#sitting in my evil ass lair rocking back and forth giggling

[ecotone99]

Wanderlust Fatigue [FN] [HR]

It's so quiet. So lonely. Faint flickering flames, their orange light reflecting off of the rusted edges of the blades littering the cave floor. Their partners laid nearby, lifeless, and broken, their hollow eyes staring vacantly into oblivion. Empty shells that once housed great men and women, little more than carrion. So easily the gift of life is robbed of them.

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They were different a couple hours ago. Silver blades poised to cut my head off, men and women alike adorned in magicked armors with confident smiles that emboldened the likelihood of evil's end. Can an undead feel fear? Relishing at how prepared they are, their optimism, because we shared the same goal in mind. Eternal rest for yours truly.

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The tragedy doesn't truly begin until the moment we make eye contact. The desire to kill, the hunger for blood and violence, that basic desire to crush and destroy. He talked a lot with his eyes.

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A deep discomfort brewed within, boiling, a familiar pain that starts inciting all manner of fear and panic from me. This thing that I am, crawling back from them, struggling to speak, trying to get those words out, in any way. Oh gods, not now. Trembling, shaking, bones rattling against themselves, and they're too blind to realize that it's already over. Much like any hope I have of finally dying once and for all.

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It all boils over in a flash of brilliant electric blue light, expelling forth and flooding the whole cave in a single moment. There is no screams, just the soft faint sound of hissing smoke and metal hitting the stone floor. There's no point in seeing to know what must be happening. Right now, they're having their souls liberated from their bodies, the very fluids within their flesh boiling free along with their essence. Coming out in a thick smoke out of their pores and orifices and it just gets sent into the light. It's happened so many times before.

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It goes dark just as fast, leaving my jaw still hanging open wide, unable to shut. Touching it with the tips of my mummified fingers, barely able to feel much anymore, the swaying of the bone tells all. Dislocated from the force. Even after resetting the jaw, there's no point in getting up from this rock. Gazing upon their bodies, it's not hard to guess where they came from, the coat of arms on their armor and the crests tell a lot about where a group hail from. They've been hunting me, probably for a while. The swords are a clear indicator of that, first instinct was that they were pure silver, but they look more an alloy mix of silver. Everything they're wearing from closer inspecting shows much more signs of being less than what I'd hoped for.

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Perhaps the armor was magic resistant? There's certainly a possibility they were prepared for that at least. Calling upon old incantations, tracing letters, diagrams, letting all of that ancient magic well forth into the palms and fingers of my hands. It's moments like these where it's almost like I'm alive again, whether it's the aura of magic or just doing something of my own accord for a change, "Lann Lasair."

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No matter how often it's cast, the results always come as a surprise. The sudden intense heat, the loud bang and overwhelming knock-back that used to leave me with a sore ass as an apprentice. A thick haze of smoke filled the air, the soft crackling of embers, the ping of metal, and the settling of rocks falling and clattering against the ground. Cleared out the bodies fast, the ones that are still visible didn't look very good, torn apart and mutilated from the force of the explosion. Their armor did nothing to hinder it, in fact it seemed to worsen the blast by acting as shrapnel.

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So that magicked armor didn't protect from spells. What was it meant for? Decoration? Did they know what they were running into? No, they had some idea, otherwise they wouldn't have been so confident. Maybe they thought they had a chance just because they saw me without a legion of undead? Still, they should have had more variation in their party. They weren't prepared. I don't think they ever could have been prepared for me.

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Walking through the ruination, in the smoke, my mind wanders and reminisces.

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'Lann Lasair? Why did you name your spell that?'

Our eyes meet, mid-sentence in that old spell book, the smell of burnt breakfast and creek water lingering in the air. Her long light brown hair hanging down in little strips that run over the pages of my tome, the rest are pulled back into a half-effort bun, freckled skin over her cheeks and nose, green eyes and a clearly amused mischievous grin.

'Huh, what do you mean?'

The confusion causing a slight change in tone in my voice, a squeak, causing her to giggle.

'I mean, why not just the regular old 'Fire spear' or something?'

'Well, I intend to improve on it. It doesn't quite have the strength I want in a spell.'

A little tug against the back of my hood, her hands already moved behind her back like she's doing absolutely nothing wrong. Sneaky girl, she loves to torment me.

'What's your problem with it?'

'It's just weird, isn't it?'

'More like you're being weird about it.'

A third voice pipes in, sitting between us, a warm arm draping over my shoulders and pulling me in. Already, my face feels warm, unable to keep writing anymore with the growing amount of people. Yet, it makes my heart swell being so close to him. Can't even get the words out to say anything anymore.

'I'm fond of his spell names, we've got our quirks, right?'

It's hard to look up at him, the sunlight obscures his face but it's perfect for him. Golden crown of hair, his tan skin, the faint musk he has after tending to his armor, the way his clothes look on him.

'Looks like someone has a crush.'

Turning over to look at her, catching that Cheshire grin, big and playful as always. Did it always get this hot around here? What is it with her and reading people!?

'S-shut up, Riva.'

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Reality comes back, my face no longer burning with love, just empty with wrappings and desiccated flesh clinging to bones. Clutching over where my heart once was, thinking back to those times long ago, it is just baggage now. Longing for times that I can never return to. People that are long dead. It's all my fault. I deserve all of this, and all I want is to die. Yet, I can't even have that.

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Walking out of the cave, into the brilliant light and the golden morning, and for a second I see his face. No matter what, I can hear his voice. Feel his warmth, his love, and it hurts. Sometimes, I even miss her teasing and games. It wasn't all terrible. We were an odd family. The more of us that came into it, the happier we became. I just wish those times stayed.

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"Someone's coming out now! See, you're just overreacting."

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Immediately, there were hands ceasing each arm, touching, examining, confused questions and noises, "Wow, what in the hell did that thing do to you? We heard all of the noises and saw the lights, but damn. How bad was it?"

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Are these people idiots or something, can they not tell a corpse when they're touching one? I mean, I'm not the most rotten one in the world, but... "I-I'm fine, but the others aren't so fortunate. They were killed in the explosion, I'm afraid. I don't know if there's any other survivors, I was lucky enough to have gotten out of there with my own life."

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"Crap, the boss man thought this mission smelt foul from the start, but losing so much here like this. Even the boss himself. It's gonna mess things over pretty badly. Not to mention our pay."

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They're pretty much talking to each other, their hold slipping and grip loosening. It didn't take long just to get out of their clutches altogether. Slipping away from those few, disorganized and disillusioned grunts to escape behind the boulders and brush.

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Fixing the bindings around each limb, the dusty gray bandages upon desiccated flesh, tying them off and trying to keep pace down the side of the hill. After a few hours, the thought of being found is nothing more than just an afterthought.

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"We're sorry, Mi'lord. They were unable to defeat the creature."

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The old king laid back in his throne, trembling in anger, knocking aside the wine glass on the arm of his chair. Covering his face with a hand, the look on his face was a mix of rage and fatigue, the light piercing through the windows obscuring most of his face.

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"Were they able to do anything?"

Still unable to raise his head, the scout shook his head, "No, sire. Most were slaughtered in its lair. The few still outside fled the moment their leader perished."

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A disappointed sigh, the old man shifted his gaze to his side, no longer interested in the scout's words. Mostly on his own thoughts once again, "It's probably for the best that the lot of them fled while they had the chance. This is what I get for hiring bandits, but this still provides a good opportunity."

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"Sire?"

"We've fought this thing before, and in the times we've dealt with it. It's never stayed in its burrow. In all likelihood, it must have fled its den. This is the best chance we have to kill it."

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Crippled by old age, he attempts to get up from his throne, struggling up to his feet using his golden cane. A couple guards move to his side, but he shoos them aside. Walking to the scout, he places a hand upon his shoulder, "Go and inform the head captain that it's time to bring our hunt to an end. We're finishing this little game. Rout the beast."

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Emboldened, he salutes enthusiastically, his hand placed close to his heart, "Yes, sire!"

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