Re: Ancilia
Chandriss did not know how long she slept, or what time it was when she awoke to the darkness of the stone Bastion she had thrown up about her. Darkness broken only by the dull glow light of the gems which helped her tether herself to this fate. She had been exhausted and in shock when she had fled, her divine power depleted, her mind still reeling from the assault that had battered through her defenses. It took her a while to realize she was curled up on her side in a fetal crouch, and longer still to uncurl her fingers from about her shins and straighten herself up into a sitting position.
Yet, what had been the source of her concern? Already her mind was reeling with a thousand different possibilities. Different paths she could have taken. Yes, the vile creatures had been fast enough to dodge the Stonemother's crushing teeth, but why hadn't she thought to amplify the thaumaturgic glyphs about her own form? Weaving layers of her own divine essence into the words of power, reinforcing the matrix that she pulled from to access the Stonemother's power. Would that not have increased vengeance of the earthen maw? She realized even as she had the idea that she had lacked the power, and yet she didn't now did she?
She had… she had broken the matrices which had contained her to withdraw into the bones of the earth, and yet she had been able to pull herself together again into this fate line so simply. She could hardly believe how much her knowledge and understanding of the intricate spellwork involved had grown. She could see her own magic woven about her in ways that she had never understood before. Everything felt different, everything felt…
… her mount.
She had broken the poor beast down into millions of component atoms and pulled it down with her, down into the bones of the earth. She had tried to save the creature, she had saved it, and yet she hadn't. Panicked and afraid, it had died, and she had been able to do nothing but hold it. She hadn't even know its name. Yet she had held it, hadn't she? Held it and given it what comfort she could while it had died. She had held its millions of atoms together even as she had drawn them down, and the image of it was still burned into her mind. She grasped that image now, fingers reaching down to the earth below as she began to pull up what she needed. Black iron, and deeper still, to the reaches where the fires were never extinguished. Down further, pulling upon the leylines of magic that crisscrossed the globe, even in this place. Drawing it closer, drawing it to her, giving it shape, giving it purpose.
She would give her fallen horse a worthy monument.
An hour later, the Bastion sank into the earth and crumpled to dust. Standing within where it had once stood was a shape, no, two shapes joined as one. At the crown sat Chandriss, her wicked curved blades back where they belonged in their sheathes, her eyes blazing ruby in the midmorning sun. Beneath her, a hulking shape of magic and blackest iron. Four sturdy legs, a thick chest that breathed forth billowing black smoke, and blazing ruby eyes that matched her own. A monster, yet all to familiar to one who might have seen her the day before.
Chandriss let out a great cry, her voice steady and resolute, and the tireless iron steed surged forward on hooves that blackened the earth behind her.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:06, Wed 20 Nov 2019.