The Essence Wars - An Introduction

118 of the Sun’s Gaze, Novus

~~~

Two figures traversed the cavernous tunnel, only a dim torchlight to guide their path. 

It's ghastly flame illuminated the jagged formations, casting two massive shadows to their side. They adopted the role of stealth simply for safe measure, as their linen footwear distorted any sound from their footsteps.

The only sound, therefore, was the inevitable clanging of their steel bows from time to time. As they plunged deeper and deeper, the cave’s slope steepening, they felt their weapons smack their sides, the arrows rattling. They winced with every sound.

The two had been accomplices since their first experience training together, seeming to strengthen their reliance in skill to one another. Despite the warrior’s regimen constantly shifting, assigning them to new locations, tactics, and enemy targets, the two had always managed to pull strings (not inferring to their preference in archery) and fight side by side. They were always back to back, literally on some occasions. Lendrin, at nineteen, had learned comfort in his companion’s stubbornness. Rayle, nearing twenty-one, found herself finding relief in his oblivious nature. They matched each other like two ends of a blade, and had recently begun spending more time… privately.

Their descent into the cavern was their newest mission. Scouts reported back to the regimen that enemies had a storage of magical relics deep underneath.

“So, which of the enemy garrisons to you think we’re infiltrating?” Lendrin asked, apparently throwing away the whole ‘no sound’ approach.

Rayle tucked her pure-black hair into her coat. “I have a few guesses. The Black Guard, perhaps? Our city has made so many enemies I wouldn’t be surprised if it was even the Rolanders. Just be happy we’ve already dealt with the Servines… they’d hear us talking.”

She was surprised when he actually took the hint. He simply rubbed his chin and said nothing. They continued, less cautious than before, trudging along the path that was pre-marked for them on their map. Rayle was about to open her mouth when a searing pain tore at her leg. She swore. Examining the wound, she’d found an invisible force burned away a few layers of skin at one point.

“Magical barriers,” she guessed, after making sure no living thing was responsible. Despite both of them preferring the tactics with a string and arrows, Rayle had always been more aware of the mystical arts.

What happened next was too sudden for a reaction. A bolt of purple energy shot at tremendous speed from some unknown direction. Rayle frantically looked around, identifying a similarly colored rune marked on the wall, no doubt a magical trap. She turned back to Lendrin, about to scold his carelessness, until she saw his body slumped on the ground, pulsing with electricity.

It wasn’t the only thing. Lines of bright purple crawled along the walls, ground, and ceiling of the tunnel, pulsing like a shockwave. Rayle found tears already at her cheeks when she rushed to her partner’s side. She didn’t care that the light was probably an alarm. She didn’t care she had to move. And she certainly didn’t give two craps about the mission. She just wanted her best friend to open his eyes, and tell her he was okay...

~~~

Sorr stirred the kettle gingerly despite his shaking hands, his eyes eager for the warm soup. The biting cold had begun to make him nonsensical, him not even realizing he had packed extra provisions. It was his eighth day in the cavern, though it was merely an estimate by how many times his body wanted to sleep. Not that that was the most comforting option, as the jagged ground of stone was only softened by a thinly-woven sheet of cloth. Sure, his makeshift den would not stand up to par with, say, the mansion of the Arrow Council. But he didn’t exactly have the most time to prepare, with royal guard searching for his head.

Waiting for his meal to bubble by the fire, Sorr ran his hand along his prickly face. He chuckled, realizing his hair must be even worse. At one point he considered administering a shave with his cooking knife, but it only flung a few drops of blood, one of which finding its way into the brew.

“Knives shouldn’t even be this sharp,” he muttered. “Wonder what my ex would say. Probably nothing, not to me. That, or she’d take even the knife, along with everything else.” His scowl became a distorted grin from ear-to-ear. “Talking to myself, eh? Say that’s the first sign of madness.”

Losing his patience, Sorr tipped the kettle into his mouth, hands continuing to shake. He relished the burning liquid as it seeped down his throat. It almost found its way back up, however, when a flashing light spurred throughout the cave. His alarm runes have gone off.

Perhaps an animal? Wanderers? Or could it be his pursuers? As was his old habit, he fell back on his anxiety. Completely shifting his frame of mind, his paranoia became control, though his entire body shook. Hands glowing a deep violet, he pressed against the ground with immense force, so much so that his wrists might have snapped. If that were to happen, he might not have known anything other to do but laugh.

His activation ritual finished, he eased his tensed muscles and sprawled back against his cloth. He put his best effort out. If it were to fail, and he was killed in his sleep, it would simply be a load off his mind.

~~~

Rayle was no stranger to fear and grief, but nothing could have prepared her for this hopelessness. She lay clutching Lendrin’s chest, his eyes unresponding, and his heartbeats slowing. Streams of tears soaked her neck. The flashing along the cavern was would not stop, each pulse like a jab into her skin. Her other hand rested on his bow. For some odd reason, it faintly eased her pain.

She jumped as a solid rattling echoed from behind her. She had to rub her red eyes, the tears flooding her vision. Even after her eyes had cleared, she still did not trust them. They showed her various stones, of all shapes and sizes, rolling on their own. The rolling became collective spinning, and the spinning became levitating. About thirty or forty stones arranged themselves in the air.

The flashing of the alarm had ceased, but a new light had taken its place. This time, its source was the swarm of rocks, which was beginning to take the shape of a body. After moments of awed silence, she realized that that was exactly what it was doing. They became a very, very rough outline of a faceless person. Where a face would be, however, was another magical glyph, glowing the same color. The stones became held in place by both light and static electrical pulses, a blend of pinks and purples that could only have been magic.

Rayle swore again. A magical construct? She didn’t need this. She didn’t need anything that had happened that day. In fact, she denied it to herself, the ludicracy of it all. Lendrin was fine. Soon he would wake her, and they would share breakfast, talking about… anything. Her eyes swelled. Anything....

At first, the mindless figure did nothing. As stones from different corners of the cave started circling, however, she knew that more would form. Rayle readied her bow, eager to shake all emotions aside. But she hesitated, then exchanged it for Lendrin’s. She still wasn’t sure why.

Her first shot struck the construct dead in the glyph. The figure’s glow faded, and the stones fell, as if they had been nothing. If it wasn’t for the demanding concentration that action required, she would almost have been awed by her perfect aim. It was certainly a first.

But a feeling swelled inside of her. She had dismissed it as grief before the shot, but now…

A frightening shock tore at her shoulder. She spun, seeing another being grabbing her towards itself, along with another three forming constructs. In half a second, she pulled back her bowstring and released it at its central stone. Again, the rocks collapsed, this time on her. She found herself in a daze; she never had such skill before, not alone. It took her several moments to piece together what was happening.

She considered this realization as she fought off the mystical creations, arrow after arrow flying, very few managing to miss. She never possessed this much skill alone, and she never would. But she wasn’t alone. Since her hands touched Lendrin’s bow, she felt him there with her. She felt everything: his playfulness, his warm gaze, his brute skill. It wasn’t grief. It was the only explanation; simply wielding his bow, she had gained his ability, and they fought as one.

This was the first instance of such a reaction occurring. Later she would discover the speciality behind the origins of his weapon.

How it’s properties allowed the very energy of it’s deceased wielder to be absorbed.

How this transaction powered the weapon into a state beyond imaginable.

How, upon mass production, such weapons would change warfare forever.

Thus sparked the Essence Wars.