Pixie's Fics (and Collabs)

[Pixie]

I've been accumulating a decent amount of stories and collabs, so I decided it was time to make a thread for my writing. I really enjoy collaborative writing, so I have many stories that have been written with some awesome members of our forum. This is will probably get cluttered up with Medieval fics that don't it in other threads. The contents of this thread will range from saccharine adorableness to the grimdark disturbing, so be prepared for anything! 

This first story is a bittersweet treat from Medieval, which Lizica wrote with me. It's canon and takes place several decades after the main rp. I am excited to share this with you!

The King and The Heroine

SPOILER: Click to show

At first he couldn’t tell if it was dust, or fog. He’d awoken in a haze of white, disorienting white, and he rubbed his forehead absently, trying to piece together what to do next.

It felt very empty. And yet, it also felt very warm, somehow reassuring--as if, in spite of everyone he had just left behind, in spite of everything newly lost, this was merely a new step, another realm to explore and learn to know better. It wasn’t an end. It didn’t feel like it.

It just felt confusing, was all.

He felt a sharp pang of regret; he hoped everyone back home would be alright.

Then he recentered himself: He had faith in them. They were strong, and caring, and full of life. They would be alright.

And with that thought in mind, Aldrich Finnegan, the late King Galateo Owl, stumbled forward through the fog, trying to find something more solid, something to steady him. But it seemed unlikely to find something as sturdy as rocky ground when--

He nearly tripped over what did, in fact, appear to be a rock at his feet, and he plummeted forward, expecting some kind of pain and the usual old soreness when he hit the ground--but he was instead greeted by a light breeze, by something that tickled like grass. The foggy dust parted, giving way to a clear vista of a glade, both sunny and cloudy, both warm and cool, studded with stones and great, winding trees. It felt, in spite of all of Aldrich’s uncertainties, like a place he could rest in.

But surely he couldn’t be the only person--(soul?)--here? He stood and made his way through the glade, looking up and around at the trees and sky in wonderment.

Meanwhile, a young woman in a pale pink dress appeared from behind a nearby tree. Her features were youthful and soft, contrasting to her cloud-white hair, and the hood from her white cape hung down despite the strong light. The girl’s head was bowed over the wrinkled parchment scroll she was absorbed with reading, but her feet moved swiftly along. She clearly was not paying any mind to her immediate surroundings, but it still came as a shock to her when she felt the sensation of phasing through something that felt suspiciously like a person--a person who yelped in surprise. She, too, cried out, dropped the scroll, picked up the scroll, and turned around to face the man. The girl placed the scroll into a sheath that had contained an heirloom sword in life, and looked at him sheepishly. She really had to watch where she was going.She chimed, “ Sorry, Mister! I didn’t mean to do that,” and then her voice turned quieter. “I know you from somewhere,” she stated matter-of-factly. She had realized while looking at him that he seemed familiar, though older and more worn than she remembered.

The man studied her for a long moment, his eyes rather wide, but then something seemed to spark in his memory, and his whole face lit up.

“Ilaria?” he mustered at length. “The--the pale protector?”

Ilaria giggled lightly, nodding her head once she realized who was standing there before her. There was only one person who had called her that- Aldrich, the friendly, unlucky man who had a bunch of sculptures that were alive, and who needed a bodyguard, a long time back when she was still alive. There wasn’t a trace of sadness in her mind. Her own death had faded to the background, while the wounds vanished from her ghostly form, and it didn’t occur fully to her that he had to have died to be there now.

“Yes, I’m Ilaria. Aldrich, right? It’s good to see you again. How were the years?” she said cordially, her silver-blue eyes going wide with curiosity and excitement as his had a moment earlier. She didn’t leave him a window for response, and instead took a few fast steps closer to him and threw her arms outward and around him for a corporeal hug.

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” Aldrich began, nearly laughing at the embrace but returning it fondly. Again this motion made him ache for the people he’d just left behind. Goodness, though--it was good to meet Ilaria here, doing so well. How were the years? ....Aldrich pondered this question.

Where on earth did he even begin?

“It’s been--” Aldrich paused, and smiled abashedly at Ilaria in amazement. “It’s been quite a whirlwind.

“Ah, I--I don’t think you knew,” he suddenly realized. The embrace separated, and Aldrich motioned the young woman to sit down in the grass, as he did so himself. “I don’t think you knew--and to be honest, I didn’t know for a while, either--I--Did you know I was--...” He started over. “I lost my mother when I was very small--She was the queen.”

“Huh.”

Many things had never stopped confusing Ilaria, but the degree of confusion she was feeling at that moment was spectacular. It wasn’t someone failing to make her understand what exactly magic was for the dozenth time, it was something entirely out of the normal plane of experience. How could this sculptor guy be a child of the queen? Ilaria didn’t remember any of his parents being around when she visited him at his studio, but she hadn’t even daydreamed that she had been protecting some lost royal. “You’re a prince?” she finally inquired, once she stopped being flabbergasted enough to manage the question.

Aldrich smiled apologetically. “The Shadows reunited me with my mother, and I--I became king. Some people call me Galateo Owl instead, but--for some, I’ll always be Aldrich.” Seeing Ilaria’s astonishment, he paused and attempted to lighten the weight of the revelation, adding, “My sculptures have had quite a lot of adventures roaming about the Raven’s Keep. I think you would have enjoyed seeing them.”

“The Shadows!” Ilaria exclaimed, “I never thought you a rebel. Or living in the Keep.”

What Ilaria had last known of the Shadows in life was their disruption at the fatal coronation. Those she met afterwards had mixed opinions on them. The younger and poorer they were, the more they looked at the Shadows as heros. Some of the old nobles didn’t like them, or their methods, or what they stood for, but she didn’t know if she should listen to them or not. A lot of people had different ways of seeing the world and Ilaria had discovered that in her recent adventures. Galateo was a name she had heard around from all these people, but it felt so odd trying to match it up with the blur of Aldrich’s face. She was glad to hear the sculptures were still having their fun. They were funny and cool, and she remembered them from her short stint bodyguarding Aldrich.

“I liked your sculptures,” Ilaria said with a grin. “You’ll have to tell me some time about what they’ve done- and what you’ve done! What was it like as a king?”

Aldrich was grinning, but he paused thoughtfully at this question, scratching his beard. “...Stressful? Exhilarating? Weighty? Crazy? ...Busy,” he said. “There’s always something more you want to help with, some things you’re helpless to aid, some things best left alone. There are so many voices in the country you would think they would form a discordant choir, but every once in a rare while they’ll almost strike a sweet note in unison. And you have to help be the conductor through all of it, listening and trying to keep everyone up to a tempo.”

He squinted off in the distance. “But it wasn’t all business. Very far from it. I--I got married and--and I became a father,” he began, turning back to Ilaria, his whole face brightening up again, yet simultaneously turning a little bereft, as if looking at some memory just behind her.

“...I wish you could have met my family,” he said at length. “And I wish you could have seen the sculptures in the Keep, too. I’m sure they could have used some guarding here and there. They...they were so unreasonable, always posing as statues and scaring visitors, sneaking into castle rooms, accidentally knocking candles off the chandeliers and setting things on fire, leaving scuff marks on the rafters and the archways, interrupting meetings, giving bruises and rides to the kids when they were little, and--”

Aldrich suddenly realized that he was shivering a little from simultaneously wanting to laugh and to cry.

“Ah ‘Woo,” he said at last, thickly, looking apologetically at Ilaria. “I’m sorry...I miss them all already.”

“Missing is okay,” Ilaria declared, as she saw the distress on his face and gave him another hug. Thoughts began to swarm her with the force and passion of a hurricane wave, as her mind returned to the life she had lost for the first time in quite awhile. She closed her eyes and took on a serene expression. “There was this woman I daydreamed about marrying once upon a time. She was an elf- very beautiful and smart and kind and strong and brave,” Her eyes fluttered back open when she realized where the story was going, “I loved her. Her name was Kaldora and she was my best friend.”

“She didn’t want to be my girlfriend because she was actually a dragon, but we were very close and we had great times together. I’ve been really busy here too- I’m not managing a kingdom like you did, but I’m busy with these heroic quests. I didn’t forget about her- I never will,and I’ve always figured she’s been up to grand things without me, since she’s strong. Maybe you’ve seen her? When she’s an elf, she had purple skin with pretty markings by her eyes, and her hair was mostly white-ish. She’s gold and a bit spiky as a dragon. I miss my Kali a lot now that I think of it… have you seen her?”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to spend more time with her,” said Aldrich, still trying to make sense of what Ilaria had just told him. He paused, straining his memory very hard to try to picture an elf--dragon?--of this description--but there were so many faces, so many that didn’t match.

“I--I’m sorry, I don’t know if I ever met your friend,” he managed finally. “I’ve met a lot of elves, but no one quite like that. And while there was that incident with some irreverent dragons that one autumn, I’m pretty sure they were blue. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. I’m sure your friend misses you terribly, too.”

Ilaria didn’t really know what she had been expecting. She had wished that Kaldora would be around and faring well, but not even Ilaria’s own parents had mentioned seeing her. Aldrich, another lost friend, was giving her a reminder of the limited time she had spent with her beloved. Her heart ached to imagine the girl she had left behind feeling the same sort of void.

“I don’t want her missing me, exactly. It’s not that I want her to forget me; it’s hard to explain.” she said quietly, “Her friendship meant the world to me, but she’s going to live for centuries and I don’t want to make her miserable because of the few months we knew each other. I want her to be happy even if I won’t be with her.” She looked at Aldrich, who managed a sad, sympathetic smile as he listened.

“Those months were wonderful,” she went on. “We made stories together, and talked about all sorts of stuff, and I adored every word of hers. We hugged a lot, danced a bit, and I got her into a few of the dresses I made. She looked like a princess. We played with her kitten together, the one that followed her around all the time, and laughed until both our lungs hurt. Days and nights like that were when I was the most, well, alive. It’s not bad here, but..” The tears began to trickle from Ilaria’s eyes.

Now it was Aldrich’s turn to give Ilaria a light hug. “It’s hard to lose someone,” he said gently. “But you can still remember and treasure those good times. They’re...they’re important. And it sounds like you were both very close, even if you were together for only a precious short time.”

“We were together until the very, very end. It was torture that Kali couldn’t get to me at first, after he ran me through and I was dying, but when she was able to move again, she came close to me and held me in her arms. She kept talking to me, saying I was a hero and that I was going to be okay. It was good to have her there. My beloved was the very last thing I saw. She was the last thing I felt, other than all the pain. It was agony. The wound was very big and it hurt more than anything I’ve ever known, but she held me close. She was warm and soft, comforting, even though I felt her sobbing. Kali tried everything in her power to save me, but it just didn’t take. Blood gets everywhere but where it needs to be with a wound like that, you know. She sang to me, bound the wound, used medicine to try to make it hurt less, everything. I clung to her voice and the sight of her face but there wasn’t anything she could do. He wouldn’t hurt any more people, but it was too late for me.”

Her appearance had started to take a ghastly transformation as she began to recount her death, a visceral hole blooming outwards from her stomach like a morbid rose and bloodying her dress. Her shoulder and her dress were torn, too, reflecting her state on the last day of her life. She winced, moving her hands to shield her fatal wound from his view. It had been a long time since she felt it there, and she didn’t want to distress him by letting him see it, if he hadn’t already.

“No, not this. It hurts. P-please don’t look. You don’t want to look,” Ilaria whimpered, turning away from Aldrich.

Lulled into sadness by her account, Aldrich had jolted at first when he saw what was happening at her stomach, and for a moment he didn’t know what to do. But then he swallowed and held Ilaria’s shoulder, trying to turn her back.

“W-wait, you have to look at wounds sometimes. Don’t worry about me, what can I do? Ilaria, can I do anything to help? I don’t know how this--Let me help you. C-can I help?”

Ilaria saw him look distraught, but attempt to draw her back to him. She was correct about distressing him over her fatal wounds as she feared it would. The girl spun back to face him, removing her hands from her stomach and clasping them together, instead, “It’s a nasty hole that’s been gone for a long time before this. I wish you could help but you can’t really fix it. It’s from me thinking- and feeling. It’s that my death was bad but it could have been much worse. It could have been him killing Kali in front of me. He nearly did. He was about to kill her. It’s me thinking about the man who murdered me. They say third time’s a charm, and they are right in this case. The man I killed.” grimly, with a twisted echo of a smile, “Ancel. I hate to say that name. Well, he’s surely burning in the ‘Pit now! I made sure of it.”

Aldrich flinched with a grimace, trying to keep up. “This was at the Bloody Coronation?” he said. “Was it that day? Third time’s the--This man wasn’t a Courdonian soldier? Why would he have done this? Why would he have had any business in trying to kill you and your friend that you had to defend yourself in such a way?”

“Kali said he was Courdonian, but he wasn’t really a soldier. He was a monster of his own kind. His hair and eyes were red like blood, and his soul was rotted as the ‘Pit. He killed her family before she came to Kyth and a lot of other people too. He was a serial murderer with his victims notched off on his crossbow. About a hundred, I remember… and I was his last one,” Ilaria explained. “I think I told you ages ago that someone had tried to murder me as being a vampire and got put in the stocks. That was him. The next time I saw him he said that he wanted me to be his bride. He couldn’t have really been in love, since he wanted me dead. No matter what, it was really creepy. He told me he’d kill me and Kali if I didn’t surrender myself to him. I couldn’t take that, so I charged him, and we fought with our swords for awhile. He fled to a turret on a gryphon and we flew after him, but he shot her down before we could land and we plummeted onto that tower really, really hard. He stuck me when I was recovering from the fall and he was going to kill her too, if I didn’t get him. That’s what happened to my sword. His reign of terror ended that day, but I got taken away from her...”

For a moment Aldrich felt something twinge and flare in his own stomach: anger. He had dimly recalled someone similar to that description once, long ago, in a tavern, flailing a sword at Babewyn, pontificating in drunken blatherings about demons. He had seen this person. Aldrich had had no idea--this man had even--how many had he already--how dare the man have even considered Ilaria as--what sort of twisted concept of love and rejection and then violence--and then--

But Ilaria still looked shaky with fury, out of breath from relaying the story of her death in a cascade of emotion; she looked full of fire and defiance at the memories of her attacker, yet acutely distressed and forlorn at everything torn away from her.

Aldrich let out a breath and looked Ilaria in the eye. “I’m sorry that I asked you to explain. ...I didn’t realize. I was at the Bloody Coronation that day, and I...I wish I could have been there with you to help, somehow. You were noble to have defended your friend, but I’m so sorry all of that happened like it did.”

A swirling breeze from down the glade ruffled the grass at their feet. Aldrich glanced away from Ilaria for a moment, down the pasture, at rustling trees and gleaming rocks.

He peered back at her inquiringly, with her wound and her pained face, still wondering what he could do to help, knowing there wasn’t anything. “Emery and I sculpted a memorial for you and for people like you who died that day, to help us all remember,” he said finally, softly.

“My parents told me about the memorial. That was sweet of you and Emery,” she murmured, fiddling with her sheath.

“Thank you for telling me what happened that day--but I’m sorry that I made you relive the memories,” said Aldrich. “It sounds like you’ve done a lot here, though? Can--can you tell me about that? You mentioned doing some kind of heroic quests? Do you get to travel and help people here, like you did for people in Medieville?”

The flow of Ilaria’s tears began to slow as the conversation turned to a less painful topic.

“I actually didn't get to do much heroics during my time in Medieville, that freedom was only the last couple years. I’m very free here and I have been taking on lots of missions. Mostly, I’m a messenger or a friend. I travel around this vast area and help reunite people. Lovers, friends, family divided by time. There are a lot of interesting stories they tell me and I find myself in all sorts of places. That scroll I was looking at before I bumped into you has a bunch of descriptions on it, that I’m looking for folks by. Knowing to write comes in handy for that. Many here can’t. I try to comfort new arrivals, too. Usually, it's doesn’t turn like this…” Ilaria replied solemnly, glancing again at the hole in her belly that had begun to fade away again, but not completely. She looked back at Aldrich the moment she became conscious of what she had shifted her attention back to.

“I’ve done a crummy job welcoming you here,” she sighed.

“No, no,” said Aldrich. “Don’t be silly, I’m very glad that you were the one to have met and welcomed me here, of all the people I could have run into. You’ve been missed, but your work here sounds wonderful.”

“Aldrich, you are really kind. I didn’t want you to see... that, though, and I’m supposed to be the one making you feel more at ease. On that, would there be anyone you lost who you’d want help finding?” Ilaria offered warmly, “I could take another quest, easily.”

An odd mixture of surprise and confusion crossed Aldrich’s face before his eyes widened with the understanding of this offer. “R-really?” he said brightly, nervously. “Anyone I--... Would you know where I could look to find my mother? Queen Maia? Or my--my adoptive father? His name was Samuel. Or any of the old royal family, I don’t know, I never got to meet them properly, I… Or, have--have you seen any of my other sculptures here? Not--not the ones you met, but ones that fled the studio after I brought them to life but never came back, I don’t know if they all could have--...Have you ever seen any of them here? I worry about what--Would they have come here? Would--” Aldrich paused for a moment to swallow and to catch his breath. “S-sorry,” he said quickly. “That’s quite a lot. Carina and Babewyn always tell me I’m a chronic worrier. One thing at a time?”

“I can help you find all of them. Not all of yours in one go, but I always look for a few at once. All types have loved ones and they show up in odd places at times. There's been big history-type people and regular ones I’ve talked to. I’ve seen sculptures run across here wild, like they were trying to chase after the sunset! They’ll be here. I’d just need to know what they look like- or what they feel like.” She pressed a pale fist over her heart, and a small remnant of shakiness was all that stayed as the wounds had fully faded once more, “That’s a good way to find folks here. Who do you want to find first? Parents or sculptures or royals? How did they make you feel?”

“Maybe we can start with parents?” Aldrich suggested as they made their way across the grassy glade together, looking back around and then ahead at the horizon. “If the sculptures are anything like the ones I know, they’ll probably show up when I’m not expecting them. ...Oh ‘Woo, I’m glad they can make it here. Worried, that’s how they make me feel. ...Also excited, too, really. And same for my parents, though in a different way. They make me feel excited to do something, excited to share something with them, yet worried I might make a mistake or disappoint them. Also sadness at being apart for too long, like homesickness, and they feel like home, all at once. Kind of like here, sort of. Home and homesickness, confusion but sureness.” Aldrich paused, letting his gaze rove around the glade and then back to his friend. “Thank you, Ilaria. For offering. I’d also love to see places that you enjoy visiting, as well.”

“That’s a good start. I’m really glad to help. By what you said, I should be able to track them just fine.” Ilaria paused to shut her eyes, her expression lined with concentration, and breathed deeply for a spell. When she opened her eyes again, they were more brightly illuminated, seemingly from within, and she took back to walking.

“The closest is near where I sensed that blonde girl’s father was, or one of the lost kittens that old lord was looking- this way about, in short. As for places I like… well my parents are on the way, if you want to say ‘hello’ in person to them. That letter you sent meant a lot to them and they’d be so happy to meet a king! There’s also this beautiful waterfall that’s good for sitting by, but it’s a detour. There’s a lot of pretty places, actually. It’s good here.”

Aldrich smiled. “That sounds wonderful, thank you. And I’d love the chance to meet your parents, as well.”

They strode off across the glade and beyond, chatting and occasionally laughing, sometimes even crying or even gasping--and it did feel that at the end of one road led another, perhaps to lost pieces refound and mended with the old.

And so the grand pair walked on--the king and the heroine--yet, to an unfamiliar onlooker, the two appeared simply as two very old friends, reunited at last.

[Pixie]

It's time for another Medieval collab, this time with Celestial. This takes place in a shiny new alternate universe which we fondly nicknamed Ambrosetorture AU.

Warning for torture and disturbing imagery.

Frederick's Fiendish Folly

SPOILER: Click to show

What remained of the sun was muted by the grey clouds as the rain fell on Medieville. As the dark continued to fall, Frederick Arcanus prowled the streets in a night-blue cloak and a blank mask. The mask was a fine and devious piece of handiwork he had acquired, obscuring his identity and etched internally with runes that distorted his voice. The mantle and the mask were ideal for what he was about to do. The mage had set out that evening to ambush and interrogate Ambrose Stallion.

Ambrose was the mad brother of the Grand Duke, and if there was a time to pry his mind for information, it was during the chaos of the events following Starmey’s funeral. The Shadow threat and the politics regarding the vacant crown would divide attention away from the attack. He suspected that his mark had a great deal of information, as close as he was to Alain. From the racket’s observation, Ambrose seemed to be decently competent outside of his hallucinations. He had sent a spy to try playing off the Stallion’s probable loneliness to gather information casually. To Frederick’s discontent, talking to Ambrose hadn’t worked. The spy recounted that he had been very tight-lipped for a madman, and she walked away with nothing Frederick hadn’t learned before.

Frederick knew where he was going to be. He had learned about Ambrose's plans to rendezvous with the Shadows in the woods. Knowing this, The elf lay in wait to intercept him at his return. He waited silently at the forest’s entrance, the light glamour dissuading any unwanted attention. After several dull moments, he caught sight of his mark.

Ambrose was walking with his head low, deep in thought. The meeting with the Shadows could have gone a lot worse. At least now he understood why they did what they did and their reasons were more than justified. But at the same time, it could have gone so much better. The Stallion could not shake off the discomfort at them continuing their revolution, because who knew where that could lead. Yet despite that, they had achieved some progress. The fact that they had listened to him and that he had held his own in the debate was a minor miracle. His condition not making itself apparent during the proceedings had been an additional blessing he was not going to discount.

But that was now done and all he wanted was rest. Even without the visions draining his energy, Ambrose was still exhausted from having to talk with so many people all while holding the constant fear that he was at any moment going to break off due to his madness overtaking him. He walked automatically, retracing the route he had taken back to the Manor, not really paying much attention to what was going on around him.

This worked out severely against him, as Frederick exploited his lack of attention to knock him over with a blast of force magic. He formed a jagged spear of ice from his hand, and gestured the sharp end at Ambrose’s chest. “The next few moments could go several different ways. I can assure you the least painful will come about through cooperation,” the animalistic voice of the mask crooned mockingly, “I have some questions to ask you, Mr. Stallion. If you play nice and provide the answers, you can walk away without the merest scratch.”

Ambrose barely had time to cry out as the force spell had hit him, sending him crumpling down on the ground. As he fell, for a split second he could feel himself fighting the magic before the visions overtook him. Only when he came out of it a few minutes later did he give of a moan of pain. There had been no chance to brace himself against the fall. He would have been lucky if he was just bruised.

Of all times, why then? Why had his visions come when the magic hit him? The questions, however, were immediately chased out of his mind when his assailant pointed a blade of ice at him. His eyes widened. Were these the Shadows? But...if they had wanted to attack him, they would have done it in the clearing. Unless it was a rogue member, who did not like what he was saying...but would they really attack him here and now, when the others might be watching?

Already weakened by the fall, he began shaking. Taking several deep breaths, he looked up at the mysterious man standing above him.

“Who...who are you? What do you want from me?” with shaking hands he reached for his belt. “Whatever it is you want, you can have it. I’ll answer your questions just...please don’t hurt me.”

Behind his emotionless mask, Frederick grinned, as his mark became lucid again and began to plead with him. “I want information and who I am does not concern you. First question: what is House Stallion planning?” Frederick demanded, not removing the icicle from its position, perfectly in control.

Information...so this man was probably not a Shadow. If they had been, they could have asked him such questions at the meeting. Nevertheless, Ambrose shuddered. This person, whoever he is, had to have some reason to target him. What did he think he knew?

The answer was more than anybody would think a madman knew. After all, Alain trusted him. In fact, he was one of Alain’s closest confidants, and he had known his brother since childhood. Even without that, Ambrose was one of the few who had found out about the Grand Duke’s imprisonment of Briar. From that, he could extrapolate many of the plans of Stallion, their desire to hunt down the Shadows being one of them. And then...what?

He could do anything with it. Use it against Stallion, and especially against Alain. Ambrose would be putting his brother at risk, if not his entire House. Then what would Alain think of him? His own brother, who had sheltered him and, despite his condition and how much of a humiliation he was to the House, actually seemed to love him...Ambrose could never look him in the eye.

The answer to the man’s question could only really be one. Despite the fear that had wrapped its grip around him, causing him to quake in place, he knew he had to force it out of himself. The Stallion owed it his House.

“...No,” Ambrose whispered. As soon as he uttered the words, he knew there was going to be more pain, maybe magic, maybe just plain torture. And he had seen enough of what that could do a person. But he did not dare betray his own flesh and blood. No matter what Alain did, even if it was as reprehensible as what he did to Briar, he was not going to sell him out to a stranger.

Frederick was disappointed. From his previous pleading, the young mage had thought his mark would take to the threat and give him the answers he desired. He reminded himself to be patient. He knew from past experience that Information which could be sold for a high price was often troublesome to obtain.

“I see how it is,” Frederick mused calmly and firmly, as he readied the truth spell he had prepared. The man seemed terrified enough that he might have difficulty holding his tongue against it. He casted the hex on Ambrose and continued “I understand, however, that you are a reasonable man. I will offer you another chance to redeem yourself. If you pass up this second and last chance, you will feel the price of not complying. The second question, Mr. Stallion: what makes your dear brother tick?”

As soon as Frederick had asked that question, Ambrose felt his stomach drop out from under him. This was no longer just about his House. Alain...he could not betray Alain! He was not going to! To reveal something so intimate, so close about his brother...no, he was not going to d-

Ambrose barely had time to look up before the hex hit him, or at least he felt it meeting something. It was as though a wave had risen up inside him. For a moment, he felt nothing. There was no sense of the hex.

He had no time to react before the vision grabbed him, without any kind of warning. Several men in strange clothes sat talking in the middle of a forest, holding what he knew were some kind of gun. They were talking about war, with one man asking questions and the others answering in a cacophony of voices.

It let him go almost as quickly as it had come. Beneath his hand, he noticed that the grass had withered. The question. The question he had to answer. As soon as he even paused to give it any kind of thought, all kinds of answers bubbled up in his brain. Alain was proud and overconfident. He kept his emotions under control but nevertheless still felt him, something he never wanted anybody to know. He loved his family and that was the only thing that could ever shake him. His love of pranks, preserved all the way from childhood…

All these things spilled out on to his tongue. Ambrose grabbed his throat in a vain attempt to stop himself but the spell had taken control of him. In the madness of the scramble, he barely felt the fabric around his neck unravel and rot.

“I...my brother is-”

The vision cut him off again. A man marching proudly into an office with a parchment in hand and unravelling it, showing off the drawings of a metal cylinder on it. Ambrose tried to see what it was but of course he had no control of his movement in the visions. The man who had brought it in was proudly boasting, asking the clerk to ‘patent’ whatever his new invention was.

He gasped and collapsed on to the ground. Beneath his hands, the grass melted into his dust and an unlucky insect suddenly found itself aged to death. Why? What was triggering his visions? Two in such a short span of time...he had not had such things in a while.

“I’m seeing things, I cannot answer your question. Just now I saw a man carrying...a patent, yes, that is what it is called, he mentioned it,” he could feel another vision coming on but his voice, motivated by the truth spell, refused to cut off. “I see things and have done since I was six years old, I am a madman and cannot help these hallucinations. They-”

Another vision. A man stands on the deck of a wooden ship, looking out to the sea, completely oblivious. Suddenly, a cannonball rips through it, sending shrapnel everywhere. The man loses his footing as the ship violently rocks and falls overboard.

All in all, the simple spell seemed to be having wild and unexpected side effects.. The man the mage was interrogating flashed in and out of lucidness to reality, his erratic speech clipping out and his eyes glazing over for short bursts of time. Nothing he was actually managing to say was particularly useful and only confirmed his suspicions. More curiously, the fabric at his throat had turned to tatters, and where he had shifted his weight, the earth was browning in decay. It seemed to be some sort of rare magic, and while Frederick possessed a great deal of knowledge about that topic, nothing to help identify it was surfacing in his mind. Instead, he was thinking how unusual it was for someone of a house that disliked magic to have such powers.

Frederick was annoyed. He simply did not miscalculate. Still, he didn't have to call off the mission simply because he faced the unexpected. He could work around it and still retrieve the information he needed. With Ambrose’s influx of information from the visions which he seemed to believe, he could easily evade the truth spell by sharing that information instead of what Frederick demanded. It was clear as glass that physical encouragement was in order. “That will not save you.” Frederick stated, dispelling the icicle to call up a spell he had especially prepared for Ambrose.

The racketeer knew by experience now, and had discerned before, that the man often saw frightening things in his hallucinations, so simple scary sights wouldn’t do much to help break him. Ambrose would have to feel whatever he feared, not just see it.The spell wasn’t a just a basic pain spell. It was a complex and rare spell that required a long and focused preparation, and a strong expenditure of magic, but the effects should be worth the cost. The spell, when cast, would cause whoever was struck by it to experience what they feared the most as if it was real. All the agony of grievous wounds and visceral terror would be indistinguishable from reality for a short period of time. The measure of pain came from the pain that both the caster and the mark had experienced or could imagine. Because Frederick had lived through grueling torture and had slowly lost parts of his arm in those two weeks, and Ambrose had seen many horrifying things, the spell would be much more effective. Frederick took this as evidence that his suffering had only made him stronger. It wouldn’t kill the target, but it would make the target wish it had. While a purely visual hallucination would last longer, the physical variation was much more… potent.

The elf gave the appropriate gestures and took a deep breath of concentration. He released his breath forcefully as if he was breathing fire, and with it, sent the spell soaring a Ambrose’s chest.

Ambrose gasped and collapsed when the spell had released him, almost doubling over as he gripped his head, disorientated from so many visions. What had happened to him? Why did the ma-

He barely had time to think before the spell hit him. This time, however, instead of the nothing, he felt something akin to a wave rising up in his body to meet it. Then, his bones split open as another force rose up from within him, a force that felt like the visions but ten times stronger. It had been kept back the wave but now it was doing its best to shield him from the stranger’s magic, allowing this force to go free. It erupted from his head, from his chest, from his fingers, draining him like a vampire.

The wave too, collapsed and the spell that was cast on him overwhelmed him. Ambrose fell back on to the ground, screaming. Somebody was tearing the skin off his body with a blunted blade. Then he was being burned alive. Then a thousand spikes stabbed into him. Again and again it repeated. Woo, he had seen things like this but he had never thought they would be so painful.

This time, there was no vision to provide salvation either. The Stallion fell to the ground, screaming and writhing in agony with little thought to anything except the overwhelming pain which had become his entire world.

And all around him, time went insane.

Flowers bloomed and withered within the span of minutes, bursting out of winter snows only to rot into autumn leaves. In his struggle, Ambrose grabbed the cloth of his robe, only to have the entire sleeve rot away into nothingness. The grass around him too, died while new shoots instantly rose up to replace it, and the pebbles under his hands turned into sand as the winds and waves which would have eroded them away over thousands of years passed over them in mere seconds.

But it did not stop there. Unlucky insects that tried to escape from him flew through the air as though through amber, slow enough to see their wing beats. A leaf fell from a tree and drifted down towards him but as it neared the Stallion, its pace quickened as though picked up by a supernatural wind that sent it crashing into the ground.

Amidst all this, however, Ambrose’s screams were growing weaker and weaker. He wanted to keep crying out, to express the sheer torture of the pain spell, but there was no energy left in his body to do it. Blackness tinted the edge of his vision. His entire body was being weighed down by what felt like mountains. And yet it continued. At this point, death would have been an adequate release. At least it meant he could rest.

The power of the strange magic seemed to be escalating in alarming ways. What Ambrose touched turned to dust, time seemed as transient as air in some places and practically viscosus in others. His screams were faltering and it looked like he was going to lose consciousness,

There was however, something of much greater concern. Frederick felt the bindings of his mask began to wither and loosen as the magic ran its course. He stopped focusing on the spell, and brought hand up to secure the mask and avoid revealing his identity. By the changing light level which he sensed very acutely, he knew that at least a portion of his face had been exposed. His only hope was that Ambrose was too distracted by the pain to take notice. This had the potential to become very bad.

The racketeer began to retreat from the scene, leaving his screaming mark behind. He turned and walked swiftly away, flaring up a glamour so he’d seem beyond anyone’s notice. No passerby could identify him as being the cause of Ambrose’s screams, or else any bit of cover which remained would be shattered. The plans had changed. He would have to organize his racket and then leave Medieville as promptly and quietly as possible.

Ambrose felt like several tonnes of steel had been removed from his chest as the spell let him go. He fell into the dusty ground with a loud thump that would have rattled his bones had he not lost the capacity to feel anything beyond the three forces that were tearing his body into shreds. Rolling on to his back, his eyes just barely managed to focus on his attacker. A portion of his mask was gone but with the hand that was covering it, the Stallion could not see his face. Exhausted, his head lolled to the side. Just in time to catch something else: the tips of the ears of the man who assailed him. No...no man had ears like that.

He scrunched up his eyes, trying desperately to commit that to memory. He could slowly feel his own body wrestling the rogue time under control, smothering it under layers of itself, but like him, it was utterly spent. Even the simple act of breathing was too much effort. Meanwhile, the dirt and dust felt as soft and comfortable as a feather bed.

Ambrose’s muscles relaxed and his eyes closed, just as the last of the grass around him withered completely. Time returned to normal and save for the old man lying in the dirt, everything was as it should have been.

***
The Stallion servant hammered frantically at the door. “Your grace!”

Alain looked up, frowning. Something was wrong, he could sense it throughout his entire body. Something to do with Ambrose. Oh Woo.

The Grand Duke remained perfectly composed as he opened the door. “What is it?”

“Your brother. They...a man brought him in, said he found him unconscious,” the servant girl gasped.

She barely had time to move aside before Alain strode past him. It took all of his self control not to break into a run. He could not afford to look as though he had lost his calm, even though inside he felt as calm as the sea in a storm.

Two servants were carrying something- no, someone- up the stairs and Alain made a beeline for them. His eyes widened slightly when he finally laid them on Ambrose. His brother was pale and the fabric of his clothes was torn- no, not torn. If it had been torn, the threads would not be so uniformly cut away, and if a knife had been used, it would not be so ragged. It had rotted. Which meant that something had triggered the powers of Cebeline.

“Ambrose?” Alain asked quietly but his brother did not respond.

“We tried waking him but he’s out cold,” the servant holding Ambrose by the shoulder shook his head.

“As soon as you get in him into bed, get a physician to look over him,” Alain instructed. The servant flinched, hearing the steely edge in the Grand Duke’s voice.

“Yes, your grace,” the two servants chorused in unison and continued down the corridor with Ambrose, their pace increasing just slightly. They could feel the cold fury emanating from their boss.

Alain blinked slowly, his hands tightening over his cane. Whatever it was that triggered his powers, it had been strong. Too strong to have been accidental. Which meant that somebody had targeted Ambrose.

They were not going to get away with this. And Alain was not going to wait until Ambrose was better either. He turned on his heel and strode back to his office, his cloak fanning out behind him and his eyes hardening into two shards of ice. They were going to pay for ever daring to touch his little brother.

[Pixie]

Happy Valetine's Day! Coaster and I collaborated to make some concentrated Kaldaria fluff in celebration of friendship. This story occurs during the spring before the events of the main RP. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing this!

Friendship in Bloom

SPOILER: Click to show

In the hills on the eastern outskirts of Medieville, two friends sat among the budding flowers, enjoying the last few drops of the day’s sunlight.

Two friends, that is, and a rambunctious kitten who wandered around behind them, chasing butterflies and regularly tumbling over, rolling around, and covering his tummy in assorted floral detritus.

Meanwhile, the human girl plucked at clovers as she spoke, smiling warmly as she spun a tale for her elven companion.

“Kali, you know why my dress is sparkly like this? There’s a story about this fabric. It’s from far over the sea, and enchanted with a blessing from an old god.”

The elf, Kaldora, lay on the grassy hillside next to the girl, still somewhat groggy, as this time was equivalent to early morning for her. Nonetheless, she listened with interest.

Ilaria continued, “A long time ago a young paladin, barely a woman, left her town to go on a quest to save the world from an evil ogre. She traveled for a year, living off the kindness of strangers. But one day she gave a gift to one of the kind people who had boarded her on her quest...”

She held out her hand as if something something small and dense rested on her palm, and pretended to offer it to Kaldora.

“It was a runestone she had found by a creek, but not one she could put on her halberd. The runestone, meant to restore youth, had a strange effect on the man, and he did not become youthful but instead took on a different form....the form of an ogre, matching the image from the tales of terror. She raised her halberd, ready to strike him down!” Ilaria exclaimed, making a sweeping, dramatic gesture with her fighting arm.

Kaldora ducked back to avoid a blow to the head, but continued listening to the tale, pushing away an ounce of fear towards her friend’s enthusiasm. Some things have to stay hidden for a while longer, evidently, she thought to herself.

“But he didn't attack her, so she stopped. He was not an evil ogre. He was the avatar of a god, a sun god, and a doppelganger had taken his form to terrorize the country! So the two set off together, god and paladin, and they went off where the monster was said to lurk. After many days the two came to a cave full of bones where the doppelganger lurked.

“The doppelganger caught sight of her first, and it shifted to the form of a young boy, believing she knew not who it was. But she did, by the sun god's guidance. She began to talk to him idly, pretending to believe he was the kid he appeared to be. When he offered her some tea, she knew it was poisoned, and she lunged at him with her halberd, breaking his form. Entirely startled, the two were able to seal the doppelganger in the teapot after much tussling.”

“As a reward, the sun god gave her a special wand. It had luminescent magic in it. It shot fire that would slay evil creatures, and when cast on fabric it turned it shimmering. She went back to her village victorious, with news of the sealed doppelganger and a friendly ogre in tow. At the god's proving, she was hailed a hero, and presented a fine cape which she enchanted with the wand. To this day, the wand is used to defend the innocent and make really lovely clothing,” Ilaria proclaimed cheerily.

Although it seemed a strange enchantment for a wand, Kaldora had heard of odder, and since Kyth seemed to have quite a different system of magic regardless, it would be better to learn as much as she could sooner rather than later.

“That sounds marvelous. Is this wand still across the sea, or kept by the tailors’ guild, or is there some mage in Kyth that travels around with it? Can anyone use it or only those trained in magic? Actually, I’ve not heard much about ogre deities, either--I imagine they’d not be much smarter than ogres themselves-” Kaldora caught herself and gave Ilaria a chance to respond.

“It’s just a folk tale. The fabric is from far away but it’s not likely magical. Unless you count the methods that make it pretty to be magic! Ogres are dumb? Oh, have you met ogres before?”

Slightly sheepish at having taken the story as an actual legend, Kaldora muttered in response, “As far as ogres go--are there none around Kyth?--they’re quite common in some of the eastern kingdoms past where I come from, and yes, they’re dumber even than orcs, if you can believe it.”

“What’s an orc?”

Kaldora took pause at this again; apparently Kyth was a lot less diverse than she thought. “...Orcs? Smelly brutes, primitive technology, backwards society, cruelty?”

“Sounds bad, but I still don’t know any stories about orcs.” Ilaria admitted.

“Courdon with green skin?” Kaldora tried again, teasingly.

“...What’s Courdon?”

“South of here… basically orcs, but human, I suppose,” Kaldora finished, letting go of the topic before it circled around again.

“I know there is a lot of bad stuff and people, but that’s why I learned to fight. So I can defend people from that. Hey, do you want to hear a story that really happened? About me as a kid?”

A small smile returned to Kaldora’s face. “I’d love to, as long as you don’t tell your tales in prose and history in verse.”

“Huh? I was going to say the story of my father teaching me how to defend myself.”

Duskglimmer asserted his presence by pouncing towards his butterfly prey, which had drifted between the two friends. Kaldora made her best attempts to ignore him by idly picking at the flowers near which they sat, examining the furled petals in the fading sunlight. “I’d love to hear it, if you’ve got the time before it’s too dark.”

“I’ll be short, don’t worry. When I was maybe five or so, I saw my father teaching my mother how to use the family sword, against a dummy made of of straw and sticks. I was curious, so I stopped the knitting I was practicing and I stood and watched,” Ilaria began, noticing her friend playing with the flowers nearby them. They were very pretty, pale blue forget-me-nots, and she began to pick a few herself.

“Mother was really good and I liked watching. After a little bit my dad realized I was there and stopped the training. I asked him what they were doing, and he said she had asked him to help protect herself against the bad things. So I said ‘I want to learn too’, but he said ‘Maybe when you are older.’ I asked ‘Why?’, and then he told me that the sword wasn’t safe for little girls. So I asked him ‘Do we need to use a sword?’ and then he thought a bit and realized we didn’t.”

Ilaria looked at the flowers, and the sunset and thought that they weren’t the only pretty things around her. Kaldora was there beside her, and she looked very lovely in the evening’s light. Her hair fell gracefully at her shoulders and looked almost ethereal. As Ilaria told the story, she made her way progressively closer to Kaldora until she was hip to hip. She rested the flowers she had gathered on her skirt, and began to braid the elf’s hair. It felt as soft as Kaldora’s floofy kitten.

The sensation took Kaldora somewhat by surprise, but it wasn’t unwelcome; she stiffened momentarily but continued to listen.

“We got a stick from the woodpile and pretended it was a sword. He had me mimic him with lots of slashes and jabs and such. Then he let me at the target. But then I wondered what the strawman had done that we were attacking him. He told me that the strawman wasn’t real and that it was just a way for us to practice, but I could pretend he was a villain from one of the storybooks if I liked. So I did. I pretended he was an evil ruffian. So I ran at him with the stick with a war cry. I struck a bit too hard though, and it got wedged in the exact wrong spot. I knocked the supports out of place and the head of the dummy rolled right off!”

Kaldora turned to face Ilaria in mock shock--almost wrenching her hair out of her hands in the process--and responded good-naturedly, “Well, I should hope my head is in capable hands, all things considered. I imagine the years of tailoring since then have given you a bit more finesse.”

“Samson and my parents all say I’m really good with my hands now,” Ilaria giggled softly, tucking a few of the flowers into Kaldora’s hair, “I make pretty clothes for important people sometimes. Anyway, you’re one of the good folks, I’d never hurt you! I want to protect you from the bad things. Though right now I’m just giving you a crown of braids, and flowers! I’d say you’ll look as pretty as the sunset, but you are already.”

If Kaldora went any more purple at that, she couldn’t tell whether it was due to the compliment or the pollen impairing her breathing. Nonetheless, she stammered slightly before responding with a simple “I--um… Thanks.”

“What’s your favorite type of flower, Kali?” Ilaria inquired, balancing her attention between pulling loose the white ribbons from her own hair while preventing Kaldora’s braids from coming undone.

The question caught her even more off-guard; for a variety of reasons, it wasn’t exactly something she needed to think about particularly often, especially since coming to Kyth. There were certain uses for just about any variety, but that didn’t seem like something Ilaria would ask about. She couldn’t even be sure the kinds she knew she did enjoy even existed here.

“You mean… specific kinds? I haven’t really thought about it very much,” she replied.

“Aw. Well, not specific kinds? Big flowers, little flowers, bright flowers, the pastel ones, kinds like that? I like them all, to be honest. These ones right here all called ’forget-me-nots.’ I forget the name sometimes, it’s funny. I forget a lot of names sometimes, but I always remember yours, of course. I forget-you-not.”

“There’s--there’s one kind,” Kaldora stammered, trying to respond while she could still think clearly, “that I’ve seen a few times. It can grow almost anywhere, but most often in drier prairies. It’s said to work wonders for mental clarity, a bit like--I think I have heard of mint, here, doing something similar.”

Remembering who it was she was talking to, she continued: “Then again, mint is just a regular leafy plant. But this flower, on the bush, it’s a fairly pretty pink flower and fairly unassuming, but when you pick it, it glistens as if it were in moonlight, and comes into fuller bloom when it’s near a source of magic.”

“That sounds wonderful! I haven’t seen that here, but I want to now. Pink sparkly flowers, I’m envious!” Ilaria exclaimed, “Does it do the mind stuff just being there by it or do you do special stuff to it?”

“No, you--you need to mix the roselets with certain green plants, in a potion, or else it’s just for flavoring.” Fearing it might go over Ilaria’s head to explain further, Kaldora finished, “But I haven’t seen any of it around here, and the little bit I do carry around is all but powder now.”

“Flavoring? Does it taste good? You said “roselets”, like roses?”

“Well, I suppose so. They’re a bit like roses when they’re not in bloom, at least.”

“I like roses. Can you do science-y stuff with roses, too?”’ Ilaria said, tying off the braids with one of her hair ribbons, patting Kaldora’s head gently to admire her own handiwork.

A rustling behind them prompted Kaldora to turn and look; but it was only Duskglimmer mucking around in one of the rose bushes. Nonetheless, Kaldora got up, saying, “Apparently there are some nearby, if you’d like to see for yourself.” She carefully cut some of the white roses and returned to her seat, offering one to Ilaria to examine.

She continued with an awkward chuckle, “Roses actually don’t do much of anything in alchemy, to my knowledge; however, they have a distinctive flavor and scent, and when not used in cooking, they’re often offered to loved ones as a sign of affection, with additional meaning depending on the color. But I’m sure you knew that already,” she ended.

Ilaria giggled softly and blushed as Kaldora gave her the rose, choosing to ignore the context behind the gesture and instead realizing that the elf even knew about the romantic associations with them. Kaldora was so smart. She knew tons and tons about alchemy, even if Ilaria didn’t understand it herself.

“Thanks Kali! That’s interesting! What do white roses mean?”

“A lot of things. Purity. Secrecy. Sorrow. Reverence. Usually the more colorful ones are specifically love-related.”

That made Ilaria feel a bit less glowy inside. “Well, who says white roses have to have sad or lofty meanings? To me, they mean ‘friendship.’”

Kaldora nodded. “Right; and as a rose--a flower--even a normal gift, it still means I care about you.” She got a bit flustered again, realizing a few seconds later what she might have implied, but held her peace.

Illaria was ecstatic when Kaldora said that, and smiled very wide. “I care about you, too.” She responded warmly, as she took the rose and tucked it into Kaldora’s crown of braids.

She then rose to her knees, threw her arms around Kaldora’s shoulders, and embraced her with a bit too much momentum.
At that, the pair toppled over onto the grass, sending plumes of pollen into the air.

As Kaldora recovered, she rubbed her head, teasingly chiding, “No need to be so enthusiastic about it.” Ilaria certainly hadn’t gotten any less friendly in the month or so since they met, and it wasn’t long before Kaldora had gotten used to the idea of her being a huggy sort of person.

“Sorry! It’s true, though. I really care about you. And you’re cuddly,” she responded playfully. Ilaria stayed close to her, but shifted carefully into a more sustainable position, resting her head on Kaldora’s shoulder.

Kaldora wasn’t quite sure what to think of this, other than that her disguise must have been better than she thought, and she was oddly comfortable in any case. Thinking better than to respond with words, she instead rested her flower-laden head on Ilaria’s in kind and enjoyed the view of the sunset. Whether their friendship could last or not, at least they could be happy for now.

Ilaria was beyond happy snuggled with her, simply watching the pink and orange fade from the sky. She adored every second she spent with Kaldora, but this felt special. It seemed like the colors’ motion would slow to nothing, time would pause, and the moment would never need to end. With the dark starting to surround the two girls, and the area around them gently illuminated by Kaldora’s eyes, the rest of the world faded from view.

Even as the sun finished its descent over the Medievillian hillside, Ilaria didn’t fret. The nightfall didn’t have to end their time together. She had wonderful, magical friend who could light the way for her, and she’d be beside her always, and ready to protect her from anything. Ilaria could easily believe her life had turned into a fairy tale.

[Pixie]

This winter, I wrote an short story for my creative writing class's final project.

This is a mixture of being an adaptation, a reflection, and an AU of NWTF Medieval. The general premise involves looking at timelines a little differently, as in Steins;Gate. The Prophesy surrounding Ilaria's death is inescapable in the main continuity, but what if in a different set of circumstances, the Prophesy was broken?

This story was intended as Good End AU, or Fairy-Tale Adaptation, but became a little bit darker as the narrative fell in place. This is where Ilaria does not die, and instead gets to be a full time heroine with her best friend Kaldora. Big thanks to Coaster for letting me use her wonderful characters in this project!

This is a short story about friendship, justice, and life. However, due to the antagonist's effect on the story, there is a warning for moderately violent/dark content at some parts.

The Heroines

SPOILER: Click to show

There were two cloaked women walking along a dusty road, holding hands, with a giant night-dark cat in tow. Their faces were set with determination, and their steps left certain footprints trailing away from the nearest village. One was very tall with a terracotta complexion and pointed ears, while the other was exceptionally pale with an unshakable smile. An elf and a human were not often seen in such close companionship, but Kaldora wasn’t even truly the elf she seemed. Her pale friend was once surprised by this secret, but Ilaria was now just as comfortable with any form Kaldora took.

“Kali, I’m a little bored. Wanna play a game?” The pale one said.

“Hah, sure, Ila. Is this the best time though? We are almost there.”

“Alright. I’m a goat demon from space, and you’re a monster tamer. Let’s be friends!”

“We played that one last week. It might be a little hard to do while walking.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

Kaldora, who was in fact a draconian refugee from another dimension, had seemed a little annoyed the last time. Ilaria wanted to give her a chance at the other role to make up for it.

“We can take a break now. I don’t think going up against the scary mage guy all tired and hungry is going to end too well.” Ilaria brushed her fingers across the hilt of her sword thoughtfully.

“You have a point.” the elf sighed, “But we have to focus on the mission right after, okay?”

“Okay!” the human chirped, pulling off her travelling bag and throwing down a blanket from it into a patch of roadside dandelions.

Ilaria sat down and began to root in the bottom of it for lunch. Kaldora pulled off a much larger bag with a much larger ration, because her species’ form left her absolutely, disproportionately ravenous. That was the downside to being actually a dragon.

Kaldora slipped off her cloak to relieve some of the summer heat, but Ilaria kept hers on with the hood up, to avoid the searing burn of the sun. As Kaldora started on a stack of warm meat pies, Ilaria took a bite out of her apple, then sprawled herself out like a cat and began to clean grime off her gauntlets. The actual cat joined them, nesting his large form between the two.

“Ila,” Kaldora said patiently. They were getting sidetracked from the mission. “I thought you wanted to eat.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to get all rusty.”

“It doesn’t matter if you’re a little rusty, It’s not going to stop you from doing your thing.”

“What thing?” Ilaria asked, waving her boots behind her, and sneaking a pet in on Duskglimmer. He purred smugly.

“The heroine thing. Being you.”

“Ah. Kali. I really adore you.” Ilaria said, grinning from ear to ear.

A bright flush rose over Kaldora’s cheeks.

Ilaria stopped fiddling with her armor, but remained on her stomach while she continued on the apple. When she was done, she plunged the core into a nearby mound of dirt. Kaldora quirked an eyebrow in her direction, placing a hand on her hip.

“Something big could grow here.” Ilaria said, then unwrapped a bundle of cheese and took a bite.

“This tastes really wonderful, You should try some.”

She extended a hand with a chunk of the cheese She was aware that Kaldora carried a lot of food with her, but she still wanted to share. The elf took the cheese with an air of both reluctance and gratitude. Quantity often sacrificed quality, in all facets.

“Hey Kali?” Ilaria asked between bites.

“Yeah.”

“Would you say that blinding an enemy with shiny metal is a valid strategy?’

“If you mean sticking that sword of yours into their face, yes. If you mean polishing your armor into a hyperbolic shine, no.”

“I’ll clean your amulet for you!”

“Ila.”

“Fine, fine.”

The two were nearing the end of their impromptu picnic, when Kaldora took a closer look at Ilaria. She seemed to be gazing at a distant corner of the sky, frowning. Ilaria had been acting weirder than normal since they left the village.

“Wait. I know you, and all this together is a bit out there even for you. Something’s up. What are you putting us off for?”

“I want to be ready, that’s all.”

“You’re always ready.”

“I’m… not always ready.”

“Why makes you say that?”

“I’m afraid.”

“That’s not like you. I’ve never seen you back down from a heroic fight.” It was usually the opposite, actually. Her companion was a little too eager to assume people were in need of rescuing and threaten bystanders with her sword.

“No, I’m not afraid to die. I’m scared I’ll lose you, just the same, but his magic is what scares me. I’m afraid of what I might see in myself. I don’t like the sound of the mirror.”

“Ila…” Kaldora had a lot of experience with time-travel and dimension hopping, before she had settled down into this current plane, because the lack of grounding was destroying her. She’d always been herself, but she’d had glimpses of the different realities first hand. She always kept quiet on the matter, because Ilaria got confused very easily. Sometimes she just told the things she had seen as fairy tales.

“Ila, it doesn’t matter about any ‘what ifs.’ You are here, and you are you, and nothing you may see will change any of that.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Kali. I really want to.”

Ilaria sighed, rose from the blanket and began to pack her stuff away in a moderately orderly fashion. Kaldora followed, straightened her robe, and gave Duskglimmer a reassuring pat. It had been some time since he suffered the indignity of riding in her bag.

Kaldora checked the map she had acquired of the mage’s last known whereabouts, hasty scrawls of ink of dusty parchment. It was a bit crude, but it sufficed. After all her practice with messenger work, she was quite adept at navigating.

They departed from the area, and marched without chatter until they found themselves in an isolated set of hills.

-----

Ilaria was standing a short length from a large structure built into the hillside, like a cave. Kaldora was beside her, with Duskglimmer was trailing right along-- the reassurance of companionship and protection. Kaldora was so magical and powerful and beautiful, Ilaria almost forgot her fear when she took one last glance at her.

Ilaria tiptoed over to the entrance, and then knocked against the door’s soggy grain. When no one answered, she then gingerly pried it open.

The first thing she saw was a man in blood-red robes staring into mirror by the entrance of the hideout. It was a close space filled to the brim with magical items, sparing a cot, a pair of chairs, a small table stuffed into a small corner.

Ilaria entered resolutely, followed by Kaldora and her cat. She noticed that Duskglimmer was baring his teeth. The man turned his attention from the glass to the visitors standing at the front of his shelter.

“Ah. Guests. Who are you young ladies, traveling so far from civilization?”

“Ilaria Braide, of the Tailors’ Guild, and The Middle Village!” Ilaria declared.

“Kaldora.”

“So what brings you, ah, tailors, to these parts?”

“I’m not a tailor.”

“I’m probably still a tailor!”

Ilaria wasn’t sure if taking leave from the guild to serve Aldrich, no-- it was King Galateo now, with heroic missions, made her more a tailor or more a knight. Kaldora had insisted that calling herself “Dame Ilaria” would be a bit conspicuous in this case.

Ilaria threw back her shoulders, her icy eyes wide. “I’m here to take you under custody, King’s orders, for you crimes against this land. No one else should die to feed your rotten magic!”

“You can’t possibly hope stop me... by all rights you should have been dead by now. I know as well as any that the universe is vying for your destruction.”

“I don’t buy it! Is there any chance you can just stop being evil and we’ll walk out of here without anyone getting hurt?”

He laughed.

“Here. Look.” he said.

The words held an incantation. Her head twisted violently without her will. She wanted to scream, but nothing escaped her mouth. She found herself paralyzed, trapped into the gaze of the mirror. Images, horrific ones, flashed across her eyes. There was a lot of blood. Not all of it was hers, but most of it was. Her blurry vision had no purchase on the spell’s lense, and the whole thing pierced her with foreign, lucid, vividness.

In one image, a twelve-year-old Courdonian smiling over the corpse of a robber, family sword dripping blood. The same girl, the same Ilaria, older now, dying horrifically after a botched assassination. The same dying in a revolt.

Last winter, ice-skating. A small child, skating on the frozen bay while Ilaria coaxed Kaldora onto the ice. There was a sudden, sickening crack, and then a scream. Ilaria didn’t know how to swim, but she plummeted right after into the icy water. The same scene, and she knew the kid was saved, but she had died of hypothermia soon after.

The last scene: bleeding out in Kaldora’s arms, where she had taken a man’s life for the first time, three years ago. The Bloody Coronation. Ancel... He had been so vile, so wicked… was she supposed to have died by his hands? No, it couldn’t be. None of these events were the truth!

In a second, Kaldora had tackled her to the ground, fixing her eyes away from the mirror's hold. Ilaria howled at what she saw, even though the present was blurry again, and she felt almost safer for it. The images were seared into her brain like a fiery scar. There was a knife three inches from where her throat had been the second before, and a big cat’s fangs a hair away from where the knife bearer’s arm had been.

Ilaria drew her sword as Duskglimmer recovered, and brandished the blade in the mage’s direction, tears in her eyes. She prepared a strike for his heart, her eyes locked onto his face. With villains like these, it was kinder to kill in one blow. She knew that killing was bad, but letting more people die for lack of violence was worse.
While she was mustering up the resolve to kill, the man used the window to launch another entrapment spell near her heart. Her body began to freeze up again, bleak images nearly blinding her. Ilaria felt Kaldora quickly grasp her free arm, letting magic seep from her fingertips, and unravelling the spell. Ilaria broke free.

Duskglimmer knocked over some ancient artifacts as he leaped with his claws into the hooded man’s back. A cat was the perfect distraction. Ilaria lunged, sinking the point of her blade between his ribs. “B-Burn in the Pit, why don’t you!”

He began to bleed profusely as he collapsed to his knees, but his calm expression never left his face. He was badly wounded, but the cavity in his chest she had opened was glowing, and he wouldn’t die! The life-force he had stolen seemed to be keeping him stuck firmly in reality.

Ilaria stared blankly at her bloodied sword. It still didn’t feel right. He could have just stopped and no one would have to die. She heard Kaldora shout, and approach the mirror.

“You know what? It’s over!”

The mirror’s surface began to quiver and swirl like it was quicksilver. It became impossible to look at, like it was reality breaking apart. She’d seen Kaldora’s trick before and knew that’s what was really happening. It was a portal.

Kaldora hefted the mage, who was calmly clutching at his wounds, a few inches from the floor, and hurled his form unceremoniously into the mirror. The portal dispelled the second he disappeared entirely, and Kaldora nearly collapsed.

“Okay, Ila, it’s okay now. He’ll... wither, now that he’s cut off from the source of his magic.”

Ilaria dared to look in the mirror again, hoping to find a happy vision of some sort. The glass was still. She saw nothing but her own reflection: a slender, hooded girl in plate armor, with white hair wholly unkempt, a small gash on her neck she hadn’t noticed before, and bright, haunted eyes. It was starting to sting a little where he had cut her.

“I think the black magic is gone from this place, but the Keep mages might find some of the other stuff here pretty interesting.”

“Noted. I’ll look through it when I can stand again.”

Kaldora rested on one of the old chairs, as Ilaria examined all the fascinating artifacts.

“I think the man was right about my destiny. It doesn’t matter and I won’t let it.”

“See, what did I tell you?”

Ilaria rubbed her forehead. “Well-- it does sorta matter. I know stuff now. I saw myself as a monster in that mirror. I killed innocent folks. Please don’t let me do that, Kali. Please. It has to just be a nightmare, okay?”

Her sword was still bloody. She was set in believing she had made a just choice.

“It’s only a nightmare. The core of you is simply too good to do something like that. You are you, and that’s a blessing.”

“Some of that mirror stuff seemed almost real. You remember the Bloody Coronation? When I almost lost you, and well, you almost lost me? It looks like that was the end of a few of me.”

“I remember that,” Kaldora winced, “ But we are both are still here, and he is no longer.”

“I was fifteen then. That death felt the most real of all of them. I’m eighteen. Isn’t it so wonderful to be alive?”

Ilaria decided the fact that her life was so improbable made it even more beautiful. Kaldora nodded.

“You know what I saw between the images that hadn’t changed?”

“That sword of yours?”

“No, it’s you! You are always there for me. If fate or whatever has something planned for us, I think it’s that we will be always together.”