83 Ymiden 718
Ten trials. Ten trials of obsessing relentlessly over the future. Ten trials that felt more like twenty, thirty, a hundred more. Every trill was too long. Too many thoughts and what-ifs filled her head. Ten trials ago an intruder had slipped past their careful defenses to attack her. The blonde rupturer had been a formidable enemy. She'd been lightning-quick for the full duration of their encounter. Several times the pickaxe she'd swung had come too close to Maxine's skull for comfort. A general understanding of how the magic worked from prior experience had been the marked woman's saving grace. Relying on her senses and instincts, she'd managed to keep up with the teleportation for the most part. A bit of luck and ingenuity resulted in the ultimate victory over the stranger.
As soon as Maxine had felled the blonde with her gladius, she'd made a colorful threat to the rest of the robust threats lurking in the darkness of The Beneath. She was determined to keep her promise. Anyone who tried to take what belonged to her would meet a cruel end. Now it was merely a waiting game to see just who would emerge from the shadows to accept the challenge, and Ran'dar had promised they'd come. Soon. And since, she could think nothing of their unscheduled arrival.
For a while she resisted it. Maxine could occupy her mind with trivial chores. Flesh could be rotated over the small fire Ran'dar tirelessly kept ablaze. Fortification could be checked and double checked for disturbances. Walls could be mined, rocky columns used for sword play, and daggers thrown at the blonde rupturer's headless, limbless torso Ran'dar had strung up for her to aim at for the sake of realism. She quickly tired of them all. Scenarios were playing over and over in her head. Each was more gruesome and unforgiving than the one that came before. Fear had couldn't drive her to wit's end the way it had in the past. Changes that occurred in the wake of her crimes had eliminated that pitfall. Now it was just general anxiety and jitters about the unknown. There was no predictably left in her world. No threat was the same as the last. No battle was easily won. Max was adrift in this lightless, merciless reality. The darkness was her home now, and it was gathering in her mind too. A person could only take so much until they snapped.
"That's fucking it!" Maxine snarled, breaking her incessant pacing to snatch up her gladius.
"What are you doing?" Ran'dar roused himself curiously from where he laid on the rocky floor. His slit eyes trained themselves on her.
"I'm done." The marked woman plucked three bone throwing daggers from her corpse target and tucked them in her makeshift cloth belt.
"Done?"
"Done."
"Speak plain, stupid girl."
"I just fucking can't!"
Leaving the bewildered Ithecal mage behind, Maxine slipped through the defenses of her stronghold with a shake of her head. In a couple trills she was safely through and embraced by the complete darkness of the tunnels. Her companion made no move to stop her, and she was determined to continue on before he changed his mind. She stormed down the length of the underground path. The further she ventured, the more meticulous she became. One of the first things learned in The Beneath was the great distance the slightest of sounds could travel down here. One wrong move, and she'd broadcast her position to every predator with a pair of ears. A kick of gravel or a dramatic exhale could both be death sentences down here. Her posture relaxed into a half crouch as she stepped. Her feet cautiously moved forth, aiming for as much silence as was humanly achievable. All the while she clutched her sword. The rest of the work rested solely on her senses. Eyes turned practically useless, it was her ears and sense of touch that would see her through now as she navigated. It was a strange sensation. Although she wasn't entirely sure where she was going, Maxine knew exactly what she was headed for.
Finally she heard it. It was small and unassuming, that distant echo of a single step somewhere in the tunnels. Her head snapped to the sound. Rather than duck the other way as she normally did, the marked woman hustled toward it. Ahead she eventually spotted a small glow. The small illumination bobbed from another tunnel path. A silhouette balancing flames in his hands emerged thereafter. He did not cringe at the element coating his flesh for it did not appear to burn. Instead he held one fist before him as though he were holding a lantern against the night. Her brow furrowed and slowly she slunk back into an opening in the stones, back into a wide chamber filled with stalagmites and stone columns.
The fire-manipulator continued to move slowly along. Clearly he was one of the rare few that didn't need to wholly adapt to the perpetual blackness. He'd arrived with some sort of magic or blessing that bypassed a life without fire. It was a hefty advance to arrive with. She was surely jealous of his gift...and yet she did not totally envy him. The ability had granted him a crutch that ultimately did him no service in The Beneath. His reliance on light left his eyes as his primary sensors. This wasn't a world of light. It was a world of shadows.
Maxine clutched her sword and faded back from the incoming light as the man entered the chamber. She pressed her back to a column, bringing even her breathing to as quiet a volume as possible. The inmate continued on, spinning in place to check his rear, before venturing deeper into the chamber to explore. The marked woman slunk away from her hiding place. Her new home became the shadows surrounding the outside of his firelight. Slowly she manipulated herself to his flank. Her gladius raised. A glint of light from the edge of her weapon caught his eye, and the next thing either of them knew, he was spinning wildly to face the unforeseen threat.
A burst of clouds rushed out to seize him as Maxine fell back in time to avoid a flaming fist. The prisoner grunted and raised his fiery palms against the clouds that swallow him, but the light could not cut through the storm. The gladius dashed in and swept his feet out from under him. His back slammed against the stony floor, air whooshing painfully from his lungs upon impact. He panicked. His feet began to wildly kick from the place the gladius had appeared from last. He must not have even yet felt the deep lacerations to the backs of his legs. His attempts were to no avail. Maxine's attacked for the last time from a whole different angle from the shadows. The tip of her sword sunk deep between his ribs. An airy, agonized sigh slipped from his lips. The marked woman tugged the sword back out of his body. His flaming hands rushed toward the wound to cauterize it. Her lip curled at his attempt at declining the death she'd wrought upon him. No man would escape the end she'd sown. Never again. And so she sunk her sword next through one of his eyes to the back of his skull. The body jerked. Then the hands dropped, their fires extinguished.
So fell the first of her victims; slain before they'd so inevitably made up their mind to make an attempt on her life. Had she let them live she was sure they would've come for her. They would've come because she'd called them, challenged them from her place of comfort with Ran'dar and the water pool. For some time she'd struggled. Really, truly struggled. For so long she'd held on and done the best she could. Resilience came in many forms, and in the crucible that was Slags Deep, no one could come out the other side unblemished. Ran'dar had ultimately gotten what he wanted. This trial marked the first in which she made that descent into the darkness of her own brain. It seized her now in its iron-like grip, whispering promises of survival and dominance if she just let go. Maxine had let the last of her sanity slip. And as she pulled her sword out of the Al'deurn's face to find her next target, she was practically waving to it goodbye as it fell far from her grasp.
Ten trials. Ten trials of obsessing relentlessly over the future. Ten trials that felt more like twenty, thirty, a hundred more. Every trill was too long. Too many thoughts and what-ifs filled her head. Ten trials ago an intruder had slipped past their careful defenses to attack her. The blonde rupturer had been a formidable enemy. She'd been lightning-quick for the full duration of their encounter. Several times the pickaxe she'd swung had come too close to Maxine's skull for comfort. A general understanding of how the magic worked from prior experience had been the marked woman's saving grace. Relying on her senses and instincts, she'd managed to keep up with the teleportation for the most part. A bit of luck and ingenuity resulted in the ultimate victory over the stranger.
As soon as Maxine had felled the blonde with her gladius, she'd made a colorful threat to the rest of the robust threats lurking in the darkness of The Beneath. She was determined to keep her promise. Anyone who tried to take what belonged to her would meet a cruel end. Now it was merely a waiting game to see just who would emerge from the shadows to accept the challenge, and Ran'dar had promised they'd come. Soon. And since, she could think nothing of their unscheduled arrival.
For a while she resisted it. Maxine could occupy her mind with trivial chores. Flesh could be rotated over the small fire Ran'dar tirelessly kept ablaze. Fortification could be checked and double checked for disturbances. Walls could be mined, rocky columns used for sword play, and daggers thrown at the blonde rupturer's headless, limbless torso Ran'dar had strung up for her to aim at for the sake of realism. She quickly tired of them all. Scenarios were playing over and over in her head. Each was more gruesome and unforgiving than the one that came before. Fear had couldn't drive her to wit's end the way it had in the past. Changes that occurred in the wake of her crimes had eliminated that pitfall. Now it was just general anxiety and jitters about the unknown. There was no predictably left in her world. No threat was the same as the last. No battle was easily won. Max was adrift in this lightless, merciless reality. The darkness was her home now, and it was gathering in her mind too. A person could only take so much until they snapped.
"That's fucking it!" Maxine snarled, breaking her incessant pacing to snatch up her gladius.
"What are you doing?" Ran'dar roused himself curiously from where he laid on the rocky floor. His slit eyes trained themselves on her.
"I'm done." The marked woman plucked three bone throwing daggers from her corpse target and tucked them in her makeshift cloth belt.
"Done?"
"Done."
"Speak plain, stupid girl."
"I just fucking can't!"
Leaving the bewildered Ithecal mage behind, Maxine slipped through the defenses of her stronghold with a shake of her head. In a couple trills she was safely through and embraced by the complete darkness of the tunnels. Her companion made no move to stop her, and she was determined to continue on before he changed his mind. She stormed down the length of the underground path. The further she ventured, the more meticulous she became. One of the first things learned in The Beneath was the great distance the slightest of sounds could travel down here. One wrong move, and she'd broadcast her position to every predator with a pair of ears. A kick of gravel or a dramatic exhale could both be death sentences down here. Her posture relaxed into a half crouch as she stepped. Her feet cautiously moved forth, aiming for as much silence as was humanly achievable. All the while she clutched her sword. The rest of the work rested solely on her senses. Eyes turned practically useless, it was her ears and sense of touch that would see her through now as she navigated. It was a strange sensation. Although she wasn't entirely sure where she was going, Maxine knew exactly what she was headed for.
Finally she heard it. It was small and unassuming, that distant echo of a single step somewhere in the tunnels. Her head snapped to the sound. Rather than duck the other way as she normally did, the marked woman hustled toward it. Ahead she eventually spotted a small glow. The small illumination bobbed from another tunnel path. A silhouette balancing flames in his hands emerged thereafter. He did not cringe at the element coating his flesh for it did not appear to burn. Instead he held one fist before him as though he were holding a lantern against the night. Her brow furrowed and slowly she slunk back into an opening in the stones, back into a wide chamber filled with stalagmites and stone columns.
The fire-manipulator continued to move slowly along. Clearly he was one of the rare few that didn't need to wholly adapt to the perpetual blackness. He'd arrived with some sort of magic or blessing that bypassed a life without fire. It was a hefty advance to arrive with. She was surely jealous of his gift...and yet she did not totally envy him. The ability had granted him a crutch that ultimately did him no service in The Beneath. His reliance on light left his eyes as his primary sensors. This wasn't a world of light. It was a world of shadows.
Maxine clutched her sword and faded back from the incoming light as the man entered the chamber. She pressed her back to a column, bringing even her breathing to as quiet a volume as possible. The inmate continued on, spinning in place to check his rear, before venturing deeper into the chamber to explore. The marked woman slunk away from her hiding place. Her new home became the shadows surrounding the outside of his firelight. Slowly she manipulated herself to his flank. Her gladius raised. A glint of light from the edge of her weapon caught his eye, and the next thing either of them knew, he was spinning wildly to face the unforeseen threat.
A burst of clouds rushed out to seize him as Maxine fell back in time to avoid a flaming fist. The prisoner grunted and raised his fiery palms against the clouds that swallow him, but the light could not cut through the storm. The gladius dashed in and swept his feet out from under him. His back slammed against the stony floor, air whooshing painfully from his lungs upon impact. He panicked. His feet began to wildly kick from the place the gladius had appeared from last. He must not have even yet felt the deep lacerations to the backs of his legs. His attempts were to no avail. Maxine's attacked for the last time from a whole different angle from the shadows. The tip of her sword sunk deep between his ribs. An airy, agonized sigh slipped from his lips. The marked woman tugged the sword back out of his body. His flaming hands rushed toward the wound to cauterize it. Her lip curled at his attempt at declining the death she'd wrought upon him. No man would escape the end she'd sown. Never again. And so she sunk her sword next through one of his eyes to the back of his skull. The body jerked. Then the hands dropped, their fires extinguished.
So fell the first of her victims; slain before they'd so inevitably made up their mind to make an attempt on her life. Had she let them live she was sure they would've come for her. They would've come because she'd called them, challenged them from her place of comfort with Ran'dar and the water pool. For some time she'd struggled. Really, truly struggled. For so long she'd held on and done the best she could. Resilience came in many forms, and in the crucible that was Slags Deep, no one could come out the other side unblemished. Ran'dar had ultimately gotten what he wanted. This trial marked the first in which she made that descent into the darkness of her own brain. It seized her now in its iron-like grip, whispering promises of survival and dominance if she just let go. Maxine had let the last of her sanity slip. And as she pulled her sword out of the Al'deurn's face to find her next target, she was practically waving to it goodbye as it fell far from her grasp.
