Silver Lacuna

Her seat in the pottery wing of the Conservatory was not the best. Her weight shifted and it creaked, rocking slightly in the direction she had moved. They had been donated, and the wear on them showed. This was partially why she preferred throwing her personal work in the shed at Pyraelia's place. Talon had made the furniture there for her; it was sturdy and well built, like he was.

It hadn't been the best spring for their little dalliances. His Crew had been busy defending Quel'danas and Eversong, up until things wound down a bit. She had been busier still with the incursions, trying to keep the naga's ritual sites tamped down and cleaning house in the Intelligence office.

That was okay. She was a patient woman, and he was a patient man.

Most of all she missed his dry wit. He was a wonderful conversationalist. Their chats over drinks had been a favorite past time for a while. Well, that wasn't entirely true. The way he could take her in hand and make her sing with expertise was something she found herself reminiscing on quite a bit, too. Plus, she was at an age where hot flashes weren't uncommon, and the strange coolness of his skin was refreshing.

Would she mind if he ever needed to take her in hand as the weapon she was? No. Not that he would ever need to; he was dangerous like she was. Sharp-edged and skilled enough himself to manage his own business. How nice to have someone somewhat equal in her life.

Perhaps it was time to start up their games again. How lovely it would be to have the angles of him break up her days again. From his cheekbones to his chiseled jawline, the planes of his muscles and the sharp cuts of his fine suits on their less casual excursions. She had often marveled at how the silken smoothness of his sterling hair matched the tenor of his whiskey.

Keranna carefully moved a pot to a decent enough table to dry. The gas kiln would be done soon and she could crack the door open to let the finished works inside begin to cool and settle. Then she could send a note on her dagger-and-key stationary, the paper that formally marked a missive as hers. There were a few lovely little bars starting up their midsummer menus and they could pick up where they left off as easily as they had previously let on.

Written in response to this prompt.

[ Cue the Music ]

Naralinthe worked tirelessly to help the injured trickling into camp from Suncrown Village.  There were a lot— as was to be expected— but all things considered, the crew seemed to be managing things well.  Years of working together ensured an unspoken sense of comfort in one’s roles and responsibilities, and like a complex puzzle, the pieces started falling seamlessly into place.

The triage station ensured those whose injuries were the most grievous were tended to first.  Crew members lacking medical experience kept a steady flow of supplies trickling in, giving the healers much needed freedom to concentrate their time and energy on the wounded.  No role was considered greater or lesser, no action— regardless of how small— was inconsequential.  Together, they achieved a sense of order amidst the chaos.

…until the chaos gave way to pandemonium.

Beneath a white sheet, a body twitched.  He was one of the first to succumb to the severity of his injuries, but like the others draped in sheets, had yet to be removed from the immediate vicinity.  There was simply too much to do and not enough attendees to see to the dead.  That was usually last on the list of priorities in times of war.

Pale fingers flexed and extended, followed by the twitch of a wrist, then an entire arm as it lashed out and gripped one of the priests by the throat.  The strangled scream he unleashed made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and she whirled around to discover its inspiration.  Brilliant magic erupted from his fingers as he sent a flash of light shimmering into its chest, sending the reanimated corpse toppling backward and out of the tent.

“Wait!”  Naralinthe cautioned, but it was already too late.  Everyone watched as the ‘thing’ bloomed into a horrific monstrosity of flesh and flora, its growth expedited by the surge of light magic, and it started shambling toward a group of survivors huddled nearby.

OH GODS!  NO!

Naralinthe’s blood ran cold with the discovery and her eyes darted around the tent from one medic to the next.  Most of their crew was comprised of former Argents, and as such, were practitioners of Light magic.  “STOP!!!”  She screamed, and there was a momentary silence that lingered in the wake of the Lioness’ roar.  She already understood light magic was useless against the Lightbloom.  That was why she stayed back at camp instead of joining Talonoa and the others, but no one warned her the bodies might reanimate.

Rynga took the initiative to carry out the order. “Stop using light magic!”  She bellowed the warning for the others to heed and repeat.  “It only hastens the transformation!”

“Stop using light magic!” Echoed another until the message spread throughout the entire camp.

Instinct took hold, and Naralinthe sprinted toward her tent to retrieve her weapons and armor, forsaking her medical smock entirely.  Deft fingers wrenched and snapped on the buckles of her plate-mail as she suited up in a flurry of practiced determination.  Remembering Talonoa’s warning about the infectious spores, she ensured her mask was still securely in place before waving the tent flap open.

She emerged, a gleaming vision of ivory and gold, and charged one of the reanimated corpses head on, decapitating it cleanly with an arcing, upward swing of her sword.  It writhed on the ground in a pool of yellow sap that made her stomach wretch from the cloying sweetness it released before finally falling still.  It seemed severing the bloom’s attachment to the body’s nervous system prevented it from getting back up— a discovery that came as both a relief and a burden.

Compassion waned to guilt as she realized she would have to desecrate the bodies of her kin.  These poor souls deserved a proper burial, not a syrupy execution by her hand.  “I am so sorry,” she whispered beneath her mask before moving onto the next, hacking and slashing her way through the fray.  Her primary focus would become protecting the medical tent from waves of bloomrotten corpses with pale-yellow flowers for faces, lashing vines in place of appendages, and dislocated jaws hanging agape that spewed more noxious spores into the air.

To her left someone shouted, “FIRE!” and she turned her head to behold a hellscape of tents engulfed in flames.  Already Garren and Sheizara were rushing to the river with buckets to douse the fire while Kaisina flung frost magic wildly about, ensnaring others by accident and sending Nahilivi skating across the ice like an unsteady fawn.

‘What in the nine hells is going on here?!’ She thought to herself.

Only when Dicenne came barreling through the chaos did she breathe a sigh of relief.  Backup had arrived… and not a moment too soon.

SPECTRE 2015

SPECTRE 2015