Goodbye Mr. Henri, your service will never be forgotten... After making a personal vow to tell Fred what the prince's loyal tutor had done in his (probably) last moment. Jazdia could see the dome strengthen, but then rapidly lose its integrity. The musketeers only realized it after Jazdia impaled one of them with an arrow, the rest, including Aaron scamper to the wooden railings next to them.
Before today, the last time Jazdia killed a soldier was twenty years ago, during the Tretagor crisis. Not the proudest milestone in her life, to be honest. To her, soldiers were the most pitiful profession a man could ever take. They didn't have the right to choose; a chain of commands bound them and the order was their sacred codex. They were disposable pawns, a perfect asset to discard to suit their commander's needs. And when their commander fell, they too fall with him.
So, let's give them a chance. Jazdia fired an enchanted arrow with a remote trigger at the wooden frame on the northwest entrance then shouted at the hunkering Aaron.
"Constable! What a sorry state you are in right now. I see that your shield is shrinking. That's a shame! Tell your boys if they retreat they will be spared! If they retreat with you they will be killed. And if they stay with you for too long, they will die. Do you see my arrows? It will explode in five minutes! Or when they violate the rules! As for you, Mr. Delving, God willing, I will not let you leave this tunnel unscathed! Time is running. Go and make your choices!"One of the musketeers unneighbourly responded by blindly firing his musket. An arrow flew in retaliation, but it hit the side of his helmet and deflecting the arrow off of its course. Two of his friends took advantage by running for the exit. Probably under Delving's order.
Didn't matter. They didn't violate the rules.
"What a lousy shot! Never do that again if you value your life!" ***
A half kilometer away from that, in a cold chamber, a shackle shattered.
waking up from her pitiful slumber, a woman cried. Agony shot through her, agony such as she had never known, and it concentrated in a brand on her nape. At first, she thought her master was angry at her, punishing her for a mistake, and she was willing to accept.
But as the pain subsides, she found no sign of her master. The young woman shambled for the exit, moved by unexplainable anxiety, and it grew stronger when she opened the unlocked door. There was a faint trace of magic, one that didn't belong to anyone she knew. She shivered, a whisper came, and it brought faint ill news. She tried to shrug it off as the usual useless lure from the lingering spirit who haunted this place.
At first, she walked, and with every step taken the anxiety turned into fear, and the fear turned into sadness, from sadness, came anger. The memory of her master started to fade in her mind, the master that had taken her in and liberated her from the torment of her so-called parents. The master who raised her and gave her purpose in life. She feared she would lose his touch forever.
Terrified beyond reason, the young woman now hovered over the bloodied, broken corpse of her fellow servants. She stopped, yowling incoherently about where the master was and why his throne was empty, but nobody answered.
As she strode past the broken trapdoor, unexplainable emotion surged through her. For the first time in her life, she felt impatient. As another wave of pain pulsed from her nape, her back arched in agony, and another scream was torn from her, and she realized with a racking, raging sense of grief that her master might have met his demise.
The wall before her crumbled in an explosion, there, she rushed deeper. Tunnel after tunnel she knew so well, now all would be the victim of her unadulterated rage; crumbling and caving in in her wake. As she reached the place where her master's life force have once lingered, her eyes-- or rather, senses, were immediately fixed on the elven woman with a bow and wicked magic. Sensing the same magic from her and the residual life force of her master.
The hate grew inside her like a living, parasitic thing. With trembling hands, she gathered her magic. The pride and joy that her master would never spare his kind words to praise her talent.
"Talent, not disaster, not a terrible affront."To think that she would never hear those words again hurt her more than anything, and in sheer malice, she unleashed her power toward those who have robbed the world from her.