Wyn and Mirana heave, their legs pounding the rocky battlefield. Mirana grips her pendant between gasps of breath and chants words of power.
“Alzar, Miket, Rezno!”
Golden strands of magic spread out from the pendant flow into the two women. Their legs glow with glimmering energy, and the magic propels forward. Their legs pump faster and faster, covering great distance with the magical assistance. In front of them, a large stone wall looms. The fortress city of Lethisburg, wrapped in stone and forged in iron, awaits them.
Their feet find cobbles as the road changes from a dirt path to a paved street. Ahead of them, the large wooden gate looms. It’s their best chance of getting away from the goblins. The armored man and his soldiers were busy with their own troubles, and will be no help, so finding refuge within the walls is their best bet for survival.
Without warning, a pain stabs into Wyn’s calf. Wyn cries out in pain and falls to the ground. Looking down, Wyn finds an arrow lodged into her calf. Wyn knows she has no chance of outrunning the goblins now. Even Mirana’s permanent scowl falters for concern. Mirana catches up and slides to Wyn’s side, Wyn’s lower robe already soaked red with blood.
“Damnit. Alright. You have a name, idiot girl?”
“Wyn.”
“Alright Wyn. Here is what’s going to happen. I’m going to yank this arrow out and it will hurt like hell. Use whatever weird class you have to hold those goblins off, and then we run for the gate, okay? I don’t have much Essentia left, so this won’t be pretty.”
Wyn nods. Despite her mean streak, Mirana knows what she’s doing, and won’t leave Wyn behind. As she struggles, the ability screen pops up once again.
Abilities:
Rudimentary Insight: Crude
Essentia Manipulation: Crude
Mage Bolt: Common
Illusions of Beyond: Uncommon
Oblivion Shroud: Rare
Trusting her instincts, Wyn uses Rudimentary insight on the uncommon “Illusions of Beyond” ability.
Ability: Illusions of Beyond — Uncommon.
Channel a large amount of Essentia to craft an illusion of other worlds. May be used to confuse or frighten foes.
An idea forms in Wyn’s mind. It’s risky, but it might just work. Wyn nods to Mirana, doing her best to portray a sense of confidence, and begins channeling Essentia. A complex magic circle forms over the two women’s heads, far more complex than any Wyn’s seen before. A set of seven interlocking circles move into and through one another. The magical script pulses with power as Wyn channels almost all her remaining Essentia into the spell. Mirana marvels at it for a moment, but the sound of snarling goblins refocuses her. She grips the arrow shaft with both hands and presses her knee into Wyn’s lower thigh.
“This will hurt worse than hellfire. Three, two!”
Wyn screams, not ready for the pain now rocketing up her spine. The magic circle flickers as Wyn loses focus, threatening to dissipate entirely. Wyn reaches out with her hand and grabs the magic circle in the air. With a thought, she forces Essentia to flow back into her, only losing a small fraction of it. The lost Essentia lands to Wyn’s side, where an illusory window into space appears. Wyn and Mirana both marvel at it for a moment, distracted by the elaborate swirling patterns of a galaxy.
Mirana is the first to shake her distraction, and channels healing energy into Wyn. Her pendant glows for a moment before flickering, and dims to a non-magical state.
“Damnit, I’m out of Essentia. I’ll heal what I can, but it won’t fix you all the way.”
Wyn nods and refocuses her efforts on casting a much larger illusion spell. The goblins approach at last, and begin encircling the two women. They bang their swords together to laugh at the two women. The guttural sound sends a chill down Wyn’s spine. Determination to avoid goblin capture flows into Wyn, and she focuses everything she has into the illusion spell. Her determination, her will, her fear, her desperation — they all affect the illusion spell. The magic circle expands and adds an eighth interlocking circle into the spell. The snarling goblins take a step back, their snarling subsiding for fear of the complicated spell.
With a burst of energy, the spell is ready. The circle gives off a final bright pulse before shrinking and binding itself to Wyn’s forehead. Wyn feels power coursing through her mind and begins picturing her desired illusion. The sensation of power is intense and threatens to overwhelm the inexperienced mage. But Wyn is not so easily swayed. The clever girl smirks as the image forms in her mind, ready to be sent into the world.
But Wyn isn’t the only caster in this fight. The shaman growls at Wyn and begins casting her own spell. Above the shaman’s head, a magic circle appears. Though not as complex as Wyn’s, the shaman’s magic circle drips with revolting green and black liquid. The spell completes and a black iron hammer comes out. The conjured weapon hovers in the air, with the handle over 8 feet long and the head larger than Wyn. It drips with the same deathly energy of the magic circle. Each drop of liquid leaves a blackened mark on the ground. One drip lands on a goblin’s shoulder. It screams in pain as the shoulder gurgles and melts, dissolving into toxic fumes. The goblin’s arm falls lifelessly to the ground before the rest of the creature follows suit.
Wyn gulps down her terror and releases her prepared spell above her head. For a moment, it seems that nothing happens. Wyn squints, trying to find her epic illusion, only to find a tiny cloud no more than an inch across. Wyn glares at it. For a spell to use up the last of her Essentia, it should damn well be more than just a tiny cloud.
Following her intent, the cloud grows in both size and intensity. The cloud expands outward, each tuft of cloud crashing into the next as the spawn into existence. The clouds crackle with thunder as flashes of yellow and purple lightning clash. Swords clang to the ground as a few goblins turn and run. The illusury lightning drives off the all but the strongest goblins.
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Once again, the illusion obliges the desires of its creator. “Rrraaaauuughhhhhh.”
A roar, guttural and low, rings out from the illusion, sending a shiver down the spine of goblin and humanoid alike. Mirana’s face falls, her mouth lies agape as her eyes grow wide with fear.
“What did you do?!” says Mirana.
“I… I don’t know!” says Wyn. Well, Wyn has a guess, but she hopes that in keeping up her own illusion, it’ll help the illusion scare off the last of the goblins.
“RAAUUUUGHHHH.”
The illusion shudders, and Wyn can feel it faltering. She’s asked too much of it, and at any moment it’ll break. But the goblins won’t be frightened away by just illusory sounds. She pushes it one last time, pushing the illusion to its limit before it finally fizzles out. The bright blue and yellow scales of a massive reptile pierce through the illusory clouds.
“WYVERN!” Mirana shouts.
The Wyvern gives another mighty roar, its enormous mouth filled with dozens of razor - sharp ivory teeth. Lightning crackles along its body as it smiles to the goblins, its hungry gaze eager to eat every last one of them. The last of the goblins, save for the shaman, turn tail and sprint as fast as their spindly goblin legs will take them. They run hard, not daring to look back at the great beast.
Unluckily for the goblins, their blind fear charges them right into a group of soldiers. With the soldiers taking care of the last few goblins, all that remains is the Shaman who abandons her necrotic hammer spell for a shield spell. She braces herself for the Wyvern’s attack, but is surprised when it never arrives. The Shaman snarls as the illusion pops out of existence. There was no fade, nor a subtle failure of the illusion, it simply existed in one moment, and by the next it was completely gone.
Wyn sits up, the pain in her leg still throbbing, but no longer unbearable thanks to Mirana. She pants from the exhaustion of spellcasting and uses her Insight ability on the staff wielder.
Name: Goblin Shaman
Race: Goblin
Class: Novice Necromancer, Level Unknown
Rank: Novice
Wyn dismisses the window with a scowl. Necromancers. Of all things. Instinct claws at her to flee, but she forces herself still, defiant. She takes a steady breath, meets the Shaman’s eyes, and grins wide.
“Come on then,” she taunts. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
The goblin shaman laughs at Wyn, a wet, guttural sound that rattles in its throat. Despite projecting a strong and confident air, Wyn is anything but. She can feel the last wisps of Essentia burning out of her system. The illusion spell had scattered the low-level goblins, sure, but it did nothing against the shaman looming before her.
She curses inwardly, wishing she had any damaging ability left to hurl at the sneering green bastard. No doubt they would all require Essentia given her class. Sending a prayer to whatever gods might exist in this world, Wyn opens her Ability screen, hoping there might be a sudden new ability she could use.
ABILITIES
Rudimentary Insight: Crude
Essentia Manipulation: Crude
Mage Bolt: Common
Illusions of Beyond: Uncommon
Oblivion Shroud: Rare
All of them are useless. Every single one demands Essentia, and she has none. Wyn doesn’t bother to use her Rudimentary Insight ability. There is no way that “Mage Bolt” or the strange “Oblivion Shroud” ability could be used without Essentia.
“Gods, you are an idiot,” Mirana mutters, silver hair plastered to her forehead with sweat. Like Wyn, her reserves are gone, drained dry by healing Wyn’s injuries. Out in the distance, the knights are still cutting through stragglers. That leaves just the two of them against the shaman.
Wyn digs into her inventory and pulls out the only weapon she has left: a rusty dagger, the pitiful freebie from Psai back in character creation. It feels wrong in her hand, awkward and light, pockmarked with orange and brown rust, but it’s all she has. Beside her, Mirana draws a slender silver sword and glares daggers of her own.
“If I die, I’ll haunt the shit out of you.”
Wyn flashes a grin she doesn’t feel. “Then you’d better keep me alive, huh?”
The shaman slams her staff into the dirt. Tendrils of sickly green smoke burst from the staff, the air instantly rank with rot. Wyn coughs, eyes watering, but she doesn’t wait — she charges.
The shaman frowns and conjures a globule of sickly green energy and hurls it at Wyn. She ducks; the attack just narrowly misses. Wyn reaches the shaman, Mirana right behind and slashes with the rusty dagger. The shaman twists aside, robes snapping, and Wyn’s blade only scratches her forearm. The goblin’s answering croak is half laugh, half curse. A lash of necrotic energy whips through the air. Mirana leaps forward, projecting a shield of Essentia in front of them both, deflecting the attack. Mirana gasps; the impact destroying her hasty shield.
“Shit. Frostburn.” Mirana mutters, glaring at her hands. The ends of her fingers freeze, blackened with frostbite. A grin spreads across the shaman’s face, her teeth gnashing with excitement. The staff slams down once more as a magic circle appears over them all. Wyn uses the opening to jab again, lodging the blade into the Shaman’s thigh. She howls in pain and slams her staff across Wyn’s face, leaving a blackened mark on her cheek. The circle dissipates before it can enact another terrible spell.
The shaman growls in rage and pain, launching attack after attack at the pair of fighters. Back and forth. Wyn lunges wild, Mirana scrambles to cover her, and the shaman cackles with each exchange. Wyn’s lungs burn from the stench, her arms shake from strain, but she refuses to quit. Already, the black mark on her cheek grows, threatening to consume her. Wyn knows if she stops, she’s dead. If she loses, she’s dead. Everything is on the line.
The shaman’s clawed hand shoots out; green ooze dripping from her fingers. The ooze coalesces into a thick blackened chain, which wraps itself around Wyn’s ankle. Pain flares hot and vicious as her skin blackens beneath the touch. She screams, clawing at the coil as the goblin hisses some guttural syllables of triumph.
Steel slams through the chain, shattering it in a single strike.
A towering figure steps into the fight, sword dripping goblin blood.
“Captain!” Mirana cries out, her words soaked in exhaustion.
He moves with brutal precision, every blow forcing the shaman back. The captain, once commanding the soldiers, focuses his energy entirely on battling the grotesque shama. Each strike is precise. Each slash of his greatsword cuts through the Goblin’s defenses, whittling away at her piece by piece. The goblin shrieks, croaking curses in its foul tongue, hurling necrotic blasts in panic. They splash against his armor, hissing smoke, but he doesn’t falter. He drives the shaman away like a wolf herding prey.
Wyn sees it before the Captain. The splash of necrotic magic against his armor eats away at him, leaving him vulnerable to an attack. The shaman throws her staff to the side and grabs a slender dagger from her belt, its curved blade dripping with necrosis.
Mirana is exhausted. But Wyn can make it.
“Dying is not recommended for your general wellbeing, Ms. Wyn!”
Wyn ignores the AI and snatches up her dagger. The world explodes into white-hot agony as the necrosis intensifies at the shaman’s command. The scent of her own rotting flesh fills the scene. She doesn’t care. She knows what has to be done.
The shaman lunges for the captain’s exposed side, vile dagger glinting. Wyn doesn’t hesitate. She rolls to the side, passing the dagger into her offhand mid-motion. Her right hand snatches the goblin’s wrist just before the blade can strike, yanking him close.
Her knee drives upward into the goblin’s midsection, and before the shaman can recover, Wyn plunges her rusty dagger into her chest. The blade sinks deep, hilt to bone. The shaman croaks a final rattling death-laugh before collapsing in a heap of stinking robes.
Wyn falls with him, chest heaving, vision tunneling. Black veins creep outward from her wound, searing like acid. Still, she grins — wild, feral, triumphant.
“Got you,” she whispers, before the world tilts and goes dark.
