If you battle monsters, you don't always become a monster. But you aren't entirely human anymore, either.

-Jonathan Maberry

Alyssa woke with a start, feeling surprisingly good. After having those aches and pains for days now, their absence felt somehow strange, as if unearned.

It had been a long time since she felt that good. Working to put food on the table, to help with cleaning and earning money she had always had some small injuries and cramped muscles from hanging over the lab table, headaches from reading blurred and water damaged script in old books. Following the prescriptions, her mother penned while still in her apprenticeship with Evelyn's father. Before she was disowned and kicked out.

Swaying branches scattered light over her blanket she had no recollection putting on the ground. The air was somewhat chill in the morning but there was a promise of a warm day already in the air. Ruins or hunters were nowhere in sight. ‘It's a miracle I am alive at this point.’ Alyssa mused while eating the last of her now-stale and somewhat moldy bread along with some berries. Water was not a big problem in this part, clean water was a bit more difficult.

She had a glass beaker before her filled with brackish water, taken from a forest pool. Alyssa gestured and glyphs flickered to life around the container. She recited a few arcane words and the beaker glowed white before the light dissipated revealing sparkling clean water. “Lesson five, how to make goode and cleane drynking waters for ye household.” she cited with wry amusement.

It often came in handy when the water had grown green with algae after standing too long, or when there was mold on the bucket again. Sadness grabbed her when she thought of her father. He had once been the one most proud of her small achievements with domestic magic and had gifted her a necklace of silver. Long since pawned in an especially poor winter before he had gotten a grip on his grief and money was very tight after spending on the medicines for her mother.

Packing up and orienting herself, she wandered on towards the mountains, hoping to come upon a road or trail. She did not hear anymore pursuit but was sure that it was still ongoing. ‘Hopefully, they will think me dead. It is nearly the truth anyway.’ Her pack had grown a lot lighter, but that was more grounds for concern than joy.

Her food supplies were nearly non-existent, so she took some time to collect some roots and berries. Even some small sour apples were taken. Then she heard a not that far-off commotion. People yelling and the roar of some bigger beast.

“This is the roar of a Wyvern.” a whisper reached her…ear?

“Asandria? Is that you?” now the sounds were even clearer and she heard a terrified scream that abruptly ended. Cautiously she went forward and then saw from behind some trees a clearing.

On the clearing, a wounded reptile the size of a small barn stood with giant wings extended over a wagon. It was a muddy green with black spots along the flanks and a long whipping tail on the end of which was a stinger like those seen on a scorpion (there was a picture of one in a book her mother had owned). The head sported two backward-facing horns and dagger-like teeth. Standing on two powerful legs its wings sprouted claws at the first joint which it used to swipe at the annoying pests around it.

It was somehow majestic and horrid at the same time.

The carriage had once boasted two horses, one of which lay dead, the other running with torn reins along a muddy road. Some rough-looking men and women were fighting and one of them stabbed a spear into the flank of the beast which earned him its regard.

The stinger slashed forwards faster than the naked eye could see and stabbed deep into the unlucky man's abdomen, visibly contracting around its base as it pumped venom into the already fatal-looking wound.

Two women were firing arrows into the wings and body of the dragonlike monster. The seeming leader of the group an axe-wielding fighter garbed in an assortment of plate and chain bellowed a challenge and went after the legs, hacking deeply into the surprisingly resilient scales. Green-black Blood dripped onto the forest floor hissing like acid. The man was nearly two meters tall and had a red beard streaked with gray, wild blue eyes, somewhat bloodshot, and sported a tabard depicting an axe cleaving a skull of monstrous proportions.

The wyvern bit after the warrior and tangled with the shaft of the greataxe. All in all, it did not look too good. Four members of the band were strewn about the clearing, not moving – sometimes still groaning- and in the case of the one with the missing head, very visibly dead.

Beside the Axeman and the two archers, there were still five men fighting. Two of the men were garbed in light armor and wielding sword and shield, mace and shield respectively. They seemed young and a whole lot more cautious, trying to shield each other. Then there was another axe-wielder who stood behind the cart favoring an injured left leg hacking at the wings of the beast when there was an opportunity, wearing cheap-looking leather armor. He seemed the youngest of the group. Another slender man, with a black beard and black leather armor, held back from the fighting and threw some knives after the eyes of the beast with uncanny accuracy. Simultaneously guarding himself with his left arm swaddled in his cloak. She thought she saw some glyphs flashing as he aimed the last knife.

Then there was a robed man wielding a staff who just finished an incantation firing a volley of searing red bolts of fire at the monster without causing much more than minor burns, but distracting the beast.

Alyssa saw a girl a bit older than her bleeding copiously from a large gash in her back lying on her stomach a scant ten meters from her. Wheat-yellow hair veiling a pale face she heard and saw her gasping because of the pain.

Without conscious thought, she ran towards the fallen and grabbed some cloth cutting it with her sickle then applying pressure towards the large wound trying to first staunch the bleeding a bit. The young woman looked at her uncomprehending and whispered “Please help me” her hands grabbing Alyssa's leg.

Calling upon the elemental power of water while brushing silver-white hair from her sweaty face Alyssa extended her right hand and sang the words of an old elvish healing spell her mother had once taught her. The presence of Asandria supplied new words singing a duet of this song of life. Glyphs of blue swam into being. A gentle spray of water like the tides breaking along rocky shores trickled over the wound washing away blood and ragged skin both, closing the tear growing new flesh, and staunching the flow of blood.

The effect was much stronger than she had seen it before. The spirit gave her a connection to the more positive aspects of magic she had been sorely lacking. The irony of the dead being more in tune with life than her did not escape her.

With a sigh of relief, the blonde girl closed her eyes and promptly fainted. Alyssa raised her eyes and saw the wyvern retreating towards the forest. The left foreleg wounded and bleeding, arrows piercing both wings and the body, and a knife sticking from its left eye- the battle had turned.

The axe-wielding younger fighter lay unmoving. His throat a red ruin, black poison flowing in the blood pumping from the wound. The flow ebbing with each failing heartbeat. Broken eyes looking for answers in the gentle clouds of summer.

“Aaaarg.” The red-bearded axeman charged into the beast whirling his weapon in a great arc. It tried to dodge but the wounded leg failed the monster and the axe bit deep into the snakelike neck. Ripping it out again he sprayed the surroundings with black blood, liberally drenching his arms and chest. Where it struck smoke curled from the liquid, thankfully mostly eroding the tabard and armor.

The Wyvern roared in pain but the group intensified their assault and with a final hiss the beast collapsed, and only the tail was still lashing spastically. The mace-wielding fighter had been hit with a wing and was knocked out cold with a nasty gash bleeding on the back of his head.

Alyssa had by then moved on to a boy of perhaps seventeen years, with a straggly beard carrying a spear and a small wooden targe, wearing metal-studded leather too big for his still lanky form. He was also bleeding from numerous cuts and seemed as if he had some broken ribs. Perhaps the beast had bitten him?

She, more confidently now, readied her hands over the biggest and most perilous looking wound on his abdomen and magic surged through her as she sang, manifesting as white-blue energy, then glyphs, then a gently swirling cloud of glowing water droplets drifting into the damaged skin, lighting it from inside and causing the torn edges of the wound to slowly and imperfectly knit together, forming a scar. She sang the words until fatigue pulled at her eyelids making her dizzy for a moment. Spectral Arms gently steadied her until she recovered.

The field of battle had grown silent, save for the whimpering of a few wounded and cursing from the black-garbed knife-wielder. “By the unwashed ball-sack of Gesserach, by the mouth stink of Motok. It is fucking summer, why does a Wyvern not simply steal some cattle. Why is the thrice damned lice on Cornacs ass here instead of wherever there is easy prey to eat!” The last was shouted.

The man in the russet robes was kneeling next to one of the downed women. Now that she had a moment, she looked around. Besides her two patients, there was the woman the magic user was caring for. Then there was the spear wielder whose end she had seen first, one man without a head, ah there it was lying at the edge of the clearing, the younger axe-wielder lying still near the wagon. The former mace-wielding fighter was cared for by his friend who tried to bandage the copiously bleeding head wound.

And then there was a woman cradling her ripped intestines lying dead against a tree stump and another man who looked like the wyvern had simply crushed his chest for it was staved in with blood pooling in the grass.

The robed man looked towards her and called his voice cracking “come over here, I can't get her to stabilize. Whoever you are, please help.” She now saw that he was quite young, possibly only a year or two older than her. The robes were a bit ostentatious and looked too big on him.

“I am coming!” she called back. She hurried over. Kneeling beside a young woman wearing the symbol of Ielenia the dawn star, the white without stain, she who carries the guiding light.

‘A priestess of Ielenia? Here?’ the priestesses were mostly called to help with sickness and to guide young maidens in etiquette and the right kind of scholarship, teaching theology, philosophy, and mathematics besides flower arrangement and some such. But there was also a different kind of work they did. They were the witch-finders and were there was no, or not enough, purity they would endeavor to return it. With magical aid or force if necessary.

The young woman was pale and a deep stab wound in her left thigh oozed blackened blood mixed with poison. She was brown-haired and fair of skin. Having a beautiful face with an ample figure while being of middling height. Her right hand hovered over the wound emitting a soft white glow. But the battle seemed to be going poorly as her slowly worsening complexion seemed to indicate.

“Make room!” Alyssa got on her knees and laid both hands over each other pointing at the wound ‘Asandria, do you know any songs of cleansing? And please don’t use any with pure life or nature magic!’ Wordlessly she felt assurance. Then she began to sing the song of the waters of life again. Asandria interjected a second meaning here and there, strengthening the magical weave. Glyphs of aquamarine shone brightly and this time the spray of water was accompanied by a freezing mist, bringing a cleansing cold. The damage this time was much more difficult to heal than the simple flesh wounds and more exhausting. And as she faltered at last the young priestess spoke a prayer to Ielenia forcing the last of the poison out of her body leaving an ugly-looking wound even if it was no longer bleeding freely.

Alyssa braced herself on her knees, breathing quickly. The young mage- or was he still an apprentice?- looked at her gratefully. “Many thanks for your aid! I did not know what to do. Christina here was wounded, trying to help the fallen as the wyvern attacked. It all happened so quickly!” while he was nervously trying to convey his gratitude the Redbeard came over.

“What have we here?” his voice was deep and resonating. “A little girl lost in the woods.” Laughing at his own joke until a soft well-spoken voice interjected “I for my part am deeply thankful for your serendipitous arrival. The goddess must have led you here.” the Priestess called Christina struggled to sit up.

“Please take care, you are still wounded.” the apprentice said. “Adrian, calm yourself. There are still injured people and I can help.” Christina retorted.

“I’m Alyssa and was out here foraging for herbs when I heard the commotion. When I saw the fallen I could not idly stand by.”

“You look a bit ragged for simply foraging” the large warrior eyed her suspiciously. She went red, as she realized her tattered attire, the rips and tears, and all the blood that had soaked into her garments which were already grimy from days of travel, even though she had half-heartedly washed them in some forest brook and even used some simple cantrips to mend a tear or clean the fabric. “But you did help my people!” grinning again the giant hit her on the shoulder forcing her a step back “Thanks for that.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, “alright, there is still a lot to do. If you want to make yourself useful and look after the injured. I will pay you two gold for your support. How’s that sound. My name is Torvak the Red of the Skullbreakers” He grinned crookedly then turned and gave some orders to the ones still standing to make a camp to the side opposite where the corpse of the wyvern stunk to high heavens already.

Alyssa tended to the wounded and helped make them more comfortable. Here a small cantrip to clean, there a whispered song to close a small but heavily bleeding head wound.

The aftermath of the short but vicious battle was keeping her quite busy.