Merlin 3:42 “Shattering the Spell”

Merlin 3:42 “Shattering the Spell”

For all the days that Merlin has traveled, the witch of the forbidden alchemy had been raising a supernatural army, taking the strength from the strong and folding spirit into other warriors to play the puppet master in a foray of war, her name Ostara attempting anonymity having her minions call her the queen of death or other similar title. None to have ever known why she assembles aberrant forces, fewer ask explanation as those who have are ‘transferred’ to another warrior, save the blind sequester of forces that obey and believe a lack of successful reason.

Soon to realize her ambitions, Ostara travels with her banded villains, each stop increasing her ranks and depleting furtiveness, each soldier costing many more lost and the size of the nomadic forces becomes increasingly less auspicious and more hazardous. Soon eager to discover her purpose, are the moon goddesses, or goddess, depending on your perspective, the maiden, the mother, and the crone. Never intervening only to study, each disguised as terribly short and distasteful drunkards, on the trail of the deathly army.

Ostara, witch of necromancy, exits the lead wagon and toward the first person seen, the walls are barren except for the occasional engraving of a staff with spears at both ends. Each soldier is with weapon and armor, but it does not stop her from putting her hand to the face of her first victim and blasting a bright light, the soldier dies falling swiftly backward. Clamor to battle the soldiers alert each other to her attack, which only serves as the call for the many in her command to aid her, each much larger than any human in the conflict and strong enough to fight vampires.

As she approaches, Merlin watches each far wagon packed with as many men as Ostara can fit, some more magic with wounds that glow beneath cloak than men.

The vampire artisans dance slowly at aristocratic pace and Ana rests. Merlin watches the town across the devilish bridge Ostara’s soldiers entering the buildings slowly one-by-one, stealthily eliminating any foe with powers luminescent, but hidden from the plateau. Tho, of wrought and thoughtlessly awake to awkward stake, the dancing ones of the mountain terrace begin to notice the battle and line themselves along the ledge.

Crimson: What are they seeing?
(A correspondent first relays whispered information.)
Ecivres: Lord Crimson, the hamlet has villains.
Crimson: Have they taken the bridge?
(Again, a correspondent first relays whispered information.)
Ecivres: No, they are taking the town.
Crimson: Never has the bridge been taken, alert me if they do. Send notice to the front gate. Music!

Without sin, Merlin notices the battle and asks the guards in the hallway if they know what will come of these events, without concise response they answer that the corridor has many soldiers and he will know more soon, urged to close the door it is so locking it from in and out.

Merlin: Ever hath it been, hast viewed darkly, session of death below to see, come hither.
Ana: Will they make the vampires lose?
Merlin: Be ready to go, tell me if they take the bridge.
Ana: I am lividly regretful of everything. Always a docent, never the one who gets to sleep, if I had reckless rather, every soldier a child I would birth an army to let me rest.
Merlin: It is fine, look at me; there is the path that leads to the river that is your descent. I fear nothing decent will be atop this mountain.
Ana: Where are you going?
Merlin: I am going to see how inclement the back yard is. Hope is..?
Ana: Not lost.

A near threnody from the blackness witch Ostara gives, evil eyes she stands after combat takes force, stronger she grows with each death, as she is wounded she wails, every foe she touches dies and any close become weak.

Ostara: As worthless as any regent in halls of power, what was theirs to take reprised in clamor and bloodshed of the servants of hell, know, you, will serve death today!

Ostara attacks castle Crimson with undo purpose of reckless abandon, and the advantage of a surprise that her minions do not wound as liberal born would, her gift to their power by the deaths of many make them formidable foes. An army of daggers carves thru the town, still in conquest silent arrows loose upon the first to place a step on the bridge. Not by magic, nor by cavalry, vampiric soldiers afoot loose three arrows a time with double mounted swords, not daggers, across their backs to hack and swift to swipe any portion of limbs, even then merciful wounds are naught. In defiance Ostara’s soldiers have met apt conflict, but with her magic she floats and glows brighter than perhaps even she has ever known, the vampires on the plateau ledge can see and even higher also can Ana.

With the powers of gift reincarnation, Ostara takes the abnormal strength gathered and already given to the wounded, and transfers it to the vanguard soldiers on the bridge, multiplying their tenfold strength to ten times tenfold. The few remaining vampires cannot catch them before she sweeps them from the bridge. The posterity of skilled assassins no more than bodies of vampires who refuse to die any more than that they can, three soldiers of Ostara, now able to heal by burning manna, furnaces of spirit and blood, approach the main gate.

Belladonna and Jimson, poisonous wiccans, make certain not to aid the bolstered warriors or butchered vampires, or any other, and humans allegiant to the undead are poisoned just enough to live agonized and crawling. Ostara knows the height of the empire she strikes and following her personal army to the doors, the sorcerers of vampire magic exit the mountain, as Belladonna had not truly known the size of this conquest. As the many unnatural warriors begin suffering the punishment of by blood magic, an arrow strikes Belladonna.

She uses the poison in her blood to dissolve the arrow and close the wound, the leader Ostara had chosen retreats with her while also nearly towing Jimson with him into the town, a story much more importantly told elsewhere, perhaps ere or afore.

There are not enough blood warlocks to stop them from victory at the bridge and they enter the catacombs, far darker and dangerous than any open combat. It is certain that Belladonna will escape able to herself, her brother, and her rescuer, travel strait for the forest of Warren.

Advantages proven in corridors, the perils of combat, as Ostara is forced to fight alone against six, killing two by hands to their throats, taking their afterlife and consuming powers of darkness. Deflecting arrows by mere elemental magic and igniting the air with force of sorcery, pinning them back as another vampire joins, but her magic is now vampiric until spent and the arriver flies neck into hand enabling her to draw added afterlife, converting it into black fire and clearing the chamber between four corridors. Three attack her, a spear to her body she grabs, her life force so strong that the cut radiates light that agitates their sight without blood, grabbing the spear holder by his throat, draining his life, and forcing another explosion with her second hand between the other two; they are truly dead as she continues. Four approach her and Lord Crimson hears their dying screams, he whispers to his servant who runs into the mountain as he calmly takes a drink.

Some of Ostara’s minions are slowed by many wounds and need healing to finish their victory, as many are outright dead and some have fled only to be hunted and dispatched, some necessitating revival beyond her reach of casting spell, by distance vampire mages have almost nullified their presence at the bridge and dump their bodies into the boundary ravine.

The maiden, the mother, and the crone, walk thru the border village taking reincarnation energy from the fallen and collecting hearts. One vampire so much as notices the maiden so she quickly reverts to her disguise within the blink of an eye to be overlooked among the chaos.

Merlin: Though interesting, be prepared to leave.

As would awake a cold breeze blow the pages of a book, Ostara summons from the fallen their death and magic, the vapors of ethereal blood and thunder drawn to her, magic of necromancers and aged time of vampires.

As are many elements of this tale here, so also is Lilith, servant of Hel. She almost dances thru this chaos, humming, as the witches three notice her they eagerly disappear themselves by running into walls where there are no doors. She admires the death as if it were an art gallery, the skin of the dead dries as she passes, the wounded she ignores, and the vampires attempting to stop her drop like puppets.

Ostara faces a formation, two vampires and two mages behind them, met by her minions who toss her a spear as she steps that she impales the two vampires. The mages unleash green fire that spreads thoroughly to the walls, she must fight thru magic while expending her own, as it clears there are two to absorb before she departs. Merlin finds her sapping the slain.

Merlin: An interesting involvement for such a desperate hole on the world, and I am sure this place is inhospitable. 

Ostara: Spells of the undead you are dying to tell me!

A surge of power by them both, drawing in life, and death, black magic more powerful than she was when had arrived, hoping to imply it to her plan erstwhile, yet a large armament of vampires approach, dividing them, and also not knowing who is foe attack Merlin, he departs rather than dwell.

Lilith meets the vampire queen as most mistake her as one of their own, faster than the eye of anything alive or dead can see teleports instantly from facing a spear to aside its holder, to feed from the vampire, dropping him used.

Lilith: Madam Regent, I charge your office to kill the warlock Sino, and thwart any of these creative homunculi, post haste.
Queen: We serve not extortion and mercenary, we will not fight your battles.

By a mere gesture of Lilith’s hand, the vampire queen drifts above the ground and wretches in agony, contortion beyond ability and speech, pure anguish.

Lilith: How is it so… to prove eternal rest…to damage your place beneath my feet…? These things are not here for me, they are here for you, as I will infinitely be your demise so much more than a promise! I will wield you as I please!

Lilith lets the queen fall and gasp, without word she arises, as her servants attempt helping she urges them to kneel with her.

Queen: Your wish is to me a command.
Lilith: Take me to your armory, I need your nightmare blade.
Queen: The blade, it is our defense, in this very moment we are under siege.

Lilith begins to smile as the queen’s servants begin expiring.

Queen: I will take you to it, my priestess.

The lesser castle at the bridge silent, the basecamp is silent, the halls are bloody, and Ostara is tyrannical. She summons herself new strength from fires and faces, taking life from her remaining soldiers, and then in momentum from the vampires, breathing magic to transfer energy for her spells to distribute death of ages as a weapon. Lilith walks to the armory not answering any questions, pulling a glowing knife from a stone she cuts throat of a servant in the way that only the blade can, without blood the pierce of the blade only spills light and administers deep pain. Throwing the victim, she departs as instantaneous smoke shrouds her.

Ostara approaches the doorway and enters the plateau on the mountain, a gentle rain and a growing nightfall, the black and crooked line of the ravine under the bridge, the lights of the town few and far, and she standing facing Lord Crimson and the throne.

Crimson’s first guard rushes at attacks her and falls at her feet as she breathes in his life, the body collapses. Malachi, walks toward her cautiously a grenade vaporizes before contact, a thrown knife melts after sticking her, only to have the wound glow as her other wounds, like the print of a lioness, her wardrobe damaged to a somewhat immodest state. Begin they in casting magic duel, closer her worries of exhaustion are met by his worries that his threshold for suffering will be met, but it is Malachi that his cast to the wall of the fortress.

Crimson has what he had requested, a pouch, and from it takes a small stone rune, he polishes it with his fingers and decides to charge at her. He dives over witchcraft mortar, dodges magic blasts, and tumbles thru a volcanic cloud of fire, all to put the stone in his palm to her chest. An explosion results to transfer the very ether of the dark night clouds with a force shaking him none, and casting her over the cliff to tatter down the mountain.

He walks to his throne without watching her fall. If so, he would see the three witches moving to obtain the body, reprimand her in their echoed way of sharing sentences, and make certain she is dead.

~ @mjbanks