Shawn and Vena began to settle into a rhythm. Each day, they rose with the sun, broke camp, and got moving. They talked about combat strategy and the greatest fighters of different regions. Shawn even managed to sneak in a couple questions about the political states of the world without looking too clueless. The world, apparently, was divided into five Realms.
Helmengard, the Frozen Reach, Osirall, the Whispering Desert, Vinrax, the Poison Swamp, Kelsingdale, the Realm Basket, and, of course, Vallain, the Undying Forest.
Helmengard was ruled by the current King, Sturmik, and was responsible for the greatest smithing money could import. They valued separation above all, preferring to stick with their own rather than actively seek inter-Realm relations. Their steel was stuff of legends though, their main export, and it was said to be blessed by the gods.
Osirall was governed by Emperor Azimuth, a fair and stern ruler. He had raised his people from the brink of revolution to become one of the most beautiful and cultural places in the world. Theirs was a place of color and spice, beauty in every direction.
Vinrax had no leader, being as it was a lawless waste of swamp and monsters. The greatest of the great had disappeared without a trace there, and myths ran rampant about it.
Kelsingdale was run by Duke Ross, a fundamentally good man, if with a bit of a weakness for food and drink. Kelsingdale was aptly named the Realm Basket, as it had some of the most fertile and life-giving soil in the world. The entire Realm was devoted to the production of crops and livestock. Their wine and cheese had been said to bring a tear to a receiving king's eye.
The Longstriden, the gathering place of the Allies, was a prominent region in Kelsingdale, second only to the seat of power, Ferndel. There were delegates of political power and magical adeptness alike, hailing from every Realm. They didn't have much in common, but for their belief in the prophecy–“The Proroknora,” Vena had quickly corrected–and their interest in keeping the world alive.
They were not lightly summoned, but Vena believed they could truly help him, and he, them. Privately, Shawn thought that it was a tall ask for him to do anything, much less save the world, but he kept that to himself. He didn’t need another stick to the solar plexus.
In the evenings, they sparred and trained with stick swords as well as grappling, fistfighting, and, rarely, archery. Over the past three days, Shawn could actively feel himself improving. His stances came easier, his grip stronger, and his technique sharper. Alternatively, when Shawn was too bruised for another beating, he practiced his runes. He took a seat by the fire and untied his pouch from where it hung at his belt.
Hunger, Fire, Earth, and Energy. He’d cast them all before, to varying success. The Earth rune had been greatly promising, allowing him to sculpt small amounts of dirt through intent, which was surprisingly responsive. He was considering the possibilities of large scale stone-molding when an idea struck him. He could channel his power of sorts through his body and into his runes, so why not try two at once? Sure, it would be exhausting, but practice would help. He settled down to attempt it, excited at the prospect.
Staring into the fire, he stretched out one hand, focusing his intent. Then, pushing as he had done before, he moved his energy down from his chest, where it seemed to gather, to his shoulder, then to his bicep. There, he met familiar resistance. The magic seemed to dissipate farther from his chest, requiring a larger buildup to move further. Shawn grit his teeth, packing energy into the bicep, until it began sliding through his arm. It reached his elbow, built up once more, then pushed out to his hand, slowly oozing to the tips of each digit.
However, instead of allowing it to immediately rush out and ignite the rune, he grabbed a second rune in his left hand. Fire. Holding the energy in his right in place, he agonizingly pushed more power out into his left hand, even slower now that he had to split his focus to keep the power pooled in his right from destabilizing.
Fifteen minutes later, covered with sweat, he stood with power gathered in both palms, clutching his Earth and Fire runes tightly. He took a moment to brace himself, gathering his focus, and pushed. The energy flew from his palms, tracing the intricate paths the runes made, and projecting into the air, twisting into the expected shape of Earth and Fire.
Stolen story; please report.
But there. A deviation. The sharp, efficient design of the Earth rune curved, twisting upwards, combining with the fundamental shape, the feeling of Fire. And it twisted once more, completing its shape, then blasted from his palms, together. A brief flow of molten rock launched from his hands, landing on a log and immediately lighting it on fire. It was rapidly cooling, not retaining heat at all, but it was…progress. Shawn had created something new. Magma.
Vena jerked awake in her bedroll at the whoop.
“So it combines when I cast them at the same time. Good to know. Very, very good to know.”
She groaned. “What are you doing? Trying to keep me awake all night?”
“But I’ve made progress, Vena. Not just following the basic paths anymore.” Shawn paused for effect. “I’m creating my own.”
“Your own runes?’
Shawn faltered. “Well, maybe not my own. More like…combining two compatible shapes into one.” He pointed at the cooled, steaming lump of rock amid embers. “Fire and Earth. When I cast them together, it made Magma.”
“Well. Look at you, creating sad lumps of rock all by yourself. Aren’t you special?”
“Hey, I’m happy with my sad lump of rock. It makes me feel all accomplished and stuff-”
A sudden crack split the clearing as a noise sounded in the underbrush. Vena sat up straighter, hand going for her sword beside her bedroll. “What?”
Instantly, a shape flew from the brush, unfolding into the flickering light. At first glance, it resembled a large black dog, albeit 4 feet tall and 3 feet wide. And outfitted with razor sharp fangs, dripping with saliva. It gnashed and snapped, bounding at Shawn, who barely had time to throw himself to the ground before it flew past, shredding a tree branch in its path.
“What is that thing?!”
Vena was on her feet, her sword bare in the light. “It’s called a Darkhound. Nasty creatures with a certain power over shadows.” She took a breath, staring at the hound. “And very annoying to kill.”
The Darkhound turned, setting itself. Its muscles bunched as it sprung at Shawn once more, narrowly missing his arm as he scrambled back.
“And watch out for its claws!” shouted Vena. “They contain a toxin that you do not want in your body.” She charged the beast, slashing upwards as she did. The hound shifted, blocking the sword with its massive claw, then lunged, snapping at Vena. She spun, swinging for its flank, but it sidestepped, retaliating with a claw to her side. Vena rolled to the other side of the camp and charged again.
Shawn’s mind whirled. How could he possibly help Vena? She was evenly matched, and he couldn't be more than dead weight. The horrifying thing was, the hound was learning. It wasn't simply a dumb beast. Shawn could see its slight anticipation of Vena’s swings, while not always correct, but always adjusting. Eventually it would grind her down.
But Shawn could help.
He grabbed for his runes as Vena continued fighting, a slash at the ribs, a parry against the claws, a slide to avoid a snap to the face, and he unstrung his rune pouch.
Fire seemed the most reliable rune to do the most damage. He palmed it in his right hand, and began the familiar process of pushing his energy down his arm. His urgency bled into the task, and he shoved his energy faster, breaking through the same connections in his elbow and bicep faster. It pooled in his fingers and Shawn took a breath.
“Vena!” he shouted. Her eyes flicked to him, taking in his outstretched hand and concentration, and she understood. She leapt backwards, striking at the hound’s leg as she did so, forcing it not to follow.
And Shawn unleashed fire.
A torrent of flame burst from his palm, engulfing the hound’s left side. The clearing filled with oppressive heat, accompanied by the smell of burning fur and charring skin. The blast continued for about five seconds before Shawn shut it off, swaying on his feet. The hound, charred and disfigured on its upper left shoulder and along its body slowly raised to its feet, keening. Its cry was at once the roar of a hunter and the crying of an animal in a trap. It wavered, then collapsed to the ground.
Vena and Shawn stood in shock for a moment.
“Wow. I guess those runes of yours are helpful,” said Vena, slamming her sword back into its scabbard.
Shawn just looked down at his hand in awe.
What direction do you think the story will go?
