesh. Some tried to brush it off, but it only smeared against their blood and continued to ignite. “Get to the tunnels!” She yelled. Another burst from above. More mist. More fire. More screams.

Liarus at Ilma (I)

Liarus returned from the doors to the Medicalers in the woods. Ira sat patiently, her eyes staring up at him from her tree stump. Chained and beaten, the hunters were blinded and gagged while the rubies in their skin were cauterized shut with coal-black grafts. “Sophia, are you ready?”

“The thread has been measured and cut. The scorpion is ready.” His field operator and surveyor replied, a straight-haired girl with a set of small eyes and a perpetual scowl. A woman of stern complexion, the light of licking flames made her seem grimmer so that even when she laughed, it felt like a queer taunt. Some in the company would say that Sophia's everlasting seriousness was what impressed the ever-charming Liarus. However, it was not to be, and the group would whisper since as long as Ira eyed Liarus, Sophia eyed Ira.

“How much Palepowder do we have?” Liarus looked at the small clusters of sharp metal at his feet.

“Three charges.” Though the hunters were gagged and bound, they tried to shake and panic when they heard Sophia say that. She saw them, even in the dark, and spoke even louder. “Three. Full. Charges.”

“Fire them all. We move into arrays.” He raised his voice. The Medicalers followed suit. They formed three clusters of shielded domes, slits in their shields for crossbows and fire. Behind the third was a mobile ballista. Loaded onto it was a canister, a mechanism connected to a thick rope. Sophia rewound it, and once the last of the Medicalers went into place, she fired.

A tall arc emerged, and when the rope was just long enough, it jerked back a switch, spinning a ball that would spray Palepowder all over the hamlet. At first, nothing, but it was to be expected. It always takes a little time. Sophia wasted none loading another, tying another, and aiming again. And before the first signs of smoke can be seen, she fired it. And then another.

A glint of orange satisfyingly rose from behind the wooden walls. Then, the screaming followed. A vicious fog lingered around the wildfire. Both smoke and poison rose. The village was being choked out. “Good work,” Liarus said to Sophia, who bowed gracefully at his words. “Let’s move.”

“What are we doing, Sir Liarus? I thought we were getting revenge on - “

“The people who killed your comrades, Ira,” He cut her off, “But this is a necessary price to catch them. To rid yourself of snakes, you remove the den entirely. And this…this is a big den.”

“Sir Liarus, I cannot in good conscience go through with this.” She pointed to the hunters, who were losing consciousness fast. “Please, I know not of what blood mages have done, but I merely seek vengeance for my friends!”

“You’ve been made sick by a cockroach, and instead of exterminating them, you want to keep them around? It is a wound that festers, my little Ira. It lingers like a bog, fouling everything around it. No, fair mages can only free us of their evil by removing this at the roots, here and now. And if you cannot understand it, then you’re free to leave.”

She stepped back and then rushed over to the hunters, but a pair of blades came between her. One stabbed her in the leg, almost certainly by accident, but Liarus seemed unfazed. She fell to the ground. Panicking, she got back up again but stumbled as she tried to get away. They heard a heavy thud as she fell. Dust kicked up, and she slipped out of sight into the darkness.

Sophia raised her sword, her hand shaking, but Liarus shook his head. “Leave her alone. Let her die in peace.” He turned his sights back to Ilma.

Sophia looked at Liarus. Was it mercy? Had he seen her eying the dog woman? Was this a strange mercy from Liarus to give Ira a fighting chance for Sophia’s sake? “Can I help her?” She took the risk to ask.

“You’re free to help any animals you like, but the focus is the village.” Before she could thank him, he turned to the rest of the group. “Medicalers, move!”

The clustered sentries of the Medicalers marched on like slugs, keeping their scutum locked and their gaps thin. But before they could get in range to light the gates ablaze, a spray of glassy shards spewed from above. Prepared, they bunkered down and remained stationary, and the shards seemed to melt into blood, smearing their lavender shields.

A red blade as tall as a man swung down with incredible force, breaking the guard of the left flank. It came from a tired, sullen shadow who leaped from the walls. Pernus wrapped his arm in his own blood. A monstrous stream of crystalline blood undulated from his hand, swirling around like him like the fangs of a great snake. “I would have thought she'd send you fleeing, Sir Pernus.”

“She nearly did.” Pernus took another swing. Dust kicked up into the air. The same group staggered back. “But I can’t have you killing women and children.”

“She made the right choice, but it seems like you made the wrong one.” Liarus drew his own sword, an unnamed longsword of unimpressive simplicity. It shone like any other, without markings or nicks or chips. “Don’t think I haven’t learned how to kill your kind.”

"Cocky brat." Pernus pulled back the sharp whip of blood that surrounded his arm, droplets spraying everywhere as it stuck into the shields like needles. “Killing unprepared whelps is going to get you nowhere, Liarus; against a real blood mage, you won’t find these victories so easily.” He swung down his sword. Every splashed turned into strikingly red and jagged shards. However, the tight links of the slow-moving Medicalers once again held their formation.

Pernus raised his sword again. This time, it was longer. This time, it was wider.

The formation held.

Liarus took his chance. Swift and confident, he closed the distance. The sword slid deep into Pernus’ heart.

Or, well, so he thought. Sliced from tip to wrist, Pernus’ free hand redirected the blade in time. With the wound, a crude kite shield enveloped the arm. Another raised blood sword, flinging up dust and stones. Blood splashed everywhere. From the mist, Pernus’ breath was growing shallow and difficult. “Blood is a strong and tempting thing.” Liarus blithely said. “But it blinds you. All you see and feel and touch is blood, and that is no way to live.”

“A beast like you will not lecture me.” His magic encircling him, Pernus' shield and sword melted away as his fingers turned into odd and awful claws. Hooked and serrated shapes formed a totemic mask around his eyeless face. Engulfing him, his blood shivered and twitched like static, barely able to keep a form. He wound back, and then lunged forward.

This time, he broke their ranks. His fangs dug deep into their bodies. None of them fled. An array of swords and flames pierced him, boiling him alive.

Pernus staggered back.

“This is pathetic,” Liarus said. His free hand hovered over the injured Medicaler. A green light danced around him, healing his wounds. The other Medicalers followed suit. They closed ranks and moved backwards. The soft green light could be seen peering through the cracks. “I was hoping I’d get to see how the great Pernus of Owmsverlauch would use wild magic to put up a fight, but I didn’t expect him to fall so low as to brawl like a beast.”

Pernus tried to get up, but he was flat on his back. His skin was melting at his wounds, steam escaping from his mangled body. “I was hoping, seriously hoping, that you would show me something new and exciting, that I’d learn how to adapt to a real blood mage - a real one!” Liarus gave a disapproving glare. “But you’re just like the rest, a once-proud noble thing tricked by shallow power, and now all you can do is flail as the last of your precious mana leaves you.” He raised his sword. “I’ll give you the warrior’s death you want, which is more than you deserve, apostate.”

Nearby, a strip of light. A rancid odour. The gnashing of teeth.

A tentacular spear flew at Liarus’ eye, but he reacted quickly enough to cut it. It fell and dissolved into a cluster of worms at his feet. He lit them aflame.

“This is why I told you to leave, Pernus. You’ve been gone from Ardalsalam for a long time. They don’t act the way they used to.” Liassus jumped down from the wall. The Medicalers went back into position, though they gave her a bit of room.

“G-General.” He wheezed. “You can’t fight them. They’re different.”

Liassus saw the massive wound in Pernus’ stomach. She saw the stab wounds through his old, stained military tunic. He was losing blood fast. “Pernus, do I have your permission to take your blood?”

Pernus scowled at her. With his last breath, he conjured up the most disgusted face he could, a shock at the woman he had followed for so long.

But before he could say anything, an inferno erupted from Liarus’ hand, searing him alive.

Liassus leaped back, but she ended up where they wanted her. Medicalers fired sleets of bolts into her body. One pierced her eye, another her heart. They moved more quickly this time, confident in their volley. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. They kept formations, hands readied as towers of fire followed their march. A great cyclone was starting to emerge, hot air pushing into the sky. She was running out of time.

She grabbed the blade of her sword and fully unsheathed it. A mass of flesh spilled forth, like a tidal wave, as fanged tentacles glided through the air, aiming for the slits of their shields.

Most fended them off. Liarus did not.

One worm pierced his wrist, causing him to drop his sword. He gnashed his teeth, whispered a curse, and incinerated his own hand. A ring of flesh pulsated from the blistering mass, but it wasn't enough. Something was already crawling underneath his skin. In his offhand, he grabbed his sword and sliced off the infested lump. “Move to close range, keep formation!” He yelled. The Medicalers drew tighter and closer. Fingers emerged from the small gaps like roundworms, and fire danced from their tips.

Engulfing the clearing in flame, it pulled Liassus’ tentacles back, and no matter how she tried to get in, her worms would shrivel up at the heat. “This is new.” She whispered to herself.

Her arm morphed into a writhing mess of pulsating flesh, and with as much power as she could, she slammed it down into the company. She screamed at the heat, though she caught some of them in the razor-sharp teeth jutting from her muscles.

A blade swung down across her neck, splitting her collarbone. It was Liarus. He thrust it deep into her heart again, but she didn’t fall.

He was shocked at first when she stood, staring defiantly at his blow. Then it turned to a smile.

“For such a poor fighter, I’m starting to understand how you were able to fell an Elder chieftain.” He laughed. He leaned in with his gauntlets and slammed it down onto the blade. He successfully cut her in half. Both parts fell to the ground, the masses of flesh squirming in pain.

Without hesitation, Liarus dropped his sword. He opened the palm of his remaining hand. He pelted one mass with fire, but the other already skittered away through the grass.

He tried to scorch the area about him, but it was too fast. All he saw were eight pairs of legs as it rushed off.

“Kalathon, sweep the town. Suffer none of the blood mages to live. Sophia!” He shouted at her from the forest. “Find the parasite - find her, and if you can, be rid of her!”

Ira (I)

The trees jeered at Ira, who was shaken and freezing. Blood ran down her leg. Each step became heavier. Tears streamed down her face. Her head was burning, and time had not fixed the wound in her stomach. Maybe it would never fully heal. Writhing and swirling energies danced beneath her skin, almost trying to get out.

She heard shouts in the distance, but they were too far off. More Medicalers. You’re such an idiot, Ira thought. What man, so pleasant and fair in both stature and sight, would want to be in the company of a thief like her? Even the Medicalers in Ravinder looked down at her kind, so deep in the heartland of Men - what chance did she have?

“Oh, Aessur. Tal.” She whispered, wrapping a torn sleeve around her leg wound. Something had to have been in those blades; they bubbled and frothed her flesh and skin and bone. Though it was night, it was almost as clear as day because of the pale moonlight pricking through the trees.

Eventually, she stumbled onto a small brook, the pleasant sound of hooting owls and crickets filling her ears, uninterested in her pain. For Ira, even as she wallowed and shook and quaked, the world continued to revolve. Stars shone indifferently, and it seemed in this moment, in this strange peace at the edge of a world she hardly saw, this was it.

Kneeling at its edge, she stared at her reflection and splashed cold water on her face and her wounds. It became still again, just in time for her to see that someone stood behind her.

She whipped around. A small figure, melting and writhing, a featureless face and a mess of gnashing teeth. “When you were seeded, I hadn’t planned on this happening.” It gurgled and wheezed, each of its hundred mouths whistling these words in an unholy pitch. “But planning always has to be done quickly, and on the spot, I suppose.”

“What are you?” Ira asked. She reached for her dagger. “Please, please...”

The thing stepped back, surveying her wounded leg. “I am sorry he did this to you...I promise you. I will take revenge for you.”

She shook her head. "No, no, no, not this again, no, no, no. I don’t want revenge, I’m not being tricked aga-“ It fired a mass of flesh into her mouth, a column of sinew and muscle drilling into her stomach. Her skin almost seemed like it was jumping joyfully, the fat roiling and churning as everything started to stretch. Trickles of blood began to flow, but protruding, alien teeth greedily lapped up every drop. More and more latched onto her skin, like a hundred lampreys plunging their teeth into her body, her muscle turning into mush.

But she didn't feel anything; she was already numb. Strands of tissue branched out like cobwebs, consuming hair and skin and bone and muscle and fat. And then, it finished—a mess on the forest floor, folds of shimmering, skinless meat taking form. Legs and arms jutted out from some shaking center, followed by a head and eyes and everything it needed.

Its first act was to speak, but what came out wasn’t anything peculiar. The mass of flesh, as it hardened into shape, sounded a bit like Ira. "Ira." It whispered, voice a trill like a songbird's. "Your name is Ira."

Ira, Sophia, and Marcia (I)

Sophia split her team into three smaller groups, and the only companion she sought was Marcia. She had been the apple of Sophia’s eye for a long time, and it was through Sophia’s persistent requests to Liarus that Marcia, this petite woman of curled locks and soft skin and brilliant vermilion eyes, found her way into Sophia’s company.

Unfortunately, Marcia had her own beau, and ever the gallant figure, Sophia didn’t want to get in the way. It didn’t stop the strange touching or fast hands, but the two of them found solace in each other, largely because they were both women in a largely male company. However, both had different intentions.

They slid down a hill into a clearing, guided by the sound of water. There, they found her. Her clothes tattered, face down, the dog-woman Ira struggled to move. Her knees swayed as she stood, hobbling, almost as if she hadn’t been walking for a long time. “Ira.” Sophia rushed towards her, Marcia behind, “Let’s get you somewhere safe. The Captain didn’t mean to harm you. It was a mistake!” She hadn’t spoken to Ira much - as was Sophia’s nature, she tended to peer at the girls from afar but never had the courage to speak to them. Her natural scowl, she reasoned to herself, would have driven them away.

“I…I…I….ah…ah….” Ira’s soft, trailing voice drew Sophia’s fingers to her lips. They were much softer than they seemed.

“Hold on, Ira. Marcia, can you please heal the wound? The legs.” She asked. Though young and inexperienced, Marcia moved as if she had done it hundreds or thousands of times. Hands outstretched, a green glow ebbed from her fingers as they wrapped themselves around Ira’s thighs. Odd, Marcia thought. Nothing’s happening.

Healing was, in its simplest form, the flow of magic towards a body’s natural process. It could not bring back a limb or revive the dead, but it could accelerate - with frightening quickness - one’s ability to survive all sorts of wounds. Any healer could notice it right away, the slow trickle of magic leaving their fingers, entering the blood, and then the body doing the rest of its work. They could see the wound slowly suture itself close, the clotting happening with shocking quickness, and then the patient would be all better.

Strangely, Marcia felt her magic as strong as ever. Nothing left her fingertips. That meant that whatever was in Ira, her body refused to accept Marcia’s. There was only one plausible scenario for this: Ira wasn’t hurt.

But Marcia was there. She saw the stabbing and heard the howl. It could not be some sort of dog-woman magic, right? Marcia tried again, but this time Sophia noticed. And, unfortunately, Ira noticed that they noticed.

Before either Marcia or Sophia could even think of casting any spells, needles of bone and cartilage snaked past the armour and punctured the bottom of the chin, coiling into their brains. Neither of them had time to make a noise.

Ira's skin peeled away to reveal a festering coat of clicking, hooked teeth. Dime-sized mouths blanketed her skin, the fur turning into flailing worms. Deeper and deeper the hands went, one in Sophia and the other in Marcia, sliding effortlessly into their bodies like a vile serpent slithering into the mud.

Ira leaned forward so close that her face lay between theirs. Though both of them were already dead, she whispered to them in a thick South Ardalian accent, “I’m sorry.”

It took a few minutes to consume both of them, leaving nothing behind but their armour and clothes. Rummaging through their remains, she found a small trinket from Marcia and a rusted coin with the sigil of a three-headed bird. She peeled her own skin, and out from this moult came another face, another body, one Marcia of East Siral, former Student of the College of Medicalers.

Golden eyes and a faint touch of red hair slowly emerged. She packed up whatever flasks, swords, belts, linen, vellum, baubles, masks, and sigils she could pilfer, and tread deeper into the forest as Marcia.