AC 2021 - Final - Storm Veritas

[Storm Veritas]

Soft, warm light woke him as he floated, drifting in air on what felt ethereal. Fortunately for the traveler, he knew himself not to be in the afterlife, but rather being carried across the Tular Plains. The rancid odor of sulfur overwhelmed him, snapping him from a pleasant rest. He struggled to open his eyes, the sun now high above them, and noticed he was being carried in netting that was very comfortable, almost a hammock. His mouth was horribly dry, tongue feeling coated with stone dust. His entire body ached terribly, a countless barrage of sharp pains screaming for attention from all of his extremities. In front of him, a large, lithe, athletic figure was marching, ebony skin shining in the sun as he silently strode ahead.

Elf?

Indeed, the dark elves were moving him. Was he assumed a co-conspirator with the dwarves? Being carried off to execution? The possibilities flooded his brain as he attempted to gather information. To his left, debris and wreckage; plumes of soot-heavy smoke twisting harmlessly to the skies. To his right, another elf, this one very familiar.

“Cazri!” His voice was weak, his attempt to call out muffled as though through a thick mask. Her eyes caught whomever or whatever was carrying the back end of the hammock, and returned to the wizard with a very telling shut up don’t say a word type of gaze. Fatigue hung over her like a veil; she, too looked dusty and battered, but could walk.

“Rest, human. You’re lucky to be alive. You’ll have answers to provide at camp.” The carrying elf marched ahead, speaking in a baritone voice that lacked empathy.

Saddened, confused, and still very much aching, Storm felt the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes. Perhaps the complete ringer of fear and regret he had just endured simply broke his spirit. Perhaps the embrace of death, followed by survival, and now near-certain death, was the end of the road.

You’re alone. We saved the gods-damned world, and now I’m being carried off for slaughter.

Silently the electromancer suffered, his body screaming and spirit broken. He prayed to the gods his parents had once taught him of, long before the gifted mage had been blessed with talents that rendered the gods typically unnecessary. At some point in the silent march his body yielded once more, plunging him into a deep slumber that offered him very needed rest.