The Storm Mage's Gambit

Sensing the faintest compression of the ancient slab under bare foot, Olaria thrust her arms outwards before bringing them tight about herself in a securing embrace. Swirling, yet soundless, a gust of air encircled the young woman, whipping up dust and tearing cobwebs from narrow walls and low ceiling. Like the eye she remained calm, concentrated, as the shielding storm raged on about her, catching the bolt mid-flight. A heartbeat later the obsidian tipped missile’s momentum shifted, casting it away to shatter against a wall. 

Exhaling deeply, relieving a breath she barely knew was held, Olaria let her arms drop by her side and watched the cloud of dusty debris she had conjured gently drift to the ground. With another breath she carefully stepped away from the slab, shifting herself away from the trigger and any immediate danger.  

That was close. She thought. You’re either getting wiser, honing your senses, or simply getting luckier Ol. Either way, at least we stopped one this time. Body in-sync with mind she lightly rubbed the bandage round her waist, under the left-side of her sapphire surcoat where a previous wound still healed. Carelessness had resulted in near-impalation when last-round she had ventured down an unchecked corridor. She knew that now, though boots, it was, that she had then blamed. Noisy. Heavy. Clunky. Tempestuous, she had cast them aside. 

Close though she had been to further injury, Olaria perceived that, at last, she was on the right track. Something ahead was worth guarding – though with the Trials of the Arcaneum nothing was guaranteed – and, with luck, that something was a portal to the next and, by her reckoning, final Trial. She had proven her arcane ability to the Eye of the Magi, navigated the Blind Halls, escaped the ceaseless undeath of the Catacombs, and completed one-half of the Labyrinth of Life (last-round with the successful retrieval of a silk-woven egg, refusing to accept that what lay inside was an arachnid larger than her face). 

Tentatively treading forth tip-toe over toe-tip Olaria made her way through the gloom of the narrow passageway, rounding a corner into a dim glow of failing firelight. A light which, moments earlier, could not be seen. Brushing this off as another illusory trick of the Trials she pressed on towards the source. A dull brazier of unidentified metal, a fire smoking in throes of death, silently stood in the middle of a hexagonal chamber. Deep and lofty alcoves loomed in every wall save for tunnel entrance where stood Olaria, eyes searching over the expanse. Although a ceiling could not be seen she pictured a marbled dome to match the smooth onyx pillars which bordered each of the six recesses. The flickering, faint firelight pried into the darkness of the alcoves which just enough strength to illuminate five plinths, atop which reflected polished metallic jugs. This was it; she knew. The Labyrinth’s final test. Five jugs, one for each finalist, leaving the other five bereft.  

For the first time since starting the Trials she was nowhere near last. A smile burst across her face, cracking chapped lips. Memory of her last drink escaping her Olaria headed to the nearest jug in silent prayer to Aleira (goddess of joy) that it be full. And drinkable. She added in haste. Dismayed, Olaria found that it was not only empty but entirely immovable.  

Smile and sense of victory both fled as the next two jugs were equally hollow and unmoving. A flash of anger, self-directed from disappointment, began to spark within Olaria. With heavier and determined steps she began to march to the fourth plinth. The growling rage within zapped optimism and composure to despair and uncertainty. Spiralling deeper into the dark abyssal clouds of her mind she did not hear the approaching footsteps, nor the incantation that accompanied them. 

With barely a breath Olaria’s arms were pulled wide, an arcane-gifted strength lifting Olaria several inches into the air; vines erupted from the onyx columns, wrapping round her limbs and tearing into her wrists as they yanked themselves taut. 

Eyes sparking white in heightened fury, aimed now at her restraints, Olaria went to scream, to summon the wrath of the surging storm within her, “Rik’ta...” she began. 

“ssh”, a soft voice, almost mocking in its serenity, whispered in her ear, finishing the verbal component of the spell (Rik’tash - Storm’s Fury) for her as thinner, creeping stalks gripped her mouth and jaw. 

“I must say, I am surprised to find you here.” said the voice, still soft but with an occasional tremor of a diving tone. “You’re the second Triallist I’ve stumbled across this round. Though, admittedly, I believed the first was you. They didn’t make it.”  

There was a slight tremble in the voice which faded slightly as the speaker stepped from behind, moving around the brazier and into view. Each step as elegant as the voice was tranquil despite, as Olaria now saw, the bulk of the man those steps carried. She had seen him once before, as with all other Triallists, at the Eye of the Magi. Tested before him, Olaria knew nothing of the man who now held her, trapped. The building storm within the young woman swiftly subsided, blown away in a sudden gale of unknowing fear. 

“They were unrecognisable.” The man said, jowly head lifting to lock eyes with his captor, “Save for their skin. Or so I thought. Red, you see, like yours. Only it...” he paused, dark eyes burying deep into the struggling glow from the brazier, brows clenching as he dug for the word “...sloshed off the bone. Boiled alive would be my guess.” Dark eyes lifted once more to study Olaria hanging motionless, defenceless. A slight shimmer of sorrow passed those eyes, briefly enough that Olaria almost doubted it. 

“It changes things, don’t you think? I mean, we all knew we could die, though that risk was downplayed. I was unaware, through ignorance or innocence, that we could be killed. And, by extension, that we could kill. Do you see?”  

With a limp wave of a stubby-fingered hand from the man the vines released their grip and made a slithering withdrawal, leaving a couple of craters in the otherwise smooth columns. Olaria dropped to the ground with a deft patter of feet and looked at the man with a confused look of ebbing fear and returning anger. He returned her look with a disarming and wretched smile. 

“Listen. I don’t want to be killed, nor do I have any desire to take a life – it is not for me to steal that most precious and fleeting of gifts.” 

Nursing tender wrists, Olaria took several calming breaths, not once breaking eye contact with the large man. Though she did not admit it, she agreed with his words and the sentiment. “You could have started with that. Or, you know, a tried and tested hello.” She snided. 

“Would you? If you had seen what I have?” He defensively snapped, yet with no anger rousing his tone, before quickly adding “I’m Crags, by the way. Earth and Life attuned, if you hadn’t already guessed.” Olaria did not respond, but narrowed her eyes at the man as if weighing his words. 

“So... any ideas?” Crags gestured to the alcoves after an extended silence. 

“I’d not long arrived before you and your plants, you know?” she teased, an attempt to break the tension and draw a line under the issue. The man simply shuffled and raised another sorrow-filled smile. “I’m Olaria, and most I know is that those are empty.” she pointed to the jugs she had recently visited. 

After a fumbling procession of apologies from Crags, who had clearly misread Olaria’s jest, the pair checked the remaining two jugs. One, inspected by Olaria, was empty. The other, while unmoving, was filled to the brim with some unknown liquid; the ever-failing firelight cast too weak a glow to be of use. 

“Itsth blood!” gasped Crags, comically wiping fat fingers down his tongue in apparent horror. 

“You sure?” Chided Olaria, disbelieving. 

“Hun’ded perthent!” yelled the reply through a mouthful of digits. 

Leaving the Earth mage to ineffective methods of hygiene Olaria moved to the centre of the chamber by the brazier to think. Knowing that there had to be an answer, a reason why one of the jugs was full. Circling the room, she ascertained that none of the containers differed in any discernible way from the others, nor the plinths on which they rested. Mulling over all she knew she began to vocalise her thoughts as she extracted what she thought relevant, “Ten remaining Triallists. Labyrinth of Life. Two challenges. Egg. Five jugs. Blood.” 

“One dead body”, offered Crags who had ceased rubbing at his tongue.” 

“One container of blood.” expanded Olaria. 

“Five finalists.” 

“Egg to denote life. Blood to represent death.” 

“Ten down to five” 

The back-and-forth game of deduction defeated, lost to a deafening shriek whose shrillness echoed from the archway leading back into the tunneled passageways of the labyrinth. A cursed silence followed. Olaria and Crags held each other’s deathly gaze, neither daring to speak, married in unison of dry and pressing unease. As one they turned their heads to the left-most plinth, to the interrupting sound of a pewter jug filling with viscous liquid. With rising dread, they turned their heads back to the tunnel, to the steady beat of nearing feet. 

Divorcing herself from her fear-induced connection to Crags, Olaria uttered a sound as of wind over an open-plain and floated deep into the recess bordering the tunnel’s left column.

Momentarily flat-footed, Crags gathered enough self-control to scamper to the alcove on the opposite side. 

Staying flat against the wall, hoping that she was in deep enough darkness to avoid detection, Olaria listened as the steps grew louder, until, at last, she knew that there were now three in the chamber. A deep and exaggerated sniff could be heard. 

“I know you’re here. Just come out and I won’t have to harm you.” An authoritative, confident and compelling voice flooded the chamber.  

Olaria felt a twitch in her legs and fought the compulsion that washed through her, quietly moving herself further into darkness. A shuffling movement could be heard from the other side, unwilling feet sliding their heavy burden across the even slabs. 

“What have I here?” shouted the newcomer, the commanding tone giving way to exuberance, but nonetheless confident, “Is this a two-for-one?” 

With a pang of paralysing fear Olaria caught her breath, her heart-stopping for an eon feeling second. 

“Look at the size of that! Can see that the labyrinth has been kind to you. You been holed-up in the pantry?” 

Olaria allowed herself to breathe out at that, a tide of guilt coming with the following inhale at the understanding. 

“Would you be mad if I said I lied?” Can you even get mad? Oh, come now, don’t cry. Do you think the Grand-Arcanist wants the weak? Do you think he’d happily take on those who aren’t willing to give everything to study under him, to have unrestricted access to the Arcaneum library?” 

Crags’ whimpering cried came to her now, all attempts to mend the breaking dam of emotion serving only to make him appear more pathetic.  

“Tell me, little sapling, why should I spare you?” the derisory tone failed to mask that there was zero chance of Crags being spared. 

The guilt continued to crash into Olaria as she listened to the man sob and plead, yet it was something the newcomer had said that flailed for attention within the maelstrom. Willing to give everything. She clawed at this thought, hooking it to those she had shared earlier with Crags. An idea, an answer forging in the chaotic mess of her mind she dared to stay hidden for a moment longer. 

“p-pu-puh-” laughed Crags’ vocal assailant, ridiculing the snivelling Earth Mage, “pathetic! You bore me now. I will offer you this: freezing, or boiling?” with a barely audible whisper, he added “you’ll scream all the same.” 

“I’ll take freezing!” yelled Olaria jumping from her hiding place, trying her best to keep the quavering from her voice. 

“Wha-” started Crags as, unperturbed by the red-skinned girl’s sudden appearance, a tall, lean woman with angular features and hard striking eyes turned to Olaria. 

“So be it.” said the tall woman, slowly and powerfully lifting her arm, hand upraised and fingers outstretched, aiming from Olaria’s feet to above her head. 

A numbing slush of broken ice and water sloshed around Olaria’s feet, raising up passed her ankles and to her knees, when she saw that Crags was about to act. Staring at him through clattering teeth, the searing cold sploshing up and over her waist, she shook her head. Seeing the confusion furrow his puffy red face, Olaria managed to chatter out “T-t-trust me”, before the freezing waters forced their way down her throat to steal her final breaths. 

It was not until Crags heard the sound of blood filling another of the pewter jugs that he believed he understood.