So here is part one of a two part story about Malatrix the Defiler, critical feedback would be appreciated:
Malatrix had thought about this day every day of the last nine years. Working and training; studying every text and every artifact. Laying her plans. She had studied at the feet of three masters. As the rotting carcasses of the centaurs attacked her in a pincer movement, which revealed intelligence despite their zombified appearance, Mala thought of master Ashclaw. From him she had learned the primal energies: chaos summoning and light conjuration. The grizzled, old Badger would have dispatched these foes with an arc of plasma. He would not have even missed a step. Malatrix needed to save her power. She ducked at the left-most centaur swinging her staff in a wide arc. Side-stepping between them she struck at her true target on the right as the first enemy reared up to dodge the attack. Mala struck the second of the undead with her staff. The dull, milky-grey crystal at the tip darkened briefly as it touched the beast’s chest. Before the centaurs could press their flanking advantage the crystal drained the water from the victim. Its dust blew away in the hot Solstice winds. Reversing the weapon, the pointed tip pierced the knee of the first assailant as it came back down on all four legs. The limb gave way and the rotting face hurtled into the ancient carved paved road. Spinning the staff in disdain she made the centaur pay for her delaying blow with all of its moisture. People we so quick to use fire against the undead without thinking that their lack of water could be exploited in other ways.
The foul particles of dust whipped around Malatrix' face so she pulled up her cowl covering her cherry red ears and wrapped her wet scarf around her lower face. Time to step up the pace. Jogging then, Mala held her staff out behind her horizontally, as her second master Whitekelp had. The albino sea-lion was deadly with many weapons but chose the staff most often. He taught Mala about the Flow and how to power magic from the Arcane river which generated it. Since learning defiling sorcery Malatrix had not tapped the Flow, but she could feel it, just beyond, but within reach if she needed it.
She was close enough to the tower now that details were visible, which is to say the lack of details. It appeared to be hewn from a single piece of bloodstone, impossible but none-the-less true. A modest sized building at the base, tapering gently to form a cone. No doors or windows marred its wall. No creeping plants clung to it as they did to the other landmarks nearby, no living thing dared approach it; except Malatrix. Then the fire-snake attacked. Springing from its perch with the Sun behind it, it was virtually invisible. However it drew primal energy from the Primordial plane. The ripples that made in the fabric of reality were like a hawk cry of warning to Mala. She had been expecting this foe, counting on it in fact, and released the spell she had delay-cast. It disappeared, the faint whiff of ammonia the only clue that it had teleported. Her third and final master Xarienne has taught her how to create a magical form in her mind and draw on the power to make it reality yet not allow it to release. The Dragonborn had been so pleased when her student mastered the technique. Xarienne was very supportive, frequently offering positive feedback. Malatrix sometimes thought the sunny disposition perfectly matched her teacher’s bright yellow scales and gold skin. Just thinking of Xari made her lose focus in a wave of hatred and Mala chastised herself for the split second of weakness. Murdering Ashclaw and Whitekelp had been a necessary and she took no particular joy from it. Killing Xarienne the Wonderous was necessary too, though the pleasure of it might have been incentive enough, but that same joy would threaten the success of the mission. There would be only one chance and Malatrix would take it.
Closing the final distance to the base of the tower, Mala stowed her staff on her back and drew a pair of silk gloves from a belt pouch. The Gloves of Lloth were cold and rough inside, though outside they were silky and smooth. Ignoring the discomfort she did them up tighter than seemed necessary. Placing her hands on the bloodstone wall, Malatrix started crawling up the side of the tower. Within a few minutes she had climbed halfway to the top. When the Archon appeared it was more fearsome and potent than expected. Part man, part bird, but every aspect blazing with divine might. It spoke its dread warning: “Do Not Seek To Enter This Demesne! Only Death And…”, Malatrix gripped the wall with both gloves, bracing for a sudden weight and shattered the glass bead secreted in her mouth with her teeth. The glass cut her but not badly and the deadly poison escaped. The cloud of Void Breath expanded around her, a magical poison so deadly it was said nothing could survive it. As she died Malatrix hoped that it was true, but could not see whether the Archon succumbed.
Topic: Trixsie's odds and ends (Read 70725 times)