Rise of the Archmage Alister

Alister couldn’t help but scrunch his nose in discomfort at the warm feeling of essence, but he said nothing. It was helpful, and he didn’t want to hate what his dear friend could do, as much as it was the first instinct.

Marabell laughed, smiling, and teased Wisteria, “None for me?”

Wisteria huffed, “It’s hard to manage multiple people and I figured the knights could use it more, I’m s-”

“I’m kidding around, you’re fine, I don’t need it,” she laughed again, swinging as she spoke to keep the inky mass at bay that was actively reforming, “That’s a useful trick you’ve got; essence. I’m a little jealous. I never was one for magic from any source. Just a skill horse, myself.” Marabell looked completely unphased by the situation, like it was a normal Tuesday for her, even when everyone else was so tense and worried about even being touched.

Harriet stabbed at a blob that had gotten too close as she awkwardly stepped back. She tossed her weapon to the ground and fished out a thin metal wand that looked charred on the tip and covered in soot. Olana was already tearing pages from a second notebook she pulled out with a crudely drawn snowflake on the front. She took a handful of them and started to run near others as they fought, planting small ice spells near their feet like trip mines for the Eldritch creatures to fall on as they attacked their targets.

The wand Harriet wielded sparked at the tip, before shooting out gouts of flame that charred the nearest creature. With a range of only 6 feet at best, it wasn’t exactly powerful, but it worked to char the ink to ash, crisping the void-like black material into a grey-tinged charcoal that crumpled in the wind. Olana’s prewritten ice spells crackled to life with the shattering sound of glass every time the charged paper was touched. It shot up a spike of frost that froze whatever got impaled by it into a tiny brittle statue that slumped into ice shards after the spell dissipated.

Meanwhile, the blessed weapons packed more of a punch than they did on their own, glowing with a trail of light as they were swung or shot. Alister could do little more than he was already doing, much to his chagrin, but he was determined to behave this time around. He needed to earn back the trust of his father.

Thankfully there wasn’t much need for even more help, with Marabell letting out a berserker roar that coated her poleaxe with a blue aura that flickered like sparks off a forge as she moved. She launched the half-step forward toward the creature as she pulled her weapon overhead and down in a rage-fueled and gravity-assisted assault. She followed up the smash to the main body by releasing her weapon and grabbing the eldritch bird in her hands, physically tearing it apart. The wild grin on her face didn’t stop until not only the main body was destroyed, but she was sure that all the smaller pieces were also smashed or torn to bits by the others.

As she crushed one of the last stragglers, Blas cleared his throat, “Marabell? Shall you take one of those potions you mentioned yourself? I believe the idea was to avoid touching them… yes?” He wore a mix of concern and amusement on his face. This was a stressful and dour turn of events, however, with the coachman dead, and the carriage and horses killed, so he kept his expression serious.

Marabell looked between him, the kids, and the knights as she calmed her breath back down, her blue aura fizzling out after a handful of seconds. She shook her head, “Uh… yeah. Yeah sure I can do that I guess. I built up resistances to a lotta stuff growing up in mercenary work but I guess my mental resistances for that kind of thing could be better.” She fished out a potion and downed it, looking at the others to check if anyone else needed it, before putting it away again. The potion wasn’t good tasting but most weren’t, and she made a face as she grabbed and chugged water to rid herself of the aftertaste, “So uh. What now? Keep walking I guess…? There’s the servant carriage but that can’t hold everybody… Mm.”

Blas looked at her as she tried to kick her brain back into rational thought and sighed, “We can take turns riding and walking. Either way we need to get out of here before the rest of it comes… wherever its core is. We didn’t get experience so it’s definitely not dead.”

“I’m kinda miffed the reports Reese got didn’t say stuff about this kinda thing. I mean this is between Fornafoss and Bernoth, it’s not an untrodden patch of road,” she huffed, looking out, then down at the dead man and horses, “…We need to send someone back for the body after we get to the next town. It’d be wrong to leave them.”

“Of course,” he nodded, “Alister. Wisteria. Olana. Harriet. Get your things from the carriage and move what you can to the servant’s carriage. To avoid losing much of our luggage we won’t be able to fit all of us in the carriage at once so please prepare yourselves for a long walk. Alister, I’ll give you priority for riding since you’re still somewhat recovering, but bear with it.”

Alister didn’t say anything but nodded along in agreement. He wasn’t about to hog the carriage but thankfully the hike to Bernoth wouldn’t be an impossible task. About six days if his math was right, a whole week if they were slow - which he felt like they may be. That was his best guess, but asking about timing seemed as though that’d be impatient, and they needed to hurry. With the carriages intact it would’ve taken closer to four or five. But he also didn’t know how far along they were…

“Also when we get there I’ll talk to the adventurer’s guild. They need to put out some quests about this. The road shouldn’t be this dangerous,” Marabell continued to complain, shaking her head as she hefted multiple objects from one carriage to the other on her own, “And girls, you two were supposed to take me saying to stay ranged more seriously. And once we see your dad again, what are you gonna say?”

Olana chimed in, “Nothing until asked first.”

“And then the truth but don’t make him worry more than necessary,” Harriet followed, “…I’m sad the horse driver person died… and that the horses died and stuff… and that that was scary…”

“Fear keeps you alive, hun,” she responded, handing her a set of bags, “And sadness reminds you why the good times are sweet. Good job not freezing though, both of you, I’m proud. But we don’t ever want to forget the feeling of combat, of the rush, and what it costs. If you draw your weapon you need to be prepared to use it. And if we train well, one day, you might use it to defend someone you care about. And that’s a way better feeling than using it for just violence. We were too caught off guard to defend the poor man or horses, but we were able to help defend each other, so be happy and take pride in that. If you think of the loss, then think of what you can train to change the outcome next time around.”

“You’re like a strange sage of a warrior,” Alister muttered.

Marabell chuckled, “Berserker, not a warrior, and I did a lot of mercenary work for my daddy before I ever got around this noble stuff. I know it’s not pretty or noble-ish or whatever but I want my girls prepared for whatever they pick. If they wanna do noble stuff or if they wanna follow the family mercenary business. Or make a new business! I just want them to know how to defend themselves and to always respect life, whether it’s taking it or protecting it. Now then, less talking more hauling. And that goes for me, too!”

It felt a little nostalgic, in a messy sort of way. Alister couldn’t help but think of his old friends, back when he was still Raalin. Carlia, with her messy brown hair and bright green eyes; was one of the best elves he ever got the chance to know. Lucas and Samuel, basically opposites of each other, one with black hair and eyes and the other with blond hair and white eyes. Sarriel with her stunning black hair and radiant purple eyes. And Demerieth. The one still on his mind, still leaving him questioning if the ever-optimist of their little group was truly dead, or if she was suffering. Sarriel always made a point to remind everyone not to get complacent and comfortable with death. It was a nasty requirement, but never something that should become a happy thing. Even your worst enemy had family or someone who cared about them. Come the end, he felt like he kind of forgot that message. He did what he needed to do, and didn’t regret it, but he never let himself consider, in the end, what the enemy must have felt. It wouldn’t change the outcome, so he discarded the thought.

He wondered idly if Sarriel would be disappointed in how he died. And if all of his friends would be happy with how he was living now.