Lilly Hiraeth and Wendigo find themselves in a rather precarious situation.

Lilly belongs to   Libitina !

Art by   Reiser !

Story by me.

-Steel for humans-


The air within the catacombs was stiff with the rancid scent of death, the signs of pain, and scarlet long gone rotten. The guests wandered through the dark innards of the structure, their minds dead set on retrieving their prize.

Lilly Hiraeth was one of many students of the Mage’s Guild. Located in the capital of the plane the institution is prized for producing the kingdom’s leading arcane practitioners, providing expertise in all the expected Schools of Magic; Alteration, Mental, Elemental, Necromancy, Morph and including the hybrid’s choice of profession, Alchemy. Unlike the other Schools which focused on manipulating accepted physical laws to achieve a desired result, such as conjuring flame from thin air or manipulating the biological functions of an active or dormant body, Alchemy focused primarily on achieving results by strictly adhering to the realm’s governed physical laws, such as turning a lump of coal into a diamond through complex chemical process. Given the fact that Alchemy leans more towards the conscious scientific route rather than the endless sea of possibility that is the Arcane, some people tend to believe that the School has no place within the Guild. Lilly thought otherwise.

There is always a certain challenge when practicing Alchemy, running an unknown gambit with unknown results. You never know what mixing of chemicals will produce what, a healthy elixir or a volatile concoction. You never know what combined metals will produce what. What level of heat, what substances, what measurements. So many variables that can result in so many long-frustrating nights and painful retries, yet the jackalope-rabbit tried again and again, feeling a peculiar sense of giddiness much akin to unearthing a long-lost treasure or a forbidden secret, meant for her and her alone. Like the Arcane, the scientific has an endless sea of possibilities; you just need a keen eye and an even keener mind. And like the Arcane, it could harness magical properties for better or for worse.

She had studied in the Guild and produced miraculous results. Regenerative cocktails. Explosive residues. Metal conversions. Rank poisons. Curative therapeutics. Her performance was beyond satisfactory, quickly climbing up the ranks and being on the verge of reaching the stature of Master at a surprising young age. Yet to reach an extraordinary position within the Mages’ society, one must perform an extraordinary feat as dictated by their curriculum. She chose her dissertation topic and the Guild agreed to finance her endeavors even if they didn’t approve.

Vitae. She had to concoct Vitae.

One of the most complex alchemical substances ever brewed, it is a liquid capable of renewing long dead cells, turning even the most damaged downtrodden into healthy, living beings. Although Vitae did possess many components that could be acquired within the physical plane, there was one substance that allured her. Shadow Essence, a soul stone housing the spirits of a thousand victims, prohibited from production by the King for obvious ethical reasons. The product of Dark Necromancy, the stone is said to possess incredible energy. Whoever inserts the gem into their being is said to acquire “life beyond life”. Impure immortality. Cheating death. Borrowed time. The bearer of the stone will acquire the life of those trapped inside it but if the item were to be forced out, it’d end them.

In the Northern Wilderness lay the kinsman cemetery of a long dead Baron. The Baron, wanting to prolong his rule, used his fortune to acquire a Shadow Essence from a black-market vendor. A forceful insertion straight into the chest. It was meant to grant him centuries of life, but to his horror, the stone was the death of him. There was no “life beyond life”. He died there on his bed, the gem stuck deep in his chest and impossible to remove. Fearful, his relatives buried him deep within the confines of their ancestral cemetery, stone still inside him. The laws dictated that forging such a stone is illegal, but keeping it is a whole other ordeal. A tool to serve one to be converted to aid the many. And the one, if you think about it.

Years have passed resulting in the Baron’s lineage pool dying and wildlife, mundane and magical, having taken over the area surrounding the cemetery. A challenge. Her goal was set but she needed an escort to accompany her. She knew exactly where to find one. Coin being such a good wonder after all.

The Warrior’s Guild was the home of the Wendigo. A rowdy place full of brawl and coin transactions.
She had enough funds to hire one person so she was extra careful. The quartermaster redirected her to the Wendigo, one of his most “prized” warriors. A man of young age, long ember hair, a lean build brandishing some scars, molten gold eyes and most peculiarly, antlers. She thought the man was of mixed heredity like herself, but he was quick to dispel her assumption.

He was damned. Accursed. Spots in the Hell circles reserved for him, hence why all the other members kept their distance. A beast stuck in human form.

“He’s the man for the job. Got some skill, decent brains, and a body that can take a beating. A cannibal you see, forever starving, forever damned to walk the Earth. His type are the best for these kinds of messes, all this magical junk. Don’t worry, he won’t hurt you, as long as his curse doesn’t kick in.”

She informed the man of her task, making sure to remind him on several instances the importance of her find. By law the quartermaster had to tell him the information about his client as well. He nodded graciously. “Rest assured, you’re in safe hands.”

“Heh, loyal as a hound, too.” snarked the quartermaster. The Wendigo gave him a cold look that screamed “I’m going to eat your limbs.”

The duo prepared for the journey. The Wendigo equipped attire that favored mobility over defense, leggings and a single leather gauntlet glove protecting his dominant arm. He brought his Marauder Sword to the scene, a blade he acquired on one of his more “messy” contracts; the sword of the target, made of dragon scale, light and strong.

Hiraeth dressed more suitably; leather armor, boots, gloves, leggings, cloak and breastplate to defend herself against the elements. Although she was far from being military stock, her poison arrows would do the work. She packed her satchel with any necessary herbs for healing, powders for when necessary.

“You’re going well prepared.” he noted.

“Doesn’t hurt to go prepared. We’ll need it in case you and I get injured along the way. You’ll be surprised what a few plants and aqua can do.”

“I appreciate the foresight, but pack only for yourself. I can manage just fine.”

With the money having exchanged hands, the Alchemist and her newfound guardian ventured to the Northern Wilderness via horseback, the Wendigo at the front as to deal with any incoming pests, be it Herders, Spiders or Spiked Fiends. The territory had long been abandoned by sentient life thus the magical and the wicked were free to reclaim the land as their own.

The cemetery was only half a day’s ride, the longest but easiest part of their quest.

They reached the grounds of the resting as the sun was about to go down, the sky a dull blue. Tall rusted gates, spiked gothic origin fitting for their stature and era. The tomb entrance was erected with pure marble stone but the vines and years of irrigation have not been kind.

As they were tying the horses’ reins to the gate, he asked her if she could “smell it” in a semi cocky manner.

“Yeah, smells like a cemetery alright.”

“No, I wasn’t referring to that.” he said, taking a great whiff of air. “All the Dark Magic in here. Its practically soaked into the foundations of the cemetery. God, we’re practically choking in it.”

“I don’t think I follow…”

He tapped the tip of his nose. “One of the benefits of being a product of miracle is that you can sense the rest of the world’s miracles. One of the few benefits from my condition you see.”

She let out a long exaggerated ‘oh’.

“And by the way, you never did tell me your name.”

“You can call me Wendigo.”

“That’s the name of your species. I was asking about your birthname.”

He fingered the hilt of his blade and eyed the tomb entrance. “I don’t need a name.”

She couldn’t stop but find the answer amusing. “You don’t need a name?”

“I was brought into this world without a name and my title has proven sufficient. Come on, the sooner we finish this charade the sooner will the quartermaster give me my pay.”
Drawing an arrow from her quiver, she took a deep breath and braced herself. “Alrighty then. Lead the way, Mr. Wendigo.”

The floors were stained with dried crimson. They weren’t the first ones here, not by a longshot.
Lilly soon found out what he meant by smell of Black Magic. The inhabitants of the tomb were resurrected as zombies, some skeletal in nature clad only in their bourgeoisie burial garments whilst others still had the random rope of flesh hanging here and there. The raiders were no better. Their skulls were withered so dispatching their brains was quick and efficient, at least for Lilly who had the luxury of picking her foes from a distance. Wendigo on the other hand had to go up close and personal with his Marauder Sword. He got bit and clawed yet he did not mind. The blood drippled back into him and the flesh bound itself together like threading.

“You can regenerate.” she said as she withdrew her arrow from a zombie’s skull. “One of your many “gifts” I take it?”

“Yeah, except the damn thing won’t let me die.”

The zombies were weak and easy to dispatch, only advantage they had was in their stubbornness and numbers. The Wendigo took the vanguard and the brunt of their attacks while Lilly concocted some corrosive vapors to deal with the masses. With time and effort, the horde was quelled.

Deeper into the guts of the structure was their destination. They reached a great hall, an elevated patio at the far end of the chamber signaled their attention while down at the bottom were what appeared to be hundreds of small coffins.

The Wendigo spat the words out. “Zealous bastard buried his own servants with him. Pathetic.”

At the ready, they walked up to the point where the tomb of the Baron lay. They pried open the sarcophagus and found, to their surprise, a fresh corpse, still warm as if he was slain yesterday.

“Look!” she squawked, pointing at his chest. A sizable, rough gem of pure onyx was jabbed into his ribs. “It’s the Shadow Essence!”

He put the blade in his sheathe and proceeded to at least try to pull out the gem. “Jabbed in nicely... Come on now…come out you stubborn piece of...”

“Just be careful! That’s my diploma you’re toying with…”

“Trust me, I’ve got this. Just…give…me…time!”

With all his force, he pulled the shard out of the cadaver in a satisfying tug. Lilly hastily opened her satchel wide, eagerly waiting for him to secure their prize.

Careful, he put their spoil in the bag and she hurriedly closed the container. “Hey…is it me or is this, I don’t know, just a little bit too easy?”

Scrape.

Scrape.

Scrape.

Groan.

At the sound of the commotion, the Wendigo cringed and turned to look at the dead rising from their coffins. The Baron’s long dead servants, decayed and hungry. Hungry for the two intruders.

“You’re new to this whole crypt raiding thing, am I correct?”

“Yes…”

“Alright. Always keep your mouth shut unless you’re absolutely certain everything is defeated or otherwise dead, even if everything is well, dead. This wouldn’t be a stereotype unless it was true and common to an extent.”

She eyed the dead clawing up the steps. “I don’t have enough acid for all of them...”

“And I don’t have the patience to indulge them.”
 
Hours later they were resting at a campfire. While Lilly was sketching the Essence into her journal the Wendigo returned from the heart of the forest carrying game on his back. A wild boar.

“I’ll pass, thank you. Not really a big advocate on meat.”

“Suit yourself.”

With the boar frying at the fire, the duo was left to reminisce about their escape.

A simple plan really, pushing through the horde with Wendigo at the front cleaving everything in his path with little discrimination. Of course, they did riddle his body with bites, but that was nothing. Past the horde of dead, up the stairs, past another horde and praying to whatever deity that was willing to listen. She concocted a quick bomb with acid and Arid sulfur to create a cave in to prevent the servants from following them to civilization.

“You did pretty good out there, considering this isn’t your field of expertise. Adventuring I mean.”

Her ears drooped to the sides. “Yeah, thanks. Alchemy is a little bit like that, sometimes its good for you…sometimes its gonna…eat you up on the molecular level. But fun, exciting, unpredictable, perfect for you if you like gambling with science.”

“Heh, I’ll stick to my sword for now. At least if your career as an Alchemist fails you can always join the Warrior’s Guild. Your skills are indispensable.”

“Not warrior material, but I’ll be sure to think about it.” she scooched closer to him as he poked the boar with his blade. “There’s a lot of substances out there that need my probing, and when the time comes I’ll probably need a companion to help me.” She gave him a cocky look to tell him that by “companion” she meant him.

“Sure, if you can pay. And if I’m alive.”

Of course, he was a sword for hire, the perfect sword for hire judging by his performance. No wonder the quartermaster chose him specifically for the task. Yet there was something about him that was unquestionably…sad.

“So, you don’t have a name.”

“I don’t.”

“Might I ask why? You know all about me in the briefing and it seems only fair that you tell me something about you.”

He didn’t want to tell her because it was pointless to him. But seeing how she got him covered in the crypt, and that they might be working again in the near future, she deserved to know just a bit about him.

The damned are some of the loneliest creatures in existence and the Wendigo was no exception. Covered in a skin of snow he awoke in the middle of nowhere, his clothing gashed and stained with blood yet there were no wounds, he awoke from his slumber with no recollection of who he was.

His nose picked up the scent of smoke and following the trail he discovered a burning settlement, presumably his. No one was given forgiveness or proper burial. It was at that point where he experienced his first Frenzy.

With no family present or past for that matter, he wandered the land as a vagabond until eventually he landed himself a place in the Warrior’s Guild. His money went to the Mages, purchasing potions and salves that negated the effects of his curse.

“What’ll you do when you get back?” she asked him.

“The usual stuff. Get my fix and wait for the next job. I tried finding a trace of who I was but to no avail. Won’t be doing that kind of adventuring. The Warrior’s Guild is willing to tolerate me as long as they get a cut of my profits, other than that, they hate my guts like pretty much everyone else.
Even amongst killers and tyrants the damned will always be discriminated. So much for a loving, caring world.”

She whispered the words. “I don’t hate your guts.”

He chuckled and rested his sword between them. “Thanks.”

The night was calm, full of converse and bonding. They rode to the Guilds in the morning. She presented her findings and concocted the Vitae as the naysayers gazed in disbelief. He got his coin and resumed his life, training, healing, more work. And after a while, every now and then, the quartermaster would come to him.

“There’s a familiar lady here looking for you, boy.”

Buy me a Ko-fi!

RP is a Myth
WoW-verse and DnD themed RP, meet new people, share art and writing, have a peek regarding upcoming art/projects and giveways.

(Large file, apologies in advance for any errors.)