Spoiler: Chapter 35 - Quest of Dragons - Part 1
Show

The deep sea stirred in great unrest, thundering waves rising high and crashing heavily upon each other in a battle of liquid fury. White foam flew from the fray, whipping furling currents in an unrelenting torrent of tide. The small wood ship was battered and bruised as it fought the wave of force, ploughing through the ever-changing direction of the seas path. The morning sky was dark and smothered in dense and vengeful cloud, pouring its contents as if crying a hurricane down from the abyss of the atmosphere. The unstoppable rain made the return journey to Farholde a slow and strenuous one. There was no sleeping aboard a ship that rocked and swayed, threatening to topple over and capsize with every surge of the ocean. When they finally turned their vessel inward, trying to guide its path into the dockyard, it was a relief to all who held fast to its railings. Stepping upon solid ground, Willow felt the tension ease in her limbs. While the dockhands helped tether their ship, she quickly made her way along the pier, glad to be away from the churning turn of the sea.
They had planned to head towards the marketplace as soon as they returned, yet none of them were eager for anything but rest in a stationary bed. They used the transporting arcana once more, teleporting themselves to the safety and comfort of the Silkcreek Homestead.
“How did mission go?” Raiju asked, greeting them in the parlour.
“It was successful,” Pellius reported formally.
“Good,” he nodded, “When do we leave?”
“After a bath,” Willow scoffed, dragging her tired legs through the chamber towards the stairs, “And a long sleep.”
“Have a seat,” Pellius instructed Raiju, “I will fill you in…”


Although clean and relaxed, wrapped within the silk sheets of her bed, Willow found sleep evaded her. Her mind was not interested in the soothing temptation of slumber – her mind was churning with details and worries. Fed up with tossing and turning, she rose from the sheets, tying her nightgown around her before making her way to the writing desk. With the curtains pulled shut, she had no worry of the sun’s harsh light burning her glistening pale skin. As she retrieved her journal, she frowned with thought of the sun. She had forgotten how much she had missed the feeling of the bright morning rays upon her face. Everyday she had worn her shroud, its magic encompassing her fragile skin from the wrath of the blistering ball of light. It had become routine to wake early before dawn arrived, bathe and dress, clothing herself within the magic of the cloak before setting out into the day. It was a curious feeling. The sun was ever present, an uncomfortable annoyance, as if her skin was in a state of constant light sweat. It was not during the day that she noticed; it was when she retired each evening and removed the shroud that her skin felt as if it had been gently suffocating throughout the daylight hours. She had become used to the sickness low in her stomach. It did not leave her anymore. Though she continued her duties with a face of confidence, she felt the sickly touch of death that surrounded her. How curious, she thought, that one could be so alive and yet so very close to death. The transformation of the vampiric curse was far slower than she had thought. The idea of simply dying one day soon, only to reawaken, was severely unnerving.
“I thought you would be fast asleep by now, my lady,” came Pellius’ voice, snapping her mind from her thoughts.
She had been so far away within the morbid illusion of the transformation, that she had not heard his approach.
“It seems I cannot sleep,” she shrugged, “There is simply too much on my mind.”
“Anything I may help with?” he asked gently, entering the chamber with his armour layered in hand.
“I do not think so,” she smiled, “It is the same questions and curiosities as always. A great foe we must defeat, an infallible plan we must create, and a great black wyrm we must grovel to.”
Pellius smirked at her answer, “Is that all?”
“Not the half of it,” she chuckled.
“We will go over our plans later,” he reassured, “For now, we may rest our bodies and our minds.”
“That is easier said than done.”
Pellius smiled as he finished arranging his armour on the shelf, strolling leisurely to the liquor cabinet and pulling free a bottle of thick red wine.
“What were you thinking of just now?” he asked, pouring two glasses for them, “You were lost in thought.”
Willow sighed as she accepted the offered glass, watching the burgundy liquid as she swirled it around the crystal.
“In the dragon’s library,” she began, a small frown pulling on her brow, “I found a book on the chronicles of a thousand year old vampire prince. He spoke of the transformation from human to vampire. Most transformations take mere days to come full cycle, and most are reborn as spawn, or as thrall’s of their maker. Yet his transformation was much like our own. Slower, and drawn out. It was months before he finally died…”
As Willow’s thoughts continued, her mouth ceased to speak the words that ran through her head.
“And?” Pellius urged, making her realise she had stopped speaking.
“That is what frightens me,” she said quietly, “We are to… die.”
“And be reborn,” he smiled, “Into something greater.”
“Reborn… and that does not scare you?” she asked, eyes of telling despair looking back at him.
“No,” he shrugged, “It is a chance. We are fortunate enough to be able to foresee our deaths, and be promised a life that continues passed the demise of our flesh.”
Willow frowned upon his words, she could see the benefit clearly, but the thought of having to die for it seemed a great and heavy weight to bear.
“Why do you suppose it is drawing out so?” she asked.
“We have no way of knowing,” he answered vaguely, “What did the book say?”
“He mused that stronger willed creatures inadvertently fought the transformation,” she recalled, “The will of the soul too strong to simply submit to the curse.”
“Perhaps that is your answer. For it takes immeasurable will for a mortal to stand against the tide of a nation, all for what they believe and know is true.”
Willow smirked at the thought, “You make us sound like heroes.”
“Not heroes,” he smiled, shaking his head softly, “We are harbingers of true order…”


While they used their day of peace to plan their attack on the inhabitants of Straya Avarna, they sent a pair of their servants to the city with a list of items and precautions to retrieve. Knowing how short their time was, upon the return of their purchases, they made for Farholde before midnight had arrived. The docks were sure to deserted that late into the night, but Willow was still acutely aware that the sight of a fearsome and fire-blazing nessian warhound was guaranteed to raise trouble. Much to Sith’s obvious disgust, Garvana used her strange arcana to shift his form into that of a simple steed. Although his flaming coat was not visible, he still left a trail of scorched paw prints along their path. Among the more curious purchases they had made, Willow had demanded a flank of fireproof material to wrap around the great beast, to shield the wooden ship from the worst of his inferno. When she tied the sheet around his torso and fastened it in a knot around his neck, he huffed an unimpressed growl. Willow grinned in response, whispering into his ear that he was still a mighty and fearsome beast, even with a bow atop his head.
The storm had finally passed over the north-western end of Talingarde, leaving the seas still and calm as they casted off into the night. As they made their way towards the grand island, the winds blew hard from the north, pushing the ship along with ease. Although Willow was dejected at the idea of another few nights upon the swaying waves, the alternative was far less tasteful. When she had mentioned the lack of need for the ship, now that they knew the location of Straya Arvana, Garvana had cautioned her sternly. While upon the island, she had detected a strange lingering charm upon the crystal, that warded it from intrusion through the means of teleportation. She had told them of the enchantments effect – a misdirection with no guarantee of the arriving location. Only the most confident and practised wizards were likely to be successful at such a task. And so they had boarded the ship once more and Willow found herself leaning upon the railing, staring out to sea as she urged the aiding wind to push them along even faster than it was.

When their three days at sea had come to end, and the glittering expanse once more lingered upon the horizon, the Forsaken were prepped for battle. As the crystalline reefs appeared beneath them, Bor cast his mysterious magic that allowed them to walk atop the water. Both Bor and Pellius stepped out onto the ocean, guiding the small ship towards the pier, eyes peeled for the glorious aquatic consort. There was no hiding their purpose this time. Each of them wore their full sets of armour, blood stained weapons and sharpened blades strapped to their legs and backs, expressions of cold determination painted on their faces. Willow held her blades tightly in hand, searching the tide of sapphire for any sign of the coastal guardian. As they neared the pier, the soft voice crooned from beneath the waves.
“You’ve returned,” Setia replied cheerfully, peering up above the surface.
When her eyes locked to the enormous hellhound aboard the ship – her face of delight morphed into sheer fury. Before she could dive back under the water, Willow swiftly leapt over the side of the ship as Pellius dropped the rope tethered to the hull, both of them charging across the surface towards the consort. With her blades flashing, Willow carved them outward, tearing deeply through scales and flesh. Pellius withdrew his frightening greataxe from its hold, as his thundering steps trembled the sea beneath him. As the consort splashed white water that showered the lagoon, he cried his petrifying wrath and cleaved his mighty weapon across her back. Setia let out a screech of agony as she retreated under the swell, swimming with utter grace as merely a shadow in the dark blue surf. As she launched herself upward with her sapphire trident, Willow dove out of its path, narrowly avoiding the forked weapon. Suddenly, the water beneath them began to move, coursing with vicious might in a vortex of untold speed and power. Though Willow was nimble enough to launch herself out of its grasp, Pellius was not near quick enough. The water churned a ferocious maelstrom, dragging him under violently, as he called out in frustration and panic.
“PELLIUS!” Willow screamed.
She kept to the edge of the vortex, struggling to keep her footing as it wildly lashed in turmoil. She tried desperately to grab hold of his arm, but lost her grip as he was ripped further down into the frenzied whirlpool. As Willow snarled in frustration, Bor dragged the ship quickly to the pier, Garvana and Sith leaping to the safety of the stone. Raiju flew high over head, his curved blade drawn while his keen eyes searched the water. The churn of the vortex wailed as it spun and thrashed about the heavily armoured man, slowly widening its girth as it chaotically twirled, dragging Pellius further down and far passed where they could reach him.
“Garvana!” Willow cried, “Dispel it! Banish it! DO SOMETHING!”
“I am trying!” Garvana roared in exasperation.
“TRY HARDER!”
Standing upon the stone pier, Garvana could do little but cast furiously, sending waves of white feathered arcana rippling across the glistening lake. Vexation took hold of Willow, leaving her screaming in fury, unable to do anything. The Consort in Blue was hidden well beneath the surface, and Pellius was drowning, being battered and beaten by frightful currents. Willow cursed her ineptitude. She could not risk rescuing Pellius, for she would only be caught within the maelstrom herself to drown along with him. She could not swim beneath the water and hunt the cetaceal, for she knew it would be a fatal mistake with her severe lack of fins or tail. She simply had to bide her time, and await her opportunity. The sapphire lagoon abruptly began to rumble beneath her feet, as if the temperature had soared and the sea had set to boil. A grand dome of white, rose from the centre of the lagoon, filling and swelling to the point of breaking. Willow’s eyes widened as she watched the sphere, backing up instinctively as it only continued to grow. With no where to hide standing alone atop the shimmering lake, she slowly exhaled, bracing herself for impact. The white frothing bubble suddenly erupted, in a collision of glistening ice shards and sparking lightening. A shockwave of pure power propelled itself outward, fulminating a crashing tsunami of raw elemental essence. As it swiftly approached Willow, she leaped into the sky with every ounce of strength she had, attempting to soar over the brunt of the force. It seemed as if time slowed, Willow’s graceful limbs spinning through the air, her slender frame launched high above the cresting water. She felt the wave pass beneath her, the lightning burning like sudden flame across the bare skin of her arms and neck. Feeling the flesh smoulder and scorch, she gritted her teeth as her slow descent began. As her feet collided with the hard surface of the enchanted water, she watched the wave of destruction pass by and continue outward. One by one it ploughed into each of the Forsaken, the ice shards ripping shreds of skin from bone, yet freezing the bleeding wounds instantly in an agonisingly cold blizzard. When the wave of force reached the ship, the small wooden vessel stood little chance. Splintered shards of the plank flew through the air, the hull exploding in a shower of glorious proportions. When the torrent crashed into the crystal, the magic seemed to strangely dissipate – leaving the island unscathed. As each of them was swept from their feet, Willow could only pray that Pellius had been spared, trapped within his cage of coursing water. Though Raiju’s skin was raw – his will was not shaken. As the consort lifted her head from the water, he charged towards her through the air, swinging his blade with practiced efficiency. Willow sprinted towards her, but before she was in reach, Setia disappeared below the swell. As she contemplated diving into the sea after her, she heard Garvana’s rushed incantation. She focused on the frenzied vortex that was slowly making its way deeper into the great ocean, and she cast a loud and booming chant. Suddenly, the swirling ceased. With all eyes on the still waters, Setia saw her opportunity. She thrust her trident high as she leaped from the sea, plunging its blades deep into Raiju’s side. The oni cried out in agony as a blast of lightning arced from the sharp points, sending white furling traces directly through his veins. As she retreated once more, the water where the vortex had been rippled with life. Pushed to the surface by the magical enchantment, Pellius appeared – blood trickling from his mouth as he struggled for air.
“Get to shore!” Willow yelled, eyes following the shadow beneath the water.
As she watched his utterly exhausted body limp towards the pier, she backed up slowly herself. Pellius had almost made it to the shallows when Setia appeared once more. With a look of imperishable ire, the cetaceal opened her mouth wide, letting loose a cone a blistering ice. The blast of frosted fury slithered in unfathomable speed along the water, turning each drop to a hard and frozen sheet of ice. When the storm of white vengeance reached them, Willow lunged out of the way. As she moved, her eyes watched the terror unfold. Pellius was no swift and nimble man at the best of times. But as he hauled his barely movable legs towards the solid ground of the shore, the blizzard consumed him. The ice shards pierced deeply into his flesh, the incredible cold sapped the last of his strength, the force hit with such might that it swept him from his feet. Willow’s heart clenched and froze, turning a bitter ice itself as she watched him fall. She saw him die, she saw the life vacant within his eyes as he fell limp into the shallow water. Anger. She felt such anger. There was no sadness that gripped her heart, it was a cold and simply hatred. The vile taste of choler overcame her completely. She struggled to remember Bor dragging him to the shore, she barely noticed Garvana rushing to his side. There was a moment where she thought she saw Garvana breathe an arcane breath deep into his lungs, bringing him back from the teetering edge of death. A moment where she saw him grasp Garvana’s shoulder in panic when he awoke. But the anger and numbed hatred was too strong. She remembered only spinning her blade into a backwards grip and awaiting her moment. When it came, when Setia-Swims-the-Sea-of-Stars lifted her head once more, Willow pounced with every bit of seething fury that swarmed beneath the flesh of her skin. She leaped forward into a run, dismissing the enchantment as Bor had taught her, and dove into the sky with her dagger primed and ready in a two handed grip high over head. As she descended, her blade plunged deep into the cetceal. The weight of her fall propelled the dagger forward as they crashed into the sapphire lake. A cloud of red painted froth exploded from the white foamed sea. The lithe creature cried out underwater, crimson dancing along the current as it flowed from her wounds – but still she was not done. She thrust her trident clumsily towards Willow in anguish and desperation, little coordination left. Though it was truly harder to slip and dodge within the grasp of the lagoon, Willow managed to avoid the worst of the attack. It was then that the malicious incantation could be heard. Garvana’s voice echoed throughout the crystal shielded hollow, her feral words met by feral intent. Slick black tendrils rippled from her fingers, oozing in festering hunger, furling towards the cetaceal. Finally, Willow saw the first sign of fear from the glorious Consort in Blue. Willow reached out and ripped the coral necklace from around her neck, before Setia swam with all her might, in a desperate attempt to escape. Yet she was not fast enough, her reflexes slow as the blood loss only worsened, weakening her will and strength. As the tendrils enveloped her; her wet sleek skin was set ablaze in a sickly firestorm of green and black billowing flames. The savage arcana devoured the first consort whole, leaving not a single trace behind…

For a time, Willow simply floated along with the current beneath the water, allowing it to push and pull her as it willed. Her breath rested lightly within her chest as she closed her eyes and simply moved within the sapphire seas grip. The anger had simmered; the hatred had seeped from her soul as the crimson shadow had seeped through the waters. It was a slow procession that brought her thoughts back to her. Pellius had died. Though, she had seen Garvana bring him back to life, much as she had done to Willow upon the battlefield of Valtaerna. Willow had expected to feel joy and gratitude at his return. She had expected to feel relieved that he was still counted among the living. Yet all she felt was a cold numbness that dulled her senses. Was death always to be such a presence in her life? Was death to be the lovers cold shoulder that forever haunted her thoughts? The worried calls of the others, muffled by the barrier of the heavy sea tide, brought her back to herself. As her name was called with more force, Willow lazily pushed her way to the surface.
“You are alright?” Garvana frowned.
“Yes,” she answered simply, moving through the swell towards the shore.
“Are you hurt?”
Willow sighed as she trudged her way through the shallow waters, “I am fine, Garvana.”
As her sight found Pellius seated upon a boulder shaped crystal, breathing heavily through a wheezing chest, she found her lips pursing.
“And you?” Willow asked him, strange eyes looking him over.
“I am alright, my lady,” he nodded with a small smile.
“You must not make a habit out of this,” Willow replied, arching her brow.
His hefty chuckle forced a torrent of coughs from his chest, making Willow smile despite herself. As she sat herself upon the edge of the pier, she removed her boots and tried to squeeze the soggy mess of water out of them. With little to no luck, she sighed and strapped her feet back into them.
“How do we proceed?” she asked, looking up to the others.
“Pellius needs time to recover his strength,” Garvana said seriously.
“I do not,” he said sternly, pushing himself to his feet, lifting his head.
Though he tried to look spritely and well, his trembling legs deceived his words.
“And I have little magic left,” Garvana continued, “We cannot face the dragon in such a state. It would be suicide.”
“You want to rest here?” Bor balked.
“Of course not,” Garvana scoffed, “That would also be suicide.”
Pellius looked out to the shattered remains of their ship, “Well we cannot return to Talingarde, what other option do we have but to continue?”
“We must teleport to our estate,” she shrugged.
“Did you not say how dangerous that would be?” Willow frowned, “I thought you said it was impossible from the island?”
“Not impossible, just idiotic.”
“And you wish us to try?” Willow laughed.
“Your skill with the wand has not failed us yet, my lady,” Pellius smirked.
“Not yet,” she replied, rolling her eyes.
Looking over the Forsaken, Willow conceded that they indeed needed to rest. They all bore the scorched and bruised remains of the cetaceal’s wrath, and with two more consorts and an ancient dragon to contend with, they needed to be fresh and limber for the fight. She sighed, pulling the wand from her water-soaked pack. As they gathered close once more, Willow closed her eyes and focused on the image of their sanctuary, the parlour of their farmland estate.
When the incantation pulled them through the otherworldly portal and threw them into the lush surrounds of a stately chamber, it did not take long to realise the magic had gone awry. Though they indeed found themselves in the parlour of a richly appointment manor, it was not the one they had claimed as their own.
“What’s going on here?!” grumbled a deep and unknown voice, “Who are you people?!”
Willow’s head shot to the side, surprised to see two vaguely familiar figures shoot up from their seated positions around a small oak table.
“General Vastenus!” Willow said quickly, “I am sorry, we have apparently become lost, our magic has misdirected us here!”
“Who are you?!” he called, “Guards! Intruders!”
There would be no talking their way out of this. Covered in wet and blood soaked armour, in the presence of a vicious nessian warhound and a crimson skinned oni mage, there would be no convincing the general that they meant no harm. As the thundering footsteps barrelled from beyond the door, Willow quickly looked to the others. Pellius swiftly held the door shut as the guardsmen attempted to push their way in. In panic, Willow knew not what to do. They could not take on the entire army by themselves, which is what she surmised they would have to do were they to remain. For General Vastenus was King Markadian’s leader of the righteous crusade. They had landed themselves in the very centre of the Mitran army’s camp. As the voices beyond the door yelled for further aid, Pellius looked to Willow in rushed question. They had an opportunity that they would not likely come across again. They could kill Vastenus and wipe out a top commanding force of the assault. They could take the offer that so easily presented itself, weakening the army from the inside. Yet as the seconds ticked by and the general drew his sword towards them, Willow hushed her hunger. If the army was left with no leader save the glorious King himself, their plans for him to desert the army for his daughter would be put in jeopardy. Would the king choose his daughter over the guaranteed loss of the war? It was far less likely than the alternative.
“Get out of the way,” barked a foreboding voice from outside the chamber, “I’ll handle this!”
With only seconds remaining before they had no choice, Willow made a snap decision.
“Get together!” she cried.
She prayed they had listened swiftly, grasping hold of one another as she recalled the incantation and transported herself from the chamber. Just as the mystical blur of arcana enveloped them, they saw the door explode inward in shatter of splintered wood, forced by hands that glowed a bright and flame-like blue. Suddenly, they were ripped from the scene, and thrown into the safety of their own chamber.
“Damn this thing!” Willow snarled, throwing the wand towards Garvana, “Next time you can do it!”
“Where we where I think we were?” Bor laughed, “Did we end up in the camp of the Mitran army?”
“Yes,” Willow scowled, “It is absurd! Of all the places for the magic to send us! Into the general’s meeting! How ill-conceived!”
“We could have killed him,” Garvana mused, a slight disappointment to her tone.
“Or we could have ended up back in Brandescar!” Willow growled, “With our bodies on the pyre!”
“None of that has come to pass, my lady,” Pellius soothed, laying his hand upon Willow’s shoulder.
“But it could have!” she snapped, “How foolish! All of our work could have been for nothing! More than two years work, destroyed in the blink of an eye, because of that damn thing!”
“Enough!” Pellius commanded, clenching his fingers into Willow’s collarbone, forcing her to cease her rage and listen, “It was an unfortunate mistake, but we have avoided any further repercussions. We were not captured, and they are none the wiser of our plans.”
Willow exhaled slowly, allowing the sharp pain to settle into her bones. She knew not how he understood exactly how to calm her, but as she revelled in the lingering ache, she was very glad he did. When he released his grip and she unintentionally sighed at its loss, he simply smirked knowingly.
“It was not a total waste,” Bor interrupted her haze, “They were going over troop movements. I saw where their men are stationed. They are roughly five weeks march from Daveryn.”
“Only five?” Garvana frowned, “Then we have little time to waste…”

They retired to their chambers early that evening, having revised their plans for the following day and opting for a long rest before they set out once again. As twilight ushered in the passing of dusk, Willow returned to the bedchamber wrapped in a towel, her freshly cleaned hair free of the smell of saltwater and blood. When she entered, she saw Pellius hunched over the writing desk, a deep frown a permanent fixture on his brow. As she closed the door behind her, he snapped his book shut and turned to her with a feigned smile.
“Your bath was enjoyable?” he asked cordially.
“It was,” she replied, arching her brow.
“Very good, my lady,” he inclined his head, doing his best to guide the book into the desk drawer unnoticed.
Whether he realised it or not, Willow clearly saw his attempt at secrecy, but chose not to point it out. Instead, she simply continued into the chamber, hanging her towel over the armchair as she began to change into her nightgown.
“Do you wish to talk about it?” she asked softly.
“About what, my lady?” he replied.
“About today, Pellius.”
“What about it?” he shrugged nonchalantly, “We were successful in our first task, and we shall also be successful tomorrow.”
“Pellius,” Willow sighed, slipping the silk over her head and slowly walking to his side, “You do not always have to appear strong and infallible, you don’t always have to be alright.”
“I am fine, my lady,” he reassured, though his eyes spoke more than his words would, “Your concern is touching, but misplaced.”
She looked to his face, reading how closed off and unwilling to talk he seemed to be. Yet she knew well how confronting the reality of death was. She sat beside him and chose her words carefully.
“To have seen the otherside and return is not a weakness,” she said gently, “It is a strength, for now we know what awaits us. But it alright for it to have shaken you. It would shake any mortal.”
“I am fine, Willow,” he said shortly.
“Pellius,” she sighed, “It may help to talk about it, it may help you process it all. I know how strange it all was for me… Tell me, what did you see?”
He looked to her, unreadable thought in his eyes.
“I do not wish to speak of it, my lady,” he replied finally, “But I know now I have been given another chance to continue to succeed. The gates of hell have not opened to me yet. And while Asmodeus wills it, I will remain here and fight in his name.”
It was a slender slip of an answer, but Willow could tell it was all she was going to get.
Pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, she sighed, “And so will we all…”