Chapter 335: The Nether Flask

…Last evening… Castle Thorn, Undergrowth…

The storm’s winds and rain battered the windows of Ophelia’s chambers. But she did not care. She sat alone on the floor in the dark. Her family’s white cloak, Blossom, hung over her shoulders and spilled onto the rug. The cloak was a marvelous elemental work of beauty, made up of hundreds of snow-white flower petals with streaks of lavender veins running across each one.

Ophelia ran her hand over the soft petals gently, deep in thought. A knock on her door broke her brooding.

“It’s me, Lord Alwin Loch, my lady,” a familiar voice called out from the other side.

“Come in,” Ophelia said tiredly.

The door cracked open and a lightly armored drow walked. His hair was short and swept back. He closed the door behind him and bowed to his mistress. “My lady, you sent for me?”

“Loch, my loyal Loch,” Ophelia muttered quietly.

He glanced around the dark bedroom, “Have you been here all day? I can barely see a thing. Would you like me to light some candles or get a magestone lamp?”

“No need, you being here is enough,” Ophelia looked up at him and smiled, “You are my most loyal retainer, Lord Loch. An arch-mage and a wise friend. I could not ask for a better right-hand.”

“You honor me, my lady,” he smiled.

“Tell me, how long has your family been loyal to my family?”

“Since the founding of my House of course.”

“And when was that?”

“Well, my great-grandfather was the first Loch. He was a farmer-turned-mage. He pledged his allegiance to Lord Alister Thorn, The Last Ebon Lord. He raised my great-grandfather to the rank of lord and my House has stood by the Thorns ever since.”

“Even after our fall from grace,” Ophelia chuckled grimly. “Even after my family fled Hollow Shade the Lochs followed us still… I have need of that loyalty tonight.”

“It is yours, always.”

Ophelia ran her hand through her pale cloak, “...Tell me, do you know how the Thorns came to possess Blossom?”

“I’ve heard different accounts.”

“...The cloak was a gift from the fairies of the forest some 900 years ago. It was long before the relationship between Undergrowth and the fairies fell apart. It was long before the founding of Hollow Shade or the Realms’ Schism. It was a time few of our kind wish to remember.”

“The wars…” Loch muttered in realization.

“The Northern Wars. The Ebon Realm was covered in blood a millennium ago with the countless battles between the vampire and drow clans of the north. Our kind was winning, but one day Stjerne abandoned us. They say his blessings of protection over our people faded away and slowly but surely the drow clans lost.”

“The drows were exiled from the city of Frost Rim.”

Ophelia shrugged, “Frost Rim wasn’t really a city back then. It was just a ramshackle assortment of warlords and magelords squabbling with one another in a thin veneer of peace. Frost Rim really only grew after the Northern Wars ended.”

“So the drows didn’t care about leaving Frost Rim?” Loch asked.

“Some of them did, some of them even stayed, mostly the drow lords and their retainers, the ones with enough power to hold their own. But most of the drows did not have such power, nor did they live in the city. They lived throughout the Northern Lands and they, the commoners, the weak, were the ones who were forced to leave their homes behind.”

Ophelia placed her hand on the ground, “It was to this place our ancestors came. My family was not a Great House back then. The Thorns were the leaders of a small clan, but they held ambitions far above what anyone else dreamed. With the help of several other drow clans, they founded Undergrowth. Drow refugees from all over came here and built Undergrowth to what it is today.”

Ophelia smiled proudly to herself, “My family accomplished so much, despite all the challenges. We were weak, but we grew strong here. The fairies saw us as friends, caretakers of Glimmer Grove forest like them. They created Blossom using their elemental magic and gifted it to us. You see, Blossom is an heirloom, a symbol of my family’s triumph over these lands, over our enemies… And I will not let it be taken by anyone, especially a Hollow Shader.”

“My lady, you already pledged Blossom as the tourney’s prize—”

“—I did not want to pledge Blossom!” Ophelia clenched her jaw, “I had to do it. And I still haven’t been told why.”

Loch stared at her, confused, “...Either way, with Calex defeated, how do you propose to keep the cloak?”

“Stjerne may have abandoned the drows, but not all the gods have forsaken us,” Ophelia smiled eerily. “You know whom I speak of.”

Loch nodded, “How could I forget? You introduced me to him once before. It was quite… unnerving.”

“Unnerving? Caligo is a terrifying being, no one doubts that. But he is our city’s secret patron deity. He deserves our respect, always,” she warned.

“Of course, I meant no offense,” Loch bowed his head.

“Good,” Ophelia nodded in approval. “...Throughout the years, our god has given me many boons, but there is one gift he gave me more dangerous than all others. A gift he warned me to only use in duress. The Ebon Aspirant and the girl with golden flames… They must be stopped and in a way that does not lead back to us.”

“What are you saying?”

“What do you know of the Dreamscape?” Ophelia asked.

“Very little. All I know is that it is a place of souls. It is not meant for mortals.”

“And yet we are all connected to its ethereal domain,” Ophelia sighed wistfully.

“Ethereal domain?”

She nodded, “The Dreamscape is but one of the ethereal domains linked to our world. The Dark Fringe and the Soul Chasm are another two.”

“Wait, THE Soul Chasm? It’s real!?”

“What, did you think our souls just fuck off into nothingness when our bodies die?” Ophelia chuckled.

“What of reincarnation? Is it true? Are we reborn?” Loch asked apprehensively.

She shook her head, “Caligo told me there have been no reincarnations since the Schism.”

“...I see,” he sighed.

“Cheer up, it means your life is your own, not someone else's. We make our choices. And right now I need you to make a choice.”

“What choice?” he asked skeptically.

Ophelia held up a crystalline flask from under her cloak. It gave off a strange jade light that seemed to swim around the dark room. A black and green liquid sloshed inside the flask, almost as if alive.

“What is that?” Loch asked anxiously.

Ophelia traced her fingers over the glowing flask, “A gift from our god. I want you to bury it in the center of the coliseum’s arena tonight, without being seen.”

“Why? What does it do?”

“The flask has a protection spell on it. It will only open when I speak an incantation, even from a distance. And when that time comes the threat to my family’s legacy will vanish.”

“What about backlash? Surely, someone will suspect foul play.”

“Not with this. The flask’s effects are invisible to the naked eye.”

“Even still—”

“—Trust me, I have a plan.” Ophelia stood to her feet, “I am in need of your loyalty once more, Lord Loch. Can you do this task?”

Loch stared at the flask warily, but he nodded nonetheless, “Of course, my lady.”

~~~

The morning rain fell over the coliseum in a drizzle, though traces of last night’s storm were still visible. The arena’s pristine white sands had turned a mottled grey. Yet the gloomy weather did little to dampen the excitement of the crowds.

The siblings, Mark and Jane, rattled off the morning’s introductions from the Herald’s Tower that loomed over the coliseum. With each word they spoke the crowds grew more and more excited. Finally, the eastern gate opened up to the cheers of thousands as Stryg stepped out of the dark tunnel and into the eye of the people.

Stryg’s boots sank a few inches into the clumpy sand with each step he took. He wondered to himself how much harder it would be to move around the wet battlefield and his mind began to imagine several different strategies.

As he tried to concentrate, the chanting of his name echoed in his ears in a deafening rumble so loud that it shook the ground beneath.

Stryg couldn’t help but blush and smile with pride at the thousands cheering him on. He recalled the advice Gale had given him the other day and he bowed with a flourish just as she had taught him. The crowd’s voices grew even louder.

Suddenly, the western gate opened and Belle walked out with a steady, confident gait. The wet sand did little to slow down her steps. Her scarlet hair shined bright even in the rain and its long strands blew in the wind behind her. She seemed like a picturesque hero come alive from the story-books of old.

The crowd's chants broke apart into a mixture of Stryg, Aspirant, Hollow Shade, and Sylvie.

Belle ignored their chants and made a beeline toward Stryg. The young blue goblin took a shaky breath and walked towards the intimidating giant. He had never felt afraid of her before, but after witnessing her last match and the golden flames that burned through her, a twang of fear crept over his spine.

When they were only twenty steps from one another, Stryg and Belle stopped where they were and simply stared at one another.

Belle broke the stalemate first and grinned lopsidedly, “We’re finally here, huh?”

“To the finals?” Stryg guessed.

“To our rematch. Although, it’s more of our first proper match if you ask me.”

“We’ve sparred plenty of times.”

“Sure, but those were always without magic.” Belle looked at him reminiscently, “It’s strange, you know. I’m stronger and far larger than you, but somehow you always managed to hold your own in those fights. This time we have a chance to properly settle our score.”

Stryg narrowed his eyes. “You’ve changed, something’s different about you…”

She shrugged, “I finally stopped pretending to be someone I’m not.”

Stryg looked her over and nodded, “I like it.”

“Oh?” she raised her eyebrow.

“You used to always have this stupid smile on your face, even though we both knew you weren’t happy.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t put it like that,” she scratched her cheek.

He spotted the long sword hanging from her hip and frowned. “You’re using a sword now? I thought you hated swords.”

“Oh, I do. But like I said, I finally stopped pretending to be someone I’m not. The real me has a preternatural innate gift with armaments, especially blades. Why would I ignore that, even if I hate it.”

“I don’t understand what any of that means…”

Belle began to slowly walk around him, “It means it’s time I stop holding back.”

Stryg followed her movements and they began to circle each other, “I suppose I shouldn’t hold back against you either.”

“Is that why you brought your broken sword to this fight?” Belle looked pointedly at Nameless hanging from Stryg’s hip. “It may as well be a jagged dagger.”

Stryg gripped Nameless’ hilt tight, “My sword is a promise to the Gales. They believed in me even when they had reason not to. If I win this tournament, it will be with a Gale sword and no other.”

“I understand. Vows can be powerful things. They can give us the strength to keep going when all else seems lost. But they can also hold us back. A broken blade seems to be the latter.”

Stryg laughed to himself.

“What's so funny?” Belle glared at him.

“You’ve never been to Vulture Woods, have you?”

“No, but I fail to see its relevance.”

“You have no idea how many times a goblin lost in the woods would have given anything to have a jagged dagger. You think my broken sword holds me back? I’m used to fighting with only my claws and fangs. This is an improvement.”

“You’re going to need more than some claws and a broken blade to win,” Belle bared her fangs.

“I’m counting on it,” Stryg hissed.

The Heralds’ voices boomed across the coliseum, “MAY THE FINAL MATCH OF THE CHALLENGE OF SPELL & STEEL… BEGIN!”