Vignette 4 – Part 3

  Art Thou An Angel?

  Tyne was bored and annoyed. The mainlander her mother had seated next to her constantly complained about how savage the islanders were. But not her, of course. This was the sort of man her mother wanted Tyne to marry? Some foppish noble who dressed in more frills than a campfish and more makeup than a whore.

  When the clans, seated around the great hall, inevitably began fist fighting, throwing goblets, and dancing on tables – all the normal feastly activities – the floppy prick let out a girlish scream of fright. Tyne sent her mother a look, begging the woman to set her free so she could join in the revelry.

  Although the king’s consort had lost much of her momentum now that the feast was underway, the fierce look she shot back at Tyne proved to the young lady that the Tyrant of Ceremonies still held an iron grip on her domain; Tyne was forced to stay in the unpleasant manling’s company.

  To try and salvage something from the evening, the rambunctious redhead brought up her favourite topic: combat. Unfortunately, the wet-noble-blanket was revolted by the very thought; he refused to engage. Apparently, he unlocked the Class of Lawyer on his sixteenth birthday and hoped to one day evolve it into Judge; he was all about strictly following the rules. Tyne didn’t understand how her mother ever thought they would get along.

  The young lady sighed; she was marooned on an island of boredom. Her head rested heavily on her hands as she made dull noises of engagement. The soppy fop, whose name she hadn’t bothered to learn, went on about some great victory in court, as if he had actually done something worthwhile.

  Tyne didn’t listen to all of it, but from the bits she couldn’t help but take in, she surmised that he had prosecuted a child for throwing eggs at the house of a mayor, getting the kid sentenced to a year of hard labour. And he boasted about it, as if it were something to be proud of!

  To compound her annoyance, she was forced to sit and watch as even Rhydd, not a fighter but still an islander, charged into the fray, horn full of mead, head empty. He tried to toss one of the great oak tables but lacked the Strength.

  Their shirtless brother, Ffyrnig, saw the attempt and thought it a splendid idea. He ran to Rhydd’s aid and, with one hand, sent the slab of oak crashing through a group of skirmishing clansmen. All the red-dressed members of Clan Cynddaredd, Tyne’s clan, let out cheers at the display, and many of the other clans nodded their respect before rushing in to get vengeance for the underhanded move.

  Tyne whistled with appreciation; her brother had evolved his Warrior Class into Barbarian, and she was envious of his Strength. Even though the table, intended for Clan Neidr, was mostly empty, Tyne was thoroughly impressed. To be able to do something like that so casually, Ffyrnig had to have a Strength of at least forty.

  Unfortunately, the elders stepped in soon after – before the brawl could turn interesting. One of the old grey-hairs nutted the two who had started the row, knocking them out and putting an end to things. Tyne sighed wistfully. Her only source of entertainment had dried up.

  The night continued uneventfully. Tyne shared a quick joke or two with Llygo whenever she leant over to fill her glass, but most of the time the other woman was stuck to the wall behind Tyne, lined up with the other servants, out of the way of the drunken clan members.

  At one point, the caged fireball grew so annoyed by the evening’s company that she feigned a temperature, just so she could sit by the window to cool down. She tried to look out over the southern farmlands, but it was dark out, and she couldn’t see much.

  Nonetheless, she continued to stare, waiting for her eyes to adjust enough to pick out the fires that marked the villages. She waited, but the usual lights failed to resolve themselves. Curious, but not concerned, she snagged a roasted purple carrot from a passing tray. The mildly magical vegetable did its job.

  Status Effect:

  The Status Effect: Lesser Nightvision has been applied. You are able to see in moderate darkness for 10 seconds.

  What she saw shocked her. She couldn’t believe her eyes. When the time limit on the Status Effect ran out, she snatched another carrot, just to be sure she wasn’t mistaken.

  Of course the lights from the villages weren’t visible; the ancient forest had spread all the way across the land. It had made its way to the base of the mountain, and it was still moving. Her first thought was magic; however, when she looked a second time, she saw what looked like a hand poking out from behind one of the trees.

  Now that she knew what to look for, it was obvious. The trees weren’t moving; an army approached, using the wood as cover. Ice ran through the young woman’s veins. She dropped her goblet. It clanged against the floor. The king used the silence that followed the sudden sound to begin his announcement.

  Her father managed to get through the introduction of his speech, where he thanked the clans for coming, when a loud bang broke Tyne from her trance. For several minutes she had been frozen, eyes fixed to the once-more pitch-black window, mind unable to comprehend what was happening.

  There was a second bang, followed by a great crashing and the splintering of wood. Tyne returned to her senses, grabbed at her sword, and yelled, “We’re under attack!”

  Her warning came too late. In the short time it took her to snap back to reality, the door to the great hall was smashed, and an army of every race imaginable flooded in. Those closest to the entrance were slaughtered before they knew what was happening. The mysterious army – armoured in silver and gold, the shiny metal dulled by ash – didn’t halt in their charge, determined to kill everyone before they could fight back.

  Ffyrnig was the first to react. With zero hesitation and a smile on his face, he ploughed into the enemy, sending corpses flying in his wake. His unarmoured form created an opportunity for others to begin their counterattack.

  Tyne, her sword held in a wobbly grip, was terrified. She had always loved to fight. That’s why she chose the Warrior Class. But these were far from her regular brawls. People she’d known since childhood fell before her eyes, fighters stronger than her were killed in seconds by the unending tide of unknown soldiers, and the blood… gods, the blood.

  She once more froze, a statue amongst the chaos. Spells and arrows of outrageous fortune flew through the air, causing death and destruction. It wasn't long before one came flying for her. A khati woman, about the same age as the young princess, aimed her crossbow at Tyne and fired.

  The sound that brought the young woman back to her senses this time was not a bang but a whimper. Something slumped down beside her. She looked down. Llygo lay against her, blood pouring from the arrow sprouting from the centre of her chest.

  “No,” Tyne whispered, tears frozen in her eyes.

  Llygoden looked up at her lady, the colour fading from her quickly. She smiled and reached up to lay a hand on the side of her face. “You're safe,” she breathed, before her hand dropped to the floor, her eyes turned grey, and she breathed no more.

  For a moment, Tyne clutched at her friend. She shook her, trying to wake the mousey woman up, but all she accomplished was covering her hands in blood.

  Fear and horror were quick to calcify into anger. Smoke spluttered around her as she looked up from her lifelong servant, through the battle, and directly towards the soldier hurriedly reloading their crossbow. Their eyes locked. Tyne’s burned with fury. The khati’s flickered with desperation.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Tyne reached for her Charge Skill. If nothing else, she would avenge Llygo. Just before she released the Skill, something smacked her hard on the back of the head. For a moment the world spun. She saw stars, before her body slumped, and there was only darkness and pain.

  ?

  Brenin, King of Skilda, examined the light sheen of blood coating his pommel before glancing down at his spirited daughter, who lay unconscious by his hand. Not one to waste time, he snatched two of his clan’s guards from the battle and directed them to watch over her.

  Then, he grabbed a scrap of vellum and a quill. There was no ink, so he used blood to write a short message, not caring about the fight that raged around him. Any attack that was aimed his way was either redirected or bounced off his armour.

  When he was done writing, he rolled the letter up into a scroll and tucked it into one of Tyne’s pockets before taking a fiery amulet off his own neck and placing it around his daughter’s. He proceeded to pick up her limp body and walk over to a painting behind the throne, prying it off the wall and revealing a dark passage.

  The two guards were handed the young lady and directed to flee, head through the ancient forest, and make for the southern watchtower. Both the young and old man nodded dutifully, their eyes full of respect for their king. Brenin nodded once in return before he slammed his fist into the stone, collapsing the entrance to the tunnel.

  The ageing man took a moment to breathe before turning and striding towards the battle line. His appearance on the front immediately bolstered the islanders’ morale, and they began pushing back the foreigners, uncaring for the cost in lives.

  ?

  Vague dreams of blurry shapes, battle cries, and hands covered in blood haunted Tyne. She struggled against unconsciousness until, with the snapping of branches and the thundering of hooves, she awoke, and the nightmares bled away into so much smoke.

  In an instant, Tyne awoke, slumped over Swallow’s bareback and riding through a place that, despite its near-perfect darkness, she recognised immediately. The sounds of insects, loam, and the distant howl of monsters; without a doubt, she was in the ancient forest. Except, something was wrong.

  Clouds moved across the sky, revealing a full moon that enlightened Tyne. The trees were gone. For miles in all directions, the once towering, moss-covered oaks, pines, and beech trees were replaced by stumps. The forest that had stood since before people lived on Skilda had been gutted. At least, that was what she first thought, until she realised the tree line started anew a quarter of a mile ahead. The woods hadn’t quite been decimated, but it had suffered a blow at the hand of her attackers.

  The thought of the organised force that took her home by surprise, who wore no insignia she recognised, and who had killed Llygo, made her blood boil. The remnants of her headache evaporated when exposed to her anger. Her breath quickened, and she watched as plumes of condensation steamed up into the cold winter air.

  Noticing that their charge was awake, an armoured man, dressed in her clan’s colours and riding beside her, asked, “Are you alright?” Despite the innate concern the question expressed, the words were spoken with a sharpness that drew Tyne’s attention.

  In the darkness, she hadn’t noticed the two figures riding alongside her. “Who are you? Where is the enemy?” She asked, squinting until the forms resolved themselves. These were the two guards she’d met at the gate. The younger one, whom she had pushed off the wall, looked annoyed. The older man, who had shamed her into helping the former, now appeared stoic.

  The pair introduced themselves as Troed the younger and elder, respectively. The elder was the one to speak. He told her what the king told him: the castle had fallen, and they were to regroup at the southern watchtower.

  That caused Tyne’s anger to chill somewhat. She wanted nothing more than to turn around and attack the army that had routed the strongest inhabitants of Skilda, but she wasn’t stupid. There would be a chance to fight back, and despite her fiery nature, if her revenge required patience, she could be patient.

  They rode on, towards the forest. The moon hid away once more, sending them back into darkness. Nonetheless, the horses continued on with confidence.

  As soon as they entered the eerie embrace of the trees, Tyne felt a shiver run down her spine; something was wrong. She was too slow to notice the whispered voices, the breaths of men, and the glint of metal.

  There was a sharp whistling sound that preceded an explosion of blood and bone. Trode the younger’s head was no more. Trode the elder had just enough time to draw his sword before there came a second whistling, and his horse's knee was pulverised, sending him and his horse hurtling into the darkness.

  A third whistle pierced the night, but Tyne wasn’t about to freeze again. Acting on instinct, she threw herself from Swallow's back, narrowly missing an arrow that zipped overhead, cratering the trunk of a tree as it struck. Tyne’s only solace was that her horse continued on safely into the woods.

  She tumbled gracelessly before springing to her feet, covered in mud, sword in hand. Tyne expected the high-level Archer to finish her off from the shadows, but no fourth arrow came. Instead, three armoured soldiers emerged from the tree line – two khati and one stocky elf, bow in hand.

  The elf, clearly their leader, opened his mouth, a wicked smirk barely visible on his face. He was about to say something, but Tyne, adrenaline coursing through her, immediately triggered Charge, closing the distance between her and the nearest khati and taking him by surprise.

  Unfortunately, her swing was sloppy. The sword bounced off a chest plate before scraping up his face. Tyne didn’t hesitate to use her second Skill, Flurry of Blows. Three more strikes landed heavily on the dazed cat person, cutting them badly and putting them out of the fight, but it came at a cost; her opponent somehow scored a gash across her thigh, and while she felt the injury and the blood pouring down her leg, she was unable to feel the pain. To make matters worse, Tyne’s Stamina was down to a third, and she was already feeling winded.

  Seeing there was no time to gloat, the elf shouted at his second man to attack while he drew back his bow. The heavy-set khati tried to charge, but something snagged his leg. To the surprise of all, Trode the elder was still alive, if barely, pinned under his horse and unable to move anything from the waist down.

  Tyne’s momentum didn’t cease. She slashed at the khati, but her arms were already growing heavy, and all but one of the blows were caught by his mace. The one thrust that got through skimmed across his ribs, failing to land a lethal blow.

  Once more that whistling came. Tyne forewent her attack. She crouched low, then launched herself up, under the khati’s guard. With two arms around his waist, she pulled him backwards, into the spot she’d occupied a second before. A hole appeared in his chest as the arrow destroyed his organs, narrowly missing Tyne’s crouched form.

  The second khati died near-instantly, but Tyne had pulled him too vigorously, and his lifeless body fell atop her, pinning her to the ground. She used her high Agility to swiftly wriggle out from under the body, but not before a fifth arrow ended her second guard.

  She stood. The elf turned his bow to face her. With nothing to lose, Tyne activated Charge again, destroying the last of her Stamina to eliminate the distance between them.

  The elf was taken off guard, but Tyne lacked the energy to lift her sword and finish the job. Instead, she dropped her weapon and let the Skill continue to carry her forward, knocking them both down to tumble across the muddy forest floor.

  Tyne landed on top, exhausted, but that would hardly stop her. Like a woman possessed, she bit and clawed at her attacker.

  For a moment, it looked like she might win the fight with ferocity alone, but after a couple of nasty scratches, the higher-level Archer regained his composure. He wasn’t able to get out from under Tyne, but he was able to free a knife from his belt that he then began stabbing ruthlessly into her torso, arms, and legs.

  The attacks felt, to the frenzied young woman, like cold punches. She did her best to shrug them off, using the anger to fuel her next animalistic strike.

  She clawed out an eye.

  Smoke began rising from her bloody form.

  Her teeth crunched down, biting off the tip of his nose.

  The temperature started to increase, and the icy mud began to soften.

  The elf found the wound in her leg, stuck his blade in, and twisted.

  The pain drove her to new heights of anger, and she let out a cry as flames suddenly engulfed her.

  The next thing she knew, Tyne was breathing shallowly, leaning against a tree, the charred remains of a body stretched out before her and small fires dancing across branches. She had no idea what had happened, but she smiled. She had survived.

  Looking down at the body she could no longer feel, covered in holes and leaking blood, she amended her statement. She had won. Tyne hadn’t been able to avenge Llygo, but she hoped what she had managed would be enough.

  A rip appeared in space, across the road from her. Sunlight shone through from the other side, warming her skin and outlining the tall shape of what could only be an angel, sent to take her to Valhalla.

  His body was all lithe muscle and scars, the picture of a perfect warrior. As he approached with cat-like grace, his long dark hair swayed in the moonlight. Tyne felt all the regrets she had fade away. She was tired, too tired.

  Her eyelids drooped, but she forced them to stay open as the divine figure squatted before her, his glowing red eyes boring into her own, judging her.

  “Level 9? This is a trap,” he murmured to himself. Before Tyne could blink, the handsome figure was standing with half of a giant, grey, scaled axe in his hand.

  “What?” the woman breathed, confused. A red line appeared, splitting her vision horizontally. The world slipped in two as the top half of her head slid off the bottom. She hadn't even seen the strike that killed her before darkness claimed her once and for all.

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ed2tHbBDCx8