Wittal Parish, Gavony, Innistrad
Apr. 3rd, 2025 01:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
deathsmajestyThalia was the Guardian of Thraben, yes, but it was the surrounding countryside that needed her help the most. And so, against the will and wishes of the Lunarch Council, she and a handpicked group of Cathars were riding around Gavony, attempting to fight back this wave of twisted evil. The Lunarch Council might have forgotten that Avacyn's faithful - if anybody could be called that anymore, as the human casualties from Avacyn's murderous rampage continued to grow - weren't limited to those within the bounds of the Bright City, but Thalia certainly hadn't. And she had found enough similarly-minded cathars who believed in that strongly enough to risk life, limb, and their standing within the Church to accompany her when she'd ridden out of the rebuilt gates to begin her patrols.
At first, they had fought against vampires and werewolves and - worse yet - maddened angels, but as their time outside of Thraben's walls continued, their steel and moon-blessed silver was more frequently turned to fighting corrupted nightmare creatures that defied sanity and sense and yet existed anyway. Their numbers had swelled over the last few weeks, going from the occasional monstrosity terrorizing travelers to a flood of them, trying to tear their way into homes and eventually, even towns.
And now they were numerous enough to threaten whole cities.
At first, the horrors seemed more interested in making their own way toward Thraben than they did in stopping Thalia and her cathars. She ordered the soldiers to conserve their strength, fighting only if they were attacked. As nauseating as it was to leave the wriggling monsters alive, she felt sure her soldiers would need their full strength once they reached the city.
But then she strayed too close to a shambling thing the size of a large horse, and it wheeled on her. It had once been a horse, she guessed—-no, a horse and rider, now fused together in a hideous mass of flesh. Something like six legs supported the thing, and interwoven cords of magenta flesh covered its sides, fusing what had once been rider and steed together. Jagged teeth jutted from various jaw-like structures beneath a ratty mane, and an orange glow beneath a three-cornered hat must once have been the face of the rider. A halberd was almost swallowed up in the tangle of tentacles.
Before she could even turn her mount to face the creature, as if she had entered some sort of mad tilting contest, it reared up on three hind legs and slammed a hoof into her shoulder, knocking her from the saddle. Her gryff lifted into the air with a flutter of ruffled feathers, and Thalia took advantage of the horse-creature's momentary distraction to find her feet and settle into a fighting stance.
As it drew near, her blade flashed out and cut two long gashes across what should have been the horse's neck. Brownish something dripped from the wounds—not blood; it writhed and squirmed like worms wriggling beneath an overturned rock. And the creature didn't seem to notice.
A hoof at the end of something that was not a leg lashed out at her. She batted it aside, cutting into the flesh just above the hoof, which this time brought a seepage of yellowish pus. But as she parried to one side, a tentacle—perhaps one of the rider's arms, before—slapped her from the other side. The side of her face stung...and then it didn't. Her skin went numb and cold where the fleshy mass had struck her.
She staggered backward two steps, shifting her sword to her other hand as the numbness spread down her neck to her shoulder. The thing followed her and reared up to strike her again, but then her gryff swooped down and drove its beak through the core of the creature's fleshy mass. A howling ululation rose from several mouths yawning open in its body.
She sank her blade deep into the thing—right above a foot still resting in a stirrup, she realized with a jolt of revulsion—and the volume of its cry increased. Several other cathars had come to her aid, and they swung heavier swords and axes until the horror lay twitching at their feet.
And Dennias, who a year ago had been a naive trainee at the Elgaud Grounds, knelt on the ground clutching his head as though he were trying to keep something inside from bursting out. His mouth gaped open in a silent scream and his wide eyes stared at nothing. His friend Mathan fell to one knee beside him, putting an arm around his shoulder and murmuring empty words meant to comfort. Thalia turned away.
Then Mathan screamed.
Thalia whirled around and saw Mathan scrambling back, his face white as a gryff. Dennias hadn't moved, but long tendrils, like magenta ribbons, protruded from between the fingers of one hand. Protruded from out of his ear.
His face went pale, and he looked like he was going to vomit. Shaking her head sadly, Thalia took a few steps toward him. She knew what was coming. She had lost more soldiers this way than she had to the creatures themselves.
He doubled over as if to empty his stomach, but more of the tendrils came out of his mouth instead. Something large squirmed beneath his armor at his sides, too.
He was lost.
Her blade took his life quickly--far more quickly than the horse and rider had fallen, and certainly more quickly than this corruption would squeeze the life from him. She took on the burden of his death so no one else had to; she would let someone else claim the nobler role of comforting his friend.
They still had work to do.
[Heavily edited and adapted (and twisted and changed) from "Saint Traft and the Flight of Nightmares" by James Wyatt. NFI, NFB. Warning: death of an NPC]
At first, they had fought against vampires and werewolves and - worse yet - maddened angels, but as their time outside of Thraben's walls continued, their steel and moon-blessed silver was more frequently turned to fighting corrupted nightmare creatures that defied sanity and sense and yet existed anyway. Their numbers had swelled over the last few weeks, going from the occasional monstrosity terrorizing travelers to a flood of them, trying to tear their way into homes and eventually, even towns.
And now they were numerous enough to threaten whole cities.
At first, the horrors seemed more interested in making their own way toward Thraben than they did in stopping Thalia and her cathars. She ordered the soldiers to conserve their strength, fighting only if they were attacked. As nauseating as it was to leave the wriggling monsters alive, she felt sure her soldiers would need their full strength once they reached the city.
But then she strayed too close to a shambling thing the size of a large horse, and it wheeled on her. It had once been a horse, she guessed—-no, a horse and rider, now fused together in a hideous mass of flesh. Something like six legs supported the thing, and interwoven cords of magenta flesh covered its sides, fusing what had once been rider and steed together. Jagged teeth jutted from various jaw-like structures beneath a ratty mane, and an orange glow beneath a three-cornered hat must once have been the face of the rider. A halberd was almost swallowed up in the tangle of tentacles.
Before she could even turn her mount to face the creature, as if she had entered some sort of mad tilting contest, it reared up on three hind legs and slammed a hoof into her shoulder, knocking her from the saddle. Her gryff lifted into the air with a flutter of ruffled feathers, and Thalia took advantage of the horse-creature's momentary distraction to find her feet and settle into a fighting stance.
As it drew near, her blade flashed out and cut two long gashes across what should have been the horse's neck. Brownish something dripped from the wounds—not blood; it writhed and squirmed like worms wriggling beneath an overturned rock. And the creature didn't seem to notice.
A hoof at the end of something that was not a leg lashed out at her. She batted it aside, cutting into the flesh just above the hoof, which this time brought a seepage of yellowish pus. But as she parried to one side, a tentacle—perhaps one of the rider's arms, before—slapped her from the other side. The side of her face stung...and then it didn't. Her skin went numb and cold where the fleshy mass had struck her.
She staggered backward two steps, shifting her sword to her other hand as the numbness spread down her neck to her shoulder. The thing followed her and reared up to strike her again, but then her gryff swooped down and drove its beak through the core of the creature's fleshy mass. A howling ululation rose from several mouths yawning open in its body.
She sank her blade deep into the thing—right above a foot still resting in a stirrup, she realized with a jolt of revulsion—and the volume of its cry increased. Several other cathars had come to her aid, and they swung heavier swords and axes until the horror lay twitching at their feet.
And Dennias, who a year ago had been a naive trainee at the Elgaud Grounds, knelt on the ground clutching his head as though he were trying to keep something inside from bursting out. His mouth gaped open in a silent scream and his wide eyes stared at nothing. His friend Mathan fell to one knee beside him, putting an arm around his shoulder and murmuring empty words meant to comfort. Thalia turned away.
Then Mathan screamed.
Thalia whirled around and saw Mathan scrambling back, his face white as a gryff. Dennias hadn't moved, but long tendrils, like magenta ribbons, protruded from between the fingers of one hand. Protruded from out of his ear.
His face went pale, and he looked like he was going to vomit. Shaking her head sadly, Thalia took a few steps toward him. She knew what was coming. She had lost more soldiers this way than she had to the creatures themselves.
He doubled over as if to empty his stomach, but more of the tendrils came out of his mouth instead. Something large squirmed beneath his armor at his sides, too.
He was lost.
Her blade took his life quickly--far more quickly than the horse and rider had fallen, and certainly more quickly than this corruption would squeeze the life from him. She took on the burden of his death so no one else had to; she would let someone else claim the nobler role of comforting his friend.
They still had work to do.
[Heavily edited and adapted (and twisted and changed) from "Saint Traft and the Flight of Nightmares" by James Wyatt. NFI, NFB. Warning: death of an NPC]
