Jewel focused.
She did not speak, the words were just a tool.
A guide to tame and direct the raw emotion of her flame.
A groove dug into the intent of the working.
At least that was the best guess that Tsulogothulan and Urul could give on the nature of Wyrmish sorcery.
She breathed gently, softly, focusing on the lines that had been laid down for her within Baron Kliatbatrn’s flesh and bone. Into the core of his body. He had lived through the past five days only because of her direct supervision and command.
But even stepping back for a few hours could be enough for his heart and lungs to falter and give out again.
Tsulogothulan and Jewel had to take vigil over the baron in shifts.
But it was a battle they were not winning.
The safe workings were not enough, the blessings that the priests were willing to beseech the gods for did little better.
He could be restored, his flesh given vigor, his heart beat made strong. His throat cleared and so his breath was steady. But some accursed spirit (which defied Jewel and Tsulogothulan’s attempts to find it!) always wracked over him again.
It was frustrating Tsulogothulan. The inability to ‘clear his waters’ or keep him hale despite drawing his body back to the peak of all apparent strength.
It had dimmed the mood of his wife as well.
Jewel could not blame her, when even a so-called sorcerous wyrm and a Wizard of the calibre of a Weird could not sustain a man’s life, what hope was there?
She had promised the woman she would try to save the baron.
She had been spending the days trying to keep his youngest son from falling to incontinent weeping as Gem.
Jewel had only just met this family but it was achingly familiar.
How the absence of the Father was felt.
So she had to try.
Reach for greater sorcery then she yet fully knew.
It hasn't worked so far.
But Jewel was a dragon!
She could reshape the flesh of a thousand men with a curse!
Why couldn't she cure this one man back of what ails him!? What fearsome working could hide itself from her sight?!
Tsulogothulan had been frustratingly hesitant to recommend they try something more serious. The words were spoken of how much of a risk it was to leave the man she wanted to save irrevocably changed.
Stolen story; please report.
But he was already barely more than a breathing corpse.
Jewel could feel how weakly he lived despite their efforts. She could feel the world in him as a faltering force. Like an army on the verge of routing.
She focused on that feeling, of trying to rally the force of the man she knew back to life.
Tsulogothulan’s commands on his flesh, the bending of the fauxfire. Ephemeral and lightly changing of the man. Nothing permanent by the work of her friends sorcery.
But it acted as a guide for her own deeper touch.
The command she willed from her throat into his flesh. Wyrmflame not even touching the air, not sparking in even the faintest light. Passing directly from her silent tongue to the grooves and furrows of Tsulogothulan’s work.
Replacing and deepening what her friend dared not commit too.
Jewel had not been aware of what she had done when she cursed the men. The impression had been vague and unfocused.
The world had taken her anguished plea and made it manifest.
Made the change for a tithe on her flame that had taken years to fully recover.
Now Jewel offered her flame up to the world and the body of this man. She pleaded, she cajoled and she offered up her flame like silver and gold coins in a market.
Laying a sparse frame of her intent. Like the platforms that had been erected before the laying of stones for her manor. Like a sparse sketch on parchment before committing ink to precious vellum.
An intent, a plan, but nothing solid yet.
She hoped it would be enough.
Surely this time it would be enough to show the world what she needed.
Her attention, the working of the wizard and her own flame once again drew the world’s attention. It was lazy, fuzzy, frantic, fizzing, flighty, muddled.
Both too fast and too slow.
Jewel pressed more flame into the working, she moved up and down the man’s body with this trickle of power. Feeding his body. Following the guide of a Weird’s sorcery.
Trying to show what she wanted.
Knitting and Reknitting flesh healthier, heartier, closer to the memory she had of the man at his prime. Living, breathing, vital and whole.
Not this wasted thing left stinking and rotting in a bed.
As it had before his heart beat, his lungs filled, the viscera of his guts shifted and did things Jewel did not understand but Tsulogothulan assured men needed to do. So her friend’s sorcery guided, working up his neck and over his face and head.
Cheeks filling out, Jewel focused, she wanted to meet her friend’s eyes again. To speak with him again.
But she kept her focus.
Tsulogothulan’s warnings had been very dire.
Her flame and intent had to go only where the Wizard led.
The man’s body seized as the last of their combined working took root. The world stirred as the last thread of flame left Jewel’s lips. Like a thread closing the weave of cloth in a knot.
And as they had tried before something took root within the man again. His muscles clenching up and down him. Sweat bursting from his pores, a deep sour stink and a sudden wracking cough as he exhaled.
Tsulogothulan turned him onto his side so he could spit up the terrible thick sludge that spilled from his lungs.
His bowels filled the room with stink as once more his body expelled rot and foulness from every passage it could find. Water and broth already waiting was brought to cleanse and restore what he lost.
And as before he settled back to sleep. Seeming healthy again.
But Jewel had seen this three times before with shallower workings.
She would stand vigil through the night to see if the hidden nemesis had at last been purged.
If she had finally succeeded where all their other attempts had failed.
Tsulogothulan’s hand ran along the scales of Jewel’s neck.
Offering comfort.
Jewel desperately hoped it would not be needed.
Surely this time they succeeded?
