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I Have a Little Plan - Part XIX


Started by Harlwystyr
Post #110440
Writer

310
Faction & Race:
Daggerfall Covenant
Breton
Part XIX

The crown mages aimed their staff blasts carefully, aiming at the lone man's face and arms, trying to prevent any sudden movements that might hurl spells in their direction.

"Move no closer," the apparent leader warned his colleagues. "Barrages of lightning and fire from where you're standing."

Roaring spell after roaring spell struck into the dying man. Spells that raged and snapped across his form, but then appeared to rise up and curl towards the house like a writhing snake instead. A writhing snake of white flame.

Eye-searing bright flames rose and fell like tendrils, surging into the Camry family's home, then recoiled like a tidal wave withdrawing along with the rushing of a young man aglow with living magic.

"Fools! You ungrateful worms!" she howled, her dark hair set ablaze by the fires around her. "Have your accursed spells back!" The fires turned into blue forks of lightning, stabbing out from her in all directions across the courtyard, impaling crown mages and sending them flying out over the walls and against the house and the streets with shattering, splattering force. When no foe remained, she rushed over to the dying man, fell to her knees, and embraced her Harlwystyr.

"My love," she managed through her exhaustion, her lips placing short kisses, "have me again, now - and forever!"

As their lips met, little remained of the man in her embrace except the charred and cracked head she was cradling, and smoldering fragments of shoulder bones and a torso beneath.

White flames spat and flowed into him, seething inside of him as Durana Emhardt's tears rolled down her cheeks like two mighty rivers, and her body darkened, and she spent all she had into healing and restoring and sharing. Her body began to melt; the skin of her body joining the curling flames, her legs dissolving as his grew...

Farewell, my love. The last word of her dying mind-speak echoed in every head for blocks around, reducing bewildered citizens of Camlorn to helpless tears, causing them to weep even if they did not understand why.

Her elegant fingertips were the last to disappear, breaking off like fragments of ash from his cheeks with an empty sigh.

Durana Emhardt was gone. Forever.

Leaving a restored, whole man, blinking and staggering as he found his ground. He was tall and gaunt; white-haired and with gray-green eyes that glowed with a raging array of white-golden fire.

He remained on Nirn because Durana had sacrificed herself to save the man she loved, pouring all of her life-force into reinvigorating his. Though his body was old, the rolling energy made him feel young again, strong. Magic was leaping and dancing within him, with more spitting flames bolting around than he could comfortably hold for long.

Oh, it hurt; it was scorching his innards, fighting to burst from his body. Well, he'd allow it, and soon!

Two silhouettes rushed through the smoke toward him. Harl turned to let loose a spell, but realised they were Jalinda and Thalric, their faces pale like ghostly visages, their lips moving.

"Harl? Harl, is it you?" Jalinda managed to sob, her arms reaching for his shoulders. Just as Durana had so often reached for him...

She fell into his arms, her grasp tightening around his body, and cried his name. Harl moved his eyes past her frame toward Thalric, staring at the young mercenary captain, who was standing uncertainly nearby, staring back at him. Looking scared.

Well, so he should, this young mercenary. He knew exactly what he was beholding. He realised he was standing before an archmage who wanted to deal death to so many.

“What good is it all?” Harlwystyr said at Thalric Camry in raspy tones that were almost pleading, tears of his own welling up from despairing holes of eyes. “To have all this power, to work all these centuries serving a bright course, helping folk, if I cannot save the ones I love? Tell me it has all been worth it, tell me!

Thalric swallowed, feeling his knees bending and his own eyes filled with tears. No one should ever look so... devastated. Nothing should ever happen that was bad enough to reduce a mighty archwizard's face to a condition like this. "I-"

"Tell me," Harlwystyr wailed, "so I can tell you that you lie, and lash out at you! Smiting you down just as unfairly as this world has so often treated me! Magnus blast, I've experienced this so many times! You'd think I would be used to this by now... This treachery, the- the bedamned unfairness of it all!"

In three furious strides done before Thalric could even think of reaching for his blade, the Old Meddler had gotten out of Jalinda's embrace, stormed over to the leader of the Camlorn Blades and gripped Thalric's shoulders with the crushing force of a bear. He growled into Thalric's white face, "Yet I never get used to it, lad! Under this armour of drawling cynicism and world-weary jesting, I cry."

"I cried the very same way when I was young, and ambitious nobles struck my family down, seized their lands, and left me kindless and alone in Daggerfall. Again and again I lose those I love - places I love, entire lineages I love, whole realms I hold dear! Well, I’m sick of it - sick, d’ye hear?”

He tossed Thalric aside like a toy made of cloth and stormed across the bloody courtyard, hissing and spitting, stopping only once he reached the exit. He flung up his arms and roared, "Enough! By what Durana has given me, by the magic I love and weave, by all the memories of those lost to me, I go now to war! Let me be the one to avenge them; in their name rend, shatter and destroy! 'Tis time to hurl castles into the air, and snatch soaring dragons down from it. Eoooorlargath!"

The spell word raced across the roofs of Camlorn like a clap of thunder, shattering windowpanes and rocking stone- and woodcraft like, and half-deafened citizens tottered and closed their eyes.

It did not end with the dying echoes of the word, as lightning appeared in the sky, surging around Harlwystyr like a cloud of wasps ablaze with magic. Up the man flew, like a boulder falling the wrong way; and in a golden-white flash the man was gone. Somewhere else.

Finding it difficult to stand after what had just happened, Thalric decided to cling to the remains of a tree, tolerating its stench without thinking of it. He felt his teeth rattle.

Wherever the Old Meddler had gone, Thalric hoped it was far, far away. The last place he wanted to be was, honestly, on the same continent as Harlwystyr.
This post was last modified: November 15th 2013 10:15 AM by Harlwystyr
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