"Do we know what provoked this attack?" - "Any ideas on the origin of these samples?" - "How do we defend against a spell we don't even know?" - "Why?" - "How?" - "Who?" -

As the discussion continued on, I found myself simply listening to this impromptu strategy session, filtering the various statements and slowly gaining a grasp on the overall situation.

Apparently, this country, state, nation, whatever - it was embroiled in a kind-of-war. And the good guys were bitterly losing. The center of operations for the enemy side, which didn't have an official name (but was usually called "The Corruption" or "The Taint"), was the old capital of these people, the Mountain Throne. Many now present at the table had at one point lived there, until the outbreak of a virulent disease drove them away. That disease would eventually begin to warp the city itself, and after that spread across the land, becoming the Corruption. That'd been about ten years ago. Since then, whatever person or group of people that formed the enemy leadership had begun to expand outwards, somehow corrupting the land as well as anyone and anything they found.

Whatever otherworldly force that corrupted the land was also capable of seeping deep into the ground, infusing the bones and flesh of the dead and bringing them to a false, profane sort of life. Only, they weren't mindless zombies, they were true monsters. From afar, they looked like normal Fenri - no jerky movement or anything signifying their apparent undeath, the less badly decayed and damaged were even capable of speech and those who'd been turned immediately after death had a disturbing amount of free will. That was why the captain of the guard had held me at spearpoint - It had happened before that a traveller, appearing perfectly ordinary, suddenly snapped and started slaughtering civilians with monstrous strength and inhuman viciousness.

The only way to detect one of these beings - whose fenrex name I had to manually specify into "revenants" from what translated into a compound word (Unblemishedlandwalkers) - was a singular rune crudely carved or chiseled somewhere into their head. For most of the revenants, the rune was placed on the forehead, but the ones which were still fresh had it behind the ears, or on their tongue.

They were completely devoted to their new master, whoever that may be - yet they had an insidiousness to their being. They would use the memories and personality they'd possessed in life to lure or trick the living before murdering them in cold blood, or to practise psychological warfare against any they encountered. In the early years, many had been lost to theories that these people may yet be cured. No cure was found, and none of the research survived.

It wasn't exactly what I expected, to be quite honest.

The biggest problem for the Fenri fighting against this evil was that whatever influence warped the land did not stop at poisoning the plant life or mutating the animals - the deeper you went into the corruption the more upheaval there was. Roads would be torn from the ground and wrapped around skeletal trees. Hills and mountains would be split, plains would ripple like water and swallow a man whole, only for him to 'barely survive' - most often caked with mud or dirt. Then, when everyone had crowded around, their skin would dissolve and their bones sharpen, before eviscerating anyone they could reach, and then expiring.

Everything in this zone was deadly, a trap or worse - all life was corrupted, slowly at first, by draining its strength, but more and more they would become lethargic until they just sat down and the twisted land grew around them like a cocoon before swallowing them into the ground. These, then, were usually the freshest soldiers encountered a few weeks later.

They could not be fought, either. After repeatedly striking their decaying bodies, weapons would dull and become ineffective. If left alone in a dark room, some of these weapons would grow a sickly moss that spread towards the wielder deceptively quickly if they were insane enough to pick them up again.

There was a single, eye-witness account of the corrupted land deeper than this. A man had stumbled into the town late one night, checked over for runes or glyphs, and then ranted and raved about impossible landscapes, folded hills and broken rivers, before he seemed to drown in air. Nothing the healers did would help, and some time after he was buried, his grave sprouted pitch-black mushrooms that permanently robbed those who came too close of their sight in a puff of shadow. His grave, like all the others, had luckily been consumed in the inferno - the fungus had already spread across three other graves by the time of the attack.

Something would have to be done.

***

“What exactly is known about this Corruption?” I asked.

The blind woman spoke first. She never raised her voice, but it still held power, authority. "This taint is unnatural, it shouldn't exist, and yet it does. Going by everything I know about the forces of nature, it is powered by a singular, incredibly powerful source, at the spot where the corruption is densest."

"Magic such as this does not happen on its own. That the land grows more and more corrupt the deeper we go only confirms that it originates from somewhere within." the elderly healer agreed, looking at everyone seated along the table. The younger guard spoke next. “We’ve discussed tactics relating to it before - the only viable options seem to be overwhelming might or stealth. We simply do not have the manpower anymore for overwhelming might, and the entire zone acts like a large defense system, destroying anything that walks into it. Our best option would be a surgical strike, that much was decided years ago.”

There were seven people there, including myself - the two mages, two men in steel armor, and two more, wearing common clothes. One of these was responsible for resource management and stayed quiet, but the other agreed. Seeing the odds against his cause, the older soldier sighed.

"And I still have a bad feeling about that conclusion. We are already pressed for manpower, and all this might accomplish would be adding to the forces of the enemy." The healer looked as though he wanted to interject, but the one who'd spoken lifted an armored hand. "Still, I see the merit. Outright assaults have failed - the army swallowed, turned into revenants. Grazers warped into incomprehensible forms whose sharp angles shred their riders. The only thing that seems to work is either stealth like Ran-sa(name or title, literal meaning: He who lived) preferred, or overwhelming might. Sadly, we do not have the forces necessary for said might, but neither do we for a stealth mission - the taint would make quick work of any group. However, the biggest problem is navigation - even if we manage to survive the hellish conditions, the land is too warped to rely on any road or landmark as a guide. We would never find the source before succumbing to the corruption."

That shut everyone up, and the congregation collectively lost any hope they had left.

Into the somber moment, the elderly woman spoke.

"Perhaps there is a way."

She did not have to raise her voice, speaking in a whisper that seemed to dim the candlelight and hush any conversation in the tent. "In the very oldest tales, passed down from Weaver to Weaver, there is a myth. It tells of a wellspring of old deep in the eastern mountains, where the water pools into a mirrored lake. It is there that, according to legend, the first of the Elder Folk awakened. Other hymns and poems telling of the wellspring say that a glance into its surface will reveal that which one seeks most. Far be it for me to suggest chasing a legend, but it seems to me that we are out of options."

The others debated a bit about the merits of this - if sacrificing a group of able warriors would be a wise thing to do, should it come to that, or about the merits of the wellspring itself.

However, I was gripped by an idea. It was a crazy one, an insane one, but it was still an idea.

I tapped the elderly Weaver, who had sat back, apparently content to have said her piece, on the shoulder, and she turned to me. "You have been quiet thus far, little flame."

Little flame? Huh.

"Well, I haven't had much to add. I'm not an expert in strategy and I can't argue for or against risking lives - but that's not the reason I wanted to speak to you."

"And why would that be?"

"Well, as you were talking about the Corruption, Taint, whatever, I was reminded of something else. I encountered a similar thing in the past, one which gravely injured me."

"I have been wondering, yes."

"You have?"

"Indeed. You bear a kind of scar upon your being I haven't ever seen before. It is as though your body has... unwound around the edges of your being, for lack of a better word. Its borders have dissolved into the threads that make it, wavering in the winds. From the lack of reactions, I'm assuming that this scar is not so much physical as it is of a more transcendent nature?"

Well that's disturbingly accurate...

"You would be right. I was caught in a place I should never have ended up. However, that is where I discovered my magic. It was able to push back this... influence, and allow me to remain alive."

"You wish to test if your power is capable of burning away the Taint as well."

"Exactly."

"It is an interesting hypothetical, yes. Come with me, I might be able to help you test it."

***

We vacated the tent, which had degraded into slinging insults and tactical maps, and she led me across the tent city. Above, the storm clouds had calmed, and here and there long rays of light broke through the thick canopy.

"High Weaver." said the guard of a larger tent before stepping aside. Once inside, we walked along a small corridor lined with four curtain doors, then entered a small sitting area. She bade me to sit down, and I did.

"When I look at you, I find myself beholding a strangeness I cannot quite place." she spoke after serving the two of us a herbal tea.

"How so?"

She sat down her cup, and gazed at me more intensely than before. I had to suppress the urge to fidget.

"You are at once young, younger than me, but very, very old. How old I cannot grasp, but older than anyone or anything I know, even the mountains themselves. Your being is frayed to the edges like a worn cloth, but glows from within with an energy I know deep in my heart, but cannot seem to place. However, at the very depth of your heart, where that strange power anchors and emanates, there is a concentrated star, at once radiant and midnight-black, lashing out and slowly wearing at you." she suddenly swayed a little, before gripping the table. "If I attempt to peer any deeper, a sharp pain tears through my mind. That is what I see."

The two of us lapsed into an easy silence, me attempting to interpret her vision, she massaging her temples. Before long, she stood up once more, grasping my hand and pulling me to my feet with surprising strength.

"It is time to do what we planned to. Test your tempestuous energy against the vileness of the corruption, and see which force wins the battle."

***

She led me into one of the sectioned off 'rooms' in the tent, revealing a large, scorched steel box. Contained within, she explained, was a corrupted skeleton from one of the corrupted hamlets. It had wandered into a refugee caravan's camp one night and was swiftly beheaded by an attentive guard. It was the only specimen that had survived the inferno, because it was the most corrupt specimen they had ever encountered.

When I turned around, three more Weavers had entered the room and took up a defensive position beside the door. I placed myself between them, firmly planted both feet on the ground and raised my organic arm.

Taking a deep breath, I dove into that unknowable well of power at the bottom of my soul, opening a channel through mind and soul, breaching the first and second barriers in one fell swoop.

Magic simmering just underneath my skin, I gave a slow nod to the High Weaver, who undid the large steel latch, allowing the door to slowly swing open.

Words cannot describe how it felt to behold. If I had to choose a single word from all the words I knew, I would have to choose Death. The inside of the cube was cloaked in merciful darkness, or so I'd assumed - because slowly, tendrils of this darkness began reaching outward, withering everything they touched. The smell hit me like a brick wall, because it stank of rotten flesh and brittle bones.

All this happened in the blink of an eye, too quickly for me to focus on my magic. When one of the tendrils finally touched the floor, the trodden dirt became dry enough to crack, hardening as though it had spent weeks out in the harshest desert.

From inside the safe, I could see a shape moving, hear bones grinding together through a layer of skin...

Not skin. Fungus. Flesh. Whatever the hell it was made of.

The... thing that stepped out of the safe wasn't a mere skeleton anymore. Whatever substance made up its flesh bent and cracked, having grown across the brittle bones, suffusing them when they broke.

It had no head, yet didn't need one, for its 'brain', for lack of a better word, was obviously located where the heart would be.

With the magic still suffusing my senses, I could feel the malice, the disregard for life from the sickly core, yet I still felt a perverse sort of greed, of hunger, aimed at all of us.

Where the flesh was exposed and cracked like the dry ground, mushrooms black as midnight grew, the source of the living shadow surrounding the figure.

Its attention shifted unto me, and I shook myself free from the morbid fascination it evoked.

I forced my breathing, which had gone ragged at some point, to steady itself once more, and reached for my magic again. It came easier than before, and I quickly broke the third barrier as well, allowing it freedom into the world.

The energy concentrated itself into my hand denser than ever before, illuminating the entire room with an eerie green glow. I held it for a moment, then directed it towards the monster.

As the light concentrated upon its form, it emitted eerie laughter and its sickly luminous heart grew pitch-black, darker than dark, and began to drain away all nearby light - including my own. I attempted to cut the flow, stop the light, but couldn’t - and as it seemed to disappear into the abomination’s dark heart, I felt a wrenching sensation inside my very soul, like something was yanking at my insides. The thread of light connecting the two of us grew narrower, brighter, denser, and a palpable darkness began to creep from the gaping maw that had been its heart, snaking along the magical connection. The luminous orb in my palm started flickering as the first of the slick, shadowy tentacles pierced it.

Struggling for control, I felt something awaken within my heart.

Otherworldly fire began flowing through my veins. It raced into my hand, igniting it with cursed, jagged flames, and leapt across the fragile thread of magic, burning away any of the shadowy appendages which had wrapped around it. When it reached the point where the entity and I were still connected, the flames filled the spot where its heart had once been, and the creature gave a howling shriek, jumping backwards.

The burning thread snapped, but its work was done. The monster burned from the inside out, clawing at its own body as its unholy flesh was reduced to ash.

When the flames finally subsided, nothing was left but blackened bone.

I felt the fire engulfing my hand withdraw at its own accord, the dark hunger that had been driving it sated for now, and became aware of the burning pain in my hand. Looking at it, I saw that it was burned black as charcoal - at least third degree, if not more. I quickly put pressure around the wrist with my other arm, pre-empting the shock wearing off, and allowed one of the Weaver Women to guide me back towards the medical tent.

Luckily, the Fenri were very good at medicine.

***

Unluckily, there was a shortage of materials - the pain was taken care of by the Glyph of Pain, but to treat the immense burn and restore my nerves, a salve was required. This salve was made from various herbs, infused by one of the Weaver Women and then applied to the burn. If done correctly, the healing process would begin immediately, restoring everything it covered, barring a single scar at the point where the heat had been greatest, back to its original condition.

However, there was one ingredient still missing - water was available, and could be filtered through charcoal. Salt, too, was here in great amounts, owed to the fishing business in one of the neighboring towns, which dried out sea water and sold the resulting salt. The various required herbs were also in stock, but the crucial ingredient, the one which gave the salve its magical properties and could anchor the Weaver Woman's infusion, was a flower that only grew in highly magical environments. It was called Moonbright, and had been cultivated in the town before its destruction, but none of the highly fragile plants survived the inferno.

That is, until I remembered something.

Because on my travel here, I had plucked a flower - and while experimenting with it, I had brought it to bloom, noticing the glowing petals.

So when the healers returned, shaking their heads and started to inform me that my hand was forever maimed, I simply smiled, reached into my jacket and withdrew the small container.

***

I was allowed to witness, but not interfere with the making of the salve. It was a highly ritualistic process, and the presence of an unknown variable, especially one as highly magical as I, would disrupt the recipe.

So I watched, observed and recorded the process into my Lexicon, hoping to glean some knowledge from it later.

The recipe required two people working in sync. One would prepare the ingredients, the other would mix them into a small bowl.

I watched as water was brought, filtered and salted, different herbs were weighted, mixed, diced and chopped, before being ground into a fine paste within a mortar moistened by the prepared water.

Then, seven of the glowing petals were taken, and each was prepared differently - one was crushed until a single drop of glowing water dripped into the paste, one was dropped in without any ado, one was bisected, others were chopped and cut and folded.

When the last petal dropped into the bowl, both began to stir it with slow movements, and one of the gathered Weaver Women stepped forward, before beginning a slow pirouette.

At first, I could feel nothing, but it quickly became apparent from the ruffling hair and billowing clothing that she was calling up some sort of wind. It was no ordinary wind either, I could feel its power, and perhaps even a magic so subtle I could barely detect a hint of its existence.

Only when the air howled through the tent, scattering papers and swaying observers, did she let it go, bringing her hands down, and the wind followed. It slammed down on the table, the bowl flashed with blue flames, and everyone suddenly let out a breath of relief, many of the observers applauding or clapping the two brewers on the backs.

***

One of the medics came over holding the bowl, above which the air distorted very slightly, and began applying it to my hand, covering the entire burned area in an even coat of the glowing substance. Even with the pain glyph applied I could feel the difference, and recognized what I knew was magic, foreign magic, slowly seeping into my hand, travelling along damaged nerves and burned flesh, quickly starting to repair the injury from inside-out.

When he moved to apply the rest of the salve to areas of my arm that didn't need it (it would heal on its own, further back the heat had caused something like a sunburn, being far enough away from the source), I shook my head and pointed towards the curtained-off section which the burned man from a few days prior had been placed inside of.

The medic nodded in recognition, and I watched him go.

The salve would do its work over the course of seven hours, a time during which I was not allowed to touch it.

It was hard.

I wanted to experiment with it, see how small of a speck I could separate while still retaining the glow, or attempt to infuse it with my own magic, but I managed. Barely.

Over time, the light became dimmer and dimmer, and the rather uniform, luminescent appearance of the salve became less and less so. By the end, it was completely dry, dull and once again resembled the herbal paste it had been crafted from.

Once one of the doctors confirmed that it was safe, I gently crumbled it away, and marveled at the smooth, unblemished skin underneath. As they had said, a single scar always remained - mine was in the form of a strange, jagged rune-like formation in the middle of my palm. Interestingly, my skin had not regenerated to be completely smooth, but had restored the lines as they'd been before. My nails had also regenerated, but they were extremely soft and it felt very strange to poke them. And poke them again.

***

When one of the guards finally showed up to fetch me, I wiped the glyph from my forehead and made to follow him out of the tent.

On the way there, I asked some questions about their kind of weaponry, and he explained that although swords and other forms of slashing and bashing weapons existed, they were rather awkward for their species to use. So they had settled on spears and occasionally halberds as weapons, and developed quite a few styles with them.

I managed to get the guard, Elran, to promise to show me some of them later before walking into the tent.

The scene could not have been different than the first time I entered the tent, that morning. When I parted the flaps forming the door, everyone looked up.

Then the High Weaver stood up, walked up to me, and sized me up before hugging me around the middle. I'd never noticed before, but she was actually shorter than me.

I stiffened for just a moment before returning the hug hesitantly, and after a few moments she let go, giving me another smile. She turned towards the rest of the group, who had varying states of disbelief/offense on their features, and spoke.

"We finally, finally have a chance. Amelia, our mysterious sorceress, possesses the power to unmake the Corruption."

The room obviously exploded into shouts after that statement.