literature

Decipere Backstory - Escape

Deviation Actions

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He saddled the horse hurriedly, and it protested at his rough movements with a stomp of one mangy-feathered hoof and tossed its skeletal head. With the bridle secure and his saddlebags secured on the back with all of his wealth, inheritance in coinage and supplies, he slowly walked it out of the stables. His features remained composed as he passed a patrol, and he forced his heartbeat to slow lest the hounds beside them on a leash sensed his hidden fear. His clothing was the norm for an excursion, and the sword at his side was a sensible precaution and therefore ignored. The animals' hooves clattered on the cobblestones as he made his way towards the gate steadily. He paused when he reached the gatehouse, looking up towards the guards. "What business do you have passing?" "A ride. I am Morohtar. By the Nation's authority, let me pass!" There was no hesitation, and he heard the creaking of wood as the gates were opened. After all, they had no reason to question him. He was an Observer, amongst the trusted.


He kept up the trotting pace until he neared the mythril hills – a place that on Earth or any sane world would have drawn flocks seeking to harvest the valuable mineral from its rocks. Within the Otherland however, its accessibility made it worthless almost. And either way, materialism was not valued, and frowned on. Rather puritan in many respects. He paused there however, to rend off several decent chunks – small enough to be stowed on the horses back after casting a cantrip to lighten the load. Only once the rocks were secured, did he begin the journey in earnest. Or have to. He had only just gotten back in the saddle, when he felt the first brief stabbing pain through the link. It was fleeting however, a warning. He drew on his reserves of willpower even as he kicked his heels into the animals sides sharply. All he could rely on was turning the training they had given him, against them. That and stubbornness, as his mentor had once told him, would be his strengths. He had to get to the nearest waygate to the living world, to the nearest realm. It was some three days travel away if he camped by night, at the Temple of the Crumbling, where the first of the Council had stepped through into the liminal world.


Dust flew out from beneath the horses hooves as he spurred it on, half-risen up in his saddle to lessen some of the weight. While he would reduce the pace later, getting the initial distance was crucial. He was halfway across one of the Grey Fields, when the sound of baying rebounded off the hills ahead of him. The wind always lied, and so did the vast, empty space that made up the realm. Securing his grip on the reins, he looked behind him. He couldn't make them out at this distance, but the cloud of dust on the horizon behind was all he needed to see to know that the chase was on. The first wave were of border patrols. Another pain came, like a brief sharp migraine focussed between his eyes. He bit down on his sound of discomfort, forcing himself to stifle it and drawing again on the mental wards he had put in place.


He rested only for a time in an alcove, in part of a deserted village. Who the previous occupants had been was not his concern, but the singular room with no windows was a safe enough position. While if attacked now he would be penned in, it would demonstrate his willingness to not go down easily. Masking his presence some hours later, he did a wide, circling walk to determine his location. The border guards were camped perhaps an hour's ride at most behind him, or so the smoke indicated. Saddling up again, he had just begun the ride once more before setting off.
The final leg of the journey went smoother than he could have dared hope, save for having to fend off a pack of dust hounds – creatures that had died in the dust and become animated by wandering spirits, bounding after him and howling like tortured women, their screams eerily human on his ears. Leaving their cooked, smoking carcasses where they laid, he carried on. The horses pace had begun to slow. Even the skeletal, hell-originating beast needed some form of sustenance, but with so near a distance to his goal, he dared not stop yet. He too had begun to grow weak, with the combination of stress, and maintaining his mental defences. The stabbing pains had become what felt like a thick root in his mind, twisting and driving the thorns deeper so that just when he had part of it blocked, another stab of pain caught him off guard. At times, it was all he could do to remain in the saddle.


That was when the first arrow zipped through the air, skimming his shoulder. He jolted, and looked over sharply. Four on horseback, no hounds. They must have found a trading station, somewhere where their low authority still had clout. His lips thinned into a snarl. He could *see* the Temple now. So close to his goal, he was not going to give up, not now. He would find himself in the living realm even if it was his corpse that went through. He wheeled the animal around sharply, drawing in on the aether as he did so before sending the stallion barrelling towards the small group. As he had been fleeing thus far, the sudden aggressive, pre-emptive attacked worked – thrown off guard, the men pulled their mounts aside. He took the chance and lashed out at one with his sword in passing, the blade wreathed in burning, heated magic slicing through the arteries and muscle of the drows neck and cauterising it as it went. Another blade came towards him, and he reared the horse up, relying for a moment on the mounts self-preservation skills and natural temperament for combat to deal with one while he turned on the other. His ward of silver and purple crackled around him, with tendrils of black snaking around both of his arms and the horses hooves as he drew away from the remaining three. They circled for a moment, warily eyeing him. While without magic of their own, their weapons were imbued with certain properties that would respond to even a mortal's command, and their armour had the same devices built in to provide protection.


"Come on then! You were sent to take me, weren't you?" He spat his challenge to them angrily, shifting his grip on the sword. Another twist of the root came then within his mind, and it took more instinct than thought for him to not drop the blade in hand. With a snarl, he charged again, this time trying to break through them. He only half-succeeded, and instead collided heavily with one of the riders. They were both dismounted, landing in the dirt and ash. He cough up a mouthful of the stuff, before scrambling to his feet. Drawing on the raw rush of energy again, a thin, long whipcord of grey formed from his one hand. With a sharp motion of his wrist, he sent it with a crack through the air towards one of the guards. While it struck the shield the man threw up, the force of the two meeting sounded like the strike of a gong. The second out of three riders moved in then, charging at him. Taking up a stance not too unlike a warrior, beast and magic met. The force of it made him skid back a good foot or so, but it held… then he turned one of the tendrils up towards the rider, snaking them around him. Yanked from his horses back, he writhed on the ground as the shadows slowly began to suffocate him. Breathing hard and with one of his nostrils bleeding from trying to hold off multiple opponents, and already weakened from the pursuit itself, he knew that the last of his reserves had to be kept for opening the waygate itself. He made the decision swiftly.


Hurling a ball of energy at the remaining two, he then turned… and ran. Almost throwing himself up the steps of the Temple, he scrambled up towards the dias. Closing the door sharply, he wove two wards over it – one, a generic buffer and the second, like laces around the edge, lest they have some trinket with them that allowed them to slice through shields. He'd seen it done before and wanted at least some time to work on what needed to be. He tried to calm his heartbeat again, but just as he had done so was he driven to his knees by another sharp wrench of the root that connected him to the Hivemind.


We'll find you. We'll find you. No matter where you go.. He growled low under his breath, getting to his feet again even if it felt like a great weight was pressing down on his shoulders. Go to Hell!. He began to pull once more on the greatest of the leylines he could sense, one of the many in the area – gates were only positioned in places where many crossed, for safety. The energy flowed through his body, tingling through his veins. He understood, as he had many times, as to how a lesser mage might grow addicted to that sensation, to that rush of vitality that came with drawing upon the aether. But now was not the time to dwell on such things. The pain in his head was increasing with every notch of power that he was drawing on, even as the gate itself was now visible between the pillars. He began to undo it, opened it. Ordinarily it was not something done by one mage, but now was not the time to ride all the way back to the city to try and find someone to help. It had to be done alone. Closing his eyes even as his knees began to shake with the effort, it began to open further… Behind him, he could hear them pounding on the second barrier, and the crackles came more and more frequent as he became less and less able to split his energy between the two. Then he wrenched sharply, forcing it just open enough for him to throw the saddlebags through and to leap through if he could. That was when the barrier broke. He turned, and just as an arrow was loosed, he hurled himself through the old waygate. Landing heavily on the ground, he felt his right shoulder agonisingly pop out of place even as the arrow zipped overhead. Not yet, not yet. He jerked his hand upwards, forcing the waygate to close again. But just as he had completed the spellform, did the link strengthen.. his back arched as the pain shot down his spine, racing along each nerve with the pain level of a severe burn. The howl from his mouth was high, inhuman almost, as he tried to cradle his head from the pain, curling up in the foetal position. But the gate was closed. He laid there, unable to move for a time. Dust-covered, with blood trickling from his nose and the corners of his mouth, his breathing was ragged and shoulder panged sharp. He coughed heavily, barely able to lift his head enough to spit a globule of blood to one side. But he was through.


It would take three days at the swiftest for the guards to return to the city. From there, an investigation would begin. He had perhaps a fortnight at the very most before he had to move on, thanks to leaving a myriad of small but hindering traps along the road he had taken to the Temple. Free. For now.
I suppose this fits into settings, as it is an excerpt from his backstory.
Character & writing (c) :icondisducibus:
© 2012 - 2024 centuries-before
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