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“I know not how to instil an idea. I do as I am told to do. Why can’t that be enough?”
“There was once a man named Igura the Fractious, a mortal of unparalleled skill. He was truly gifted, able to outwit any opponent, always a step ahead of the competition. “Yet the man was not without flaws. Fear held him back, hope made him careless, compassion made him impressionable, while rage made him uncontrollable. The man, convinced of his own limitations, expelled these parts of himself and left behind only his indomitable will.”
“I don’t understand how a story is supposed to help me.” “You cannot find an idea because you have no emotions to instil in them—you live among Elders, immortal beings devoid of such earthly concepts.
Master waved out towards the great landscape of Minethria, small and far from Ievarus’ reach.
“Then meddle with mortals, learn from them, allow them to teach you what it means to fight.” Ievarus blinked. “I am not permitted to leave until I am ready.” “Ievarus, how do you expect to be ready when all you do is as you are bidden?” Ievarus looked ou...
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I dressed myself with great haste, absolving myself of my battle armour and donning the ceremonial piece. Armour was supposed to be practical, not encumbered and adorned with spikes and high rising pauldrons and heavy chest pieces with great exaggerated reliefs. But—when there was cause to celebrate and rile up the crowd of patriotic citizens to assuage the payment of taxes—we dressed to impress.
My ceremonial armour was an intricate mesh of glistening steel and golden rims. The helmet was shaped in the form of a hawk’s head with just more exaggerated plumage jutting from the top. Unlike my battle armour, the beak head was polished gold. On each of my shoulders were intricate metal feathers, alternating between silver and gold. My chest piece was emblazoned with a relief of my father’s head. Instead of feathers, my greaves sported chiselled images of snowflakes upon their shape and the knees themselves were fashioned to show a golden sun on the right and a silver moon on the left. A
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The Elders deserve remarkable credit for how they have found ways to subtly bind mortals to time without it ever being questioned. Despite the Elder King being a god beyond the inconveniences of time, he has a remarkable talent for tracking its passing with the rise and fall of his golden eye every day. And even the seasons are a constant reminder of our ticking clock. —Heretic musings of Inschia, the Fetid Witch.
while distant thunder strummed notes for the leviathans of the sea.
“I’d like that.” There it was, an answer, but not a promise.
I had made several bets. One may have fractured a tenuous relationship with our akar refugees and another may never wake up again. It was comforting to know that at least Dalila turned out the way she did.
“No. She is not hope, she is compassion,” Ievarus corrected.
“I see. I only saw her wholeness as is. I did not consider the worth of limbs.”
Though at least it wasn’t a look of pity like with all others; theirs belonged to a being outside the scope of mortals.
“That is something you don’t understand, Ievarus. People are complicated, emotions are complicated. What you see is just the colour of the disk, but there is more involved here. Nora has lost something, something that made her who she was. She is trying to put herself back together, to have hope that there is a chance to have more in life despite what has happened to her.”
The Sword of Bone was said to have been made by the remains of an Estrian undead. The bone still lives and its cutting edge is said to be the only way to permanently sever the connection between an undead and the stars. —Weaponry lost to the ages, by Cornyth Abenhaur.
If only Cassidy could know what pain I would bring upon him when I rose from my ashes.
how small my heart seemed, how intrepid and stubborn for such a small thing. It felt apt to call that thing my heart; a scared little girl hiding in the skeleton of an imposter.
With delicate prongs, a ball of luminant gold like molten rock was inserted into my chest. My body fought, contested with this raging concoction of liquid fire that poured through my veins and burned me from the inside. That was an understatement—I felt like someone had lit a fire in my belly and was roasting me from within.
The scales were like ebony gems, shimmering and reflecting light off their blackened surface.
Still, if there was one thing I had learnt over my years as a soldier, it was that power was overrated, especially if it was clumsy and imprecise.
The man was calm, his expression full of concern as he watched me, hoping I’d let him
I thought of Ida, of Jeremiah, of so many injured as if they were already dead and just didn’t know it yet. There I was among their kind, and I could see that I wasn’t useless, not until my very life would be taken from me.
There was a vibrato to the way it sung. I swung the blade, feeling the air itself vibrate with each cut. Everything about it sounded metallic and heavy. The movements were slower than what I was used to, but it certainly held a satisfying weight to it.
“I told you, didn’t I? Pydru has a knack for sniffing out death, and you reek of it, lass.”
It is a rather clandestine part of Elder history, but not all Elders have aligned themselves with the Elder King. What sources I can find suggest that the Blacksmith was once a most noble Elder who forged the weapons of the gods. Now, the Blacksmith lays imprisoned; forced to forge the very chains which bind him, he continues to labour for his king. —Heretical discussions on forgotten history.
It was like some perversion of intimacy, of corrosive longing, like seeing a lover again after being away for a long time. What remained of my mortal skin prickled. My breath paused. A shiver ran down my back and I felt my heart pick up pace.
simply sat there and observed the two of them with a calm and seething rage, a worming leviathan that slithered underneath a still sea waiting to spring out.
I no longer saw a shrewd and heartless drunk, but a broken man who could only dig himself a deeper hole, no matter what he did.
While Danny and Regan’s death felt akin to some depraved orgasm born out of my fractured sanity, that of Eric left me feeling sullen. It was too easy. That cathartic release I desired turned out to be a disappointment. Long after, I felt his fragile form in my arms, how easily he broke under my grip with barely a snap to signal his passing.
“I am bound to Ievarus, as are you; the laws of man don’t apply to us anymore.” “Yet kill Cassidy and you won’t be welcome here; in fact, if we were to kill you, Ievarus will just find someone else.”
The man stepped forward, removing his helmet as if seeing his pleading expression would make me reconsider. “You were taken in to be hope because of Dalila’s instance. Don’t make her regret that. This blood isn’t just on your hands—it is on hers.” I had to admit, I never considered how my rampage and lies would affect Dalila, but it was only a minor annoyance. It was too late to regret anything.
Erefiel was toying with me; deliberate shallow cuts made to tire me out as he knew my body would not be able to last long enough with all the energy I was expending. His turns and gyrations were sharp, making sure to constantly stay at my sides. I could feel the gust of air cocoon around us, venting through the flat side of Erefiel’s sword.
My scales rippled, chittering excitedly at the chance of letting loose. Wind’s touch grazed my skin, my nape, stroked the hair on my neck like a light breeze caressing blades of grass. The incisions were artful, opening shallow gashes to slowly bleed me out. It was coming. Quickly, I transformed my weaponized appendages into regular arms. I breathed in, allowing my heart’s light to brighten as power poured itself into my bulkier right arm. This was a gamble, a feeling, a slight nudge guided by the wind’s rhythm. I turned and felt the scales stand on end. The burning hot inside me lit a small
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Nain of the Everglow was made into two people. Come day their hair turned golden and the pit on their chest radiated sunlight. Come night, their hair darkened and their chest reflected the moon. It is said that during Nain’s ascension and the dark marriage of the eclipse, that Mount Morniar trembled.
“Fine. I will help how I can,” I said, though they did not see the seed which took fruit within me. My people won’t be made to die for this human cause. I spoke of duty,
The version of herself that pronounced such precise alacrity and speed was the fierce warrior that I remembered. Yet the woman before me was an indomitable soul incapable of giving up, trapped within a makeshift body.
“This killing wasn’t an act of desperation,” I clarified, looking at my surroundings. “This is a celebration.” “Celebration?” Nora asked. “The akar weren’t being hunted… they were the hunter.” “Good, that means fewer savages to smite,” Nora made as if to leave. “You don’t understand.” I turned towards the two of them. “My people hunt. To be the one who slays an unslayable beast is to garner the respect of all. You shouldn’t ask about the hundred akar felled in battle. You should ask about the one who dealt the killing blow.” I was walking around the beast, trailing its sides and stepping over
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During the fall of the Asamanian kingdom and the fast return of the Haar, the strife between Cleria, Museya and far off kingdoms seemed less pressing. The strife was done aside in return for a truce. But peace built on the grounds of self-preservation is a temporary solution. With the threat of impending death and the fear of oblivion, the nation of Bravnicka invested in a rebirth of culture and the Renaissance. Museya became firmly the pinnacle of artistic soul and connection while Cleria became a bastion for civilisation and advancement. Bolton, in turn, became the black sheep.
I held onto that fleeting anger, but it was already infested. Its roots rotting away from the infection and turning into empty sorrow. This wasn’t the rightful vindication I sought; it was just meaningless betrayal.
“You wish to die a Martyr?” Lucia shook her head. “No. A symbol. If the cost of freedom for all witches is what remains of my pitiful years, then so be it.”
“You know, one of the best things I ever
learnt was that if someone puts the blame on you, the best thing you can do is own it. Give the person nothing to tempt you with. If I had dragged it on and I would have been found guilty—probably would have—then I would always be remembered as that ‘lying witch.’ But this way, people will someday see a witch wrongly put to death; a proud and honest witch.” I narrowed my gaze. “You really do believe that you are doing the right thing, don’t you?” There was a deep and considerable pause. “I could ask you the same thing, you know?”
“They don’t mean anything by themselves. The akar don’t have a written language, the runes are symbolic; you derive meaning from context.” “And what does this context mean?” Nora amended. “This is a warning. An offering made in blood, but also a border to let us know that we are being watched.” Nora scoffed. “This is intimidation. They are trying to dissuade us from entering. Their bodies are mostly whole. I would have expected a little more savagery and mutilation.” I shook my head and couldn’t help but chuckle.
this wasn’t just a cold and pragmatic display. It was a conversation. “Stay away or die.” We moved on, leaving the corpses to gently sway like macabre talismans.
“Aye, perhaps it is a burden. But in truth, I am grateful. If I have the ability to walk and fight, then that is all I need. But these prosthetics can never make up for the speed, precision, and duress that I had with my real body.” “Erefiel doesn’t know that, does he?” Nora went quiet, the silence between us now personal. “If rumours have already spread and people think I am some unstoppable machine, all the better. But the truth is that my little clash with Erefiel was pure luck—there is no way I would have won that if he went in with the intent to kill me.”
“And yet you trust me enough to open up?” “You misunderstand; we are in enemy territory. If we come across danger, it is important that my allies know my weaknesses. My promise from earlier still stands.”
It was easy communicating with Nora. Her coarse manner made it so. I felt no conflicting need to try and be friendly, but that wasn’t the case with Howard.
“She did, but I just thought I would start some conversation.” “Not interested.”
“Look, I’ve been there. When I was a boy, it was just fat and no self-confidence. My father was a harsh man. However, he taught me to never show my fear, to scream and shout and bite until no one else would mess with me.” “Wise man.” “Foolish man,” he corrected. “Dug himself an early grave with all that drinking of his, was so obsessed with hiding his fear that he drowned in it. All I am saying, is that I know what it’s like to lash out at the world because you are scared.” “You don’t know me,” I said indignantly. “Let me ask you this. Did you visit your settlement after Erefiel freed you?” “I
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