The people of Harvest feared and revered the light affinity. No affinity had an intrinsic advantage over any other. A caster’s threat was purely based on their ability, a mix of coefficient, knowledge, and experience. What made the light affinity special was the history behind it. An ordinary man wielded fire. Heroes and saints wielded light. No matter someone’s skill, facing a light caster would give most of humanity pause.
Lancecain wasn’t fighting humans. Where any person would have flinched from the sight of his sword covered in golden light, the hooded figures didn’t pause for a moment. He swung at the estrazi directly in front of him, eyes blazing as two illusionary blades mimicked his swing from different angles, cutting off any chance of escape. They wouldn’t do the same damage as his blade but his light came with intense heat. Burns didn’t bleed but they could be just as deadly as an open wound.
Unfortunately, his opponent didn’t need to dodge. Lancecain’s swords of light could burn through leather armor and make someone wearing full plate very uncomfortable. They couldn’t do anything to solid earth. A wall rose in front of him with startling speed. Too late to take another course, Lancecain put his all into his attack, reflexively thinning the coating on his blade and funneling the mana to the heat variable.
He felt a sharp spike of pride and vindication as his sword cut through the meagre defense. As the top fell away, Lancecain saw his blow had reached his attacker who’d been too close, trusting in their spell. He only had a moment to celebrate his luck as his next attacker was on him.
He sidestepped a bodily rush, cutting into his attacker’s back before blocking a wicked looking dagger with his opposite gauntlet. A powerful gust of wind knocked him off his feet. The moment his back hit the ground, snow swirled around him before transforming into restraints formed of ice, trapping him against the ground.
The moment he felt them, he cast a spell. His master had drilled him to use his spells reflexively but the adjustments he needed to make took precious seconds. By time a wave of intense heat covered him, melting his bindings, one of his attackers was already on top of him, a brown and scaly fist snapping his head to the side with a heavy blow.
If he were a regular man, the blow would have knocked him out but he was a northern knight. He’d taken harder blows from frost rain, a miserable event where ice fell from the sky. He returned the blow with one of his own, to much greater effect. His attacker was knocked off him and he jumped to his feet.
Another flurry of snow surrounded him but he didn’t wait to see what the water caster amongst them would do with it. Another blast of heat melted the swirling snow and all the white powder in his immediate vicinity. It also made those close to him rear back and he took the chance to run.
Two figures rushed after him as he continued his escape and the ground turned to mud beneath him. He was fast but they were much faster, circling in front of him in no time. The lack of footing made his swings awkward but Lancecain powered through, cutting down one of the attackers and shouldering the second to the ground.
He cast his distress signal spell again while canceling the distance variable, hoping the light would cover his escape. It didn’t help. As golden light bright enough to temporarily blind an unfortunate observer flared around him, a sharp pain came from his leg. He stumbled but he didn’t fall, biting his lower lip to hold back a scream. Blinking dark spots from his eyes, he looked down to see two large icicles piercing his leg. A swing of his sword shattered the ice but it was too late. The attack had destroyed his hopes of escaping.
Worse, he could feel the first twinges of mana strain in his chest. Every remaining drop was precious now and there were still three uninjured attackers facing him, not including the strange estrazi that had yet to move.
He gave it his best effort, bringing down one more using a trick that made a copy of himself forged of light to distract the attackers, but the somewhat costly spell depleted him too much. A wave of nausea dulled his reflexes and an arrow of fire hit him in the face. He dropped his sword, hands twitching before his face as he screamed. A moment later, a sharp blow to the back of the head knocked him out.
The whole exchange took scant minutes but it wouldn’t be long until someone came upon them.
Something Little Water was acutely aware of. “You.” She gestured to the injured brown-scale. “Smooth the ground. You.” She pointed to one of her two uninjured servants. “Pick him up. Gently. I will not have my prize die to brutish hands. You.” Her finger moved to the second uninjured servant. “And the rest of you. Go to where the other humans are. Be visible but do not attack them directly.”
All parties understood she had just given them a death sentence. The little leader had drawn attention to them and the humans would be coming in force. They would not be happy to find invaders targeting the vulnerable members of their brood. Her human told Little Water that humans valued their fellows, even the useless ones, far more than the estrazi. As it was, she didn’t hesitate to give the order that would undoubtedly end with their execution and they didn’t hesitate to follow it.
The estrazi were created in service of a greater will. Sacrificing themselves on the word of their betters was practically woven into their being. Even for the females. Should her sisters seen fit to intervene in her affairs, Little Water would have bowed to their wishes, though perhaps with a little more bitterness than a nameless.
That is why she had taken such bold action. If she managed to rise above her sisters, they would bow to her unconditionally as well. One day, she would be the next Great Mother, regardless of her common affinity and meagre talent. Then, and only then, would the brood, frozen in time like the rest of the north, become something more.
As four of the six servants she’d brought with her headed in the direction of the little leader’s home, Little Water moved the snow around them. She waved for the two remaining nameless to walk before her, clearing the way before them and arranging a pristine blanket of white snow behind them.
Tall gouts of fire illuminated the night as the four nameless servants recklessly threw magic while moving toward the Order of Polar Duelists. Soon after, several figures dropped down from the sky to engage them. No one noticed the four figures that quickly disappeared into the shadows of the village, making slow and steady progress away from the fort.
The people of Harvest feared and revered the light affinity. No affinity had an intrinsic advantage over any other. A caster’s threat was purely based on their ability, a mix of coefficient, knowledge, and experience. What made the light affinity special was the history behind it. An ordinary man wielded fire. Heroes and saints wielded light. No matter someone’s skill, facing a light caster would give most of humanity pause.
Lancecain wasn’t fighting humans. Where any person would have flinched from the sight of his sword covered in golden light, the hooded figures didn’t pause for a moment. He swung at the estrazi directly in front of him, eyes blazing as two illusionary blades mimicked his swing from different angles, cutting off any chance of escape. They wouldn’t do the same damage as his blade but his light came with intense heat. Burns didn’t bleed but they could be just as deadly as an open wound.
Unfortunately, his opponent didn’t need to dodge. Lancecain’s swords of light could burn through leather armor and make someone wearing full plate very uncomfortable. They couldn’t do anything to solid earth. A wall rose in front of him with startling speed. Too late to take another course, Lancecain put his all into his attack, reflexively thinning the coating on his blade and funneling the mana to the heat variable.
He felt a sharp spike of pride and vindication as his sword cut through the meagre defense. As the top fell away, Lancecain saw his blow had reached his attacker who’d been too close, trusting in their spell. He only had a moment to celebrate his luck as his next attacker was on him.
He sidestepped a bodily rush, cutting into his attacker’s back before blocking a wicked looking dagger with his opposite gauntlet. A powerful gust of wind knocked him off his feet. The moment his back hit the ground, snow swirled around him before transforming into restraints formed of ice, trapping him against the ground.
The moment he felt them, he cast a spell. His master had drilled him to use his spells reflexively but the adjustments he needed to make took precious seconds. By time a wave of intense heat covered him, melting his bindings, one of his attackers was already on top of him, a brown and scaly fist snapping his head to the side with a heavy blow.
If he were a regular man, the blow would have knocked him out but he was a northern knight. He’d taken harder blows from frost rain, a miserable event where ice fell from the sky. He returned the blow with one of his own, to much greater effect. His attacker was knocked off him and he jumped to his feet.
Another flurry of snow surrounded him but he didn’t wait to see what the water caster amongst them would do with it. Another blast of heat melted the swirling snow and all the white powder in his immediate vicinity. It also made those close to him rear back and he took the chance to run.
Two figures rushed after him as he continued his escape and the ground turned to mud beneath him. He was fast but they were much faster, circling in front of him in no time. The lack of footing made his swings awkward but Lancecain powered through, cutting down one of the attackers and shouldering the second to the ground.
He cast his distress signal spell again while canceling the distance variable, hoping the light would cover his escape. It didn’t help. As golden light bright enough to temporarily blind an unfortunate observer flared around him, a sharp pain came from his leg. He stumbled but he didn’t fall, biting his lower lip to hold back a scream. Blinking dark spots from his eyes, he looked down to see two large icicles piercing his leg. A swing of his sword shattered the ice but it was too late. The attack had destroyed his hopes of escaping.
Worse, he could feel the first twinges of mana strain in his chest. Every remaining drop was precious now and there were still three uninjured attackers facing him, not including the strange estrazi that had yet to move.
He gave it his best effort, bringing down one more using a trick that made a copy of himself forged of light to distract the attackers, but the somewhat costly spell depleted him too much. A wave of nausea dulled his reflexes and an arrow of fire hit him in the face. He dropped his sword, hands twitching before his face as he screamed. A moment later, a sharp blow to the back of the head knocked him out.
The whole exchange took scant minutes but it wouldn’t be long until someone came upon them.
Something Little Water was acutely aware of. “You.” She gestured to the injured brown-scale. “Smooth the ground. You.” She pointed to one of her two uninjured servants. “Pick him up. Gently. I will not have my prize die to brutish hands. You.” Her finger moved to the second uninjured servant. “And the rest of you. Go to where the other humans are. Be visible but do not attack them directly.”
All parties understood she had just given them a death sentence. The little leader had drawn attention to them and the humans would be coming in force. They would not be happy to find invaders targeting the vulnerable members of their brood. Her human told Little Water that humans valued their fellows, even the useless ones, far more than the estrazi. As it was, she didn’t hesitate to give the order that would undoubtedly end with their execution and they didn’t hesitate to follow it.
The estrazi were created in service of a greater will. Sacrificing themselves on the word of their betters was practically woven into their being. Even for the females. Should her sisters seen fit to intervene in her affairs, Little Water would have bowed to their wishes, though perhaps with a little more bitterness than a nameless.
That is why she had taken such bold action. If she managed to rise above her sisters, they would bow to her unconditionally as well. One day, she would be the next Great Mother, regardless of her common affinity and meagre talent. Then, and only then, would the brood, frozen in time like the rest of the north, become something more.
As four of the six servants she’d brought with her headed in the direction of the little leader’s home, Little Water moved the snow around them. She waved for the two remaining nameless to walk before her, clearing the way before them and arranging a pristine blanket of white snow behind them.
Tall gouts of fire illuminated the night as the four nameless servants recklessly threw magic while moving toward the Order of Polar Duelists. Soon after, several figures dropped down from the sky to engage them. No one noticed the four figures that quickly disappeared into the shadows of the village, making slow and steady progress away from the fort.
