Sorcerer from Another World

“That was different.” I remarked with a long exhale, my cheeks puffing out into fat orbs.

I kicked the corpse for good measure. I regretted it instantly, as it was turning the mush. Mush that now stuck to my boot. My face twisted with disgust.

“We can talk later. The woman.” Iris replied, then hurried ahead and I chased after.

The final holdout was a narrow one-way deadend. The scene we ran into was one of chaos. They wore the distinctive redcaps that many of the Unseelie mobs wore. But these were stouter, smaller with grey, bat-like fur skin.

Behind the attackers, a group of refugees had decided to hole up here and their Druid defenders were falling to last one.

The Redcap mobs swung thick clubs and clobbered the refugees. They swarmed forwards, winning through mass wave tactics and savagery. The corpses of Redcaps and refugees alike cover the cave floor. The Redcaps high on bloodlust trample over the dead and dying flesh hunting for their next kill.

If the refugee fought back perhaps the battle would be more even, but they were farmers who had learned to submit to warriors. Any chance of resistance crushed with that past submission.

Worse still, mixed in with the crowd of smaller Redcaps were taller, lankier ones the size of a small adult human. Their ears were droopy ears, chins pointed but they had the same bat-like skin. In their hands clasped were jagged knives and short spears.

Seeing them dash and gut poor refugees with ease, it was an easy guess to say these lanky Redcaps were better fighters than their smaller (but far more numerous) allies.

Never mind the shaman who was crawling and hiding in the shadows of the ceiling. They cast subtle, savage spells from above, taking out key targets.

“Unseelie!” Iris declared.

The crafty ones and the shamans had slaughtered most of the druids. All but one and whoever the Red Cloak woman was. She was a force of nature pulling off feats impossible for a human taking down multiple opponents at once with superior reach and skill.

Iris roasted the mob mass of Redcaps with an inferno wave of fire they crumbled to ash. And what was a fearsome battlegroup is reduced to a few uncanny foes that the Red-clad woman skillful skewered and hacked off one by one.

The surviving Druid caught some kind of curse spell cast by the druid, they spun it and fired it back. Caught by surprise, the Shaman didn’t even have time to react. Their ribs rent open with their upper organs spilling out.

The now dead shaman fell to the floor with a plop and a spray of blood.

One of the remaining Redcaps burrowed beneath the earth and popped out behind me. I turn to attack it but …

The Red-clad Woman pointed the tip of her halberd at the Redcap. I reinforced my shielding in desperate response, but didn’t need it.

A red beam of energy shot out from the halberd. (I saw through my mana sight that the energy channels from her core and is directed through the weapon). The Redcap disappeared from existence upon contact with the red beam.

I had seen Galen and Morgana fight, this stranger could be better. I feared what she could do if she got a hold of one of my enchanted weapons.

I do nothing in a strange turn of events. I’m a nuke brought to a gunfight.

When will things get simple? Life in a fantasy world seemed to be one bizarre encounter after another.

The Red Cloaked women, and that strange encounter with the corpse risen from the dead unnerved me more than the Unseelie. I had no doubt over my sure chances for victory, but this world continued to unleash surprises.

One day perhaps we would stumble upon something even more powerful than me. It was the worry, a thorn pricking my heart, that disturbed any chance for peace of mind in this fantasy of mine.

The last surviving Druid - a small man with a grimy, brown beard wore brown robes stained with blood and guts - walked over with confident strides to Iris and I.

“Praise …” The druid said to Iris. “I didn’t expect another Druid to be wandering these parts.”

Iris smiled, “Here I am. I’m glad we reached you in time.”

I was perhaps overthinking it, but her smile didn’t convey the warmth it once did. Her experiences with Bomdall, the last male druid we had encountered, were like icy shared stabbing into her heart. No wonder, a hint of sourness mixed with her sweet smile.

“Those markings on your cloak… do you come from on south?”

“We travelled from the fort of Ferisdarm, south of Alba, it was lost to an attack by Maradon.” Iris explained.

“I am sorry for your loss. I’m Tomlin,” said the Druid.

“Iris.” she replied curtly.

“Who are you?” I was asked by the woman in the red cloak. She hovered over, in fact, she was not running or walking but was slightly off the ground - hung in the air in perpetual flight.

She looked straight at me.

On close look, it was a tattered red cloak layered with dust from the road and cuts from branches or blades. A knotted circlet wrapped around short white hair adorned with two gold antennae like feathers.

Orange serpent-like eyes that glared with the brightness close to that of a scorching star. Further adding to her intense impression, she was an eerie beauty, but it was the overwhelming power that seemed to brim from her that left a lasting mark.

She wore full scaled armour everywhere except her head. But the circlet seemed to cast some form of transparent head protection. Her skin wasn’t human. It resembled the durability displayed by that undead creature Iris and I had encountered in the tunnel.

Iris gave me a glance, and then stared towards the cowering, terrified refugees. I nodded and she walked over to give whatever aid she could.

Neither the druid nor the woman we had followed, I noted, went to help the refugees first. They had beelined towards us.

Who am I? What a question.

“I am Damain Grey. Sorcerer by practice. You?” I responded.

It was a rather carefree response, but something about near absolute power meant formalities seemed less important. Moreso, when she blunted asked me who I was. We had just come to help her, it wasn’t wrong, but hardly polite.

I had better not let the power get to my head or risk an 'animal farm’ situation in this world. I’d rather not be like a pig.

“Sorcerer Damian, I challenge you to a duel.”