x
*Episode 1 will no longer line up with the Chapter since the update. I am working to get the updated episode out but for now I present to you, an updated and expanded Chapter 1: A Mage's Melancholy*
"Fuck!" exclaimed a young mage, her voice echoing through the forest as she paced back and forth, her steps heavy with frustration.
Concealed among the dense foliage lining the winding dirt road nearby, she continued her restless march, still muttering profanities under her breath. With each stomp of her black leather boots, the grass beneath her bore the weight of her relentless pacing, yielding to form a new seven-foot path that diverged from the main road, a testament to her inner turmoil. Each aggressive turn at the end of her self-made trail sent her cloak's cape billowing behind her and the tip of her wide-brimmed hat swinging violently, her presence a stark contrast against the backdrop of the lush forest and swirling dust from the road.
As she continued down her path, she abruptly halted and shouted, "Stop right there, you criminal!" But immediately she cringed at the words, muttering to herself, "No, no, no... that sounds corny as heck."
In one hand, she tightly gripped a long and imposing wooden staff, its end adorned with a rare, diamond-shaped cut jewel that gleamed with an otherworldly brilliance. In her other hand, she clutched a smaller, less imposing, wooden wand. Meanwhile, a closed grimoire, with a cover intricately stitched with gold lining and embroidered with jewels in an elaborate design, hovered silently behind her at waist level.
"You!" she randomly shouted, her voice laced with dread, as if she were one of the king's most loyal guards catching a naked intruder skulking about the royal bed chamber in the dead of night, who might have been invited by the queen unbeknownst to his majesty for a late-night pillow session while he was out of town for the weekend. Stopping dead in her tracks, the upper half of her body lurched forward violently as she cupped her mouth with the hand still holding her wand and dry heaved at the thought she created in her own head after her random outburst.
She wiped a glob of spit, conjured with only the noise of her retching as an incantation, onto her black and green-laced tunic beneath her cloak as she frantically resumed pacing. Nearby birds scattered in a flurry from a bush as she dramatically turned and pointed her staff, shouting, “Hey there, bucko! You've got the little guy tucked away somewhere in there, don't ya?!” She laughed nervously, then mumbled under her breath, “No, he'll probably assume I'm talking about his cock or hitting on him or something.” After slamming her staff against a nearby tree, Lizyra cried out, “Why is it so hard to think of something clever to say to this guy once he gets here? If I say something like, return what rightfully belongs to me, or, I think you might be in possession of something that doesn’t belong to you, it will just sound so contrived.”
A man stepped out from within some nearby bushes and said, 'Why does it matter if what you say sounds contrived or what he thinks at all, Lizyra?'
Lizyra did a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree spin as she turned around in the man’s direction and shouted, “Shut up, chump! Your solution was to jump out of the bushes and ambush them, then punish them by chopping off their hands and selling all their belongings to black market merchants!” With a huff, she turned away from him and stated, “I told you I’d do this by myself without resorting to violence. So, get back in the damn bushes and be quiet, you barbarian.”
The man began to climb back into the bushes as he sassed back, "So politely asking them to give back what they stole and walking away without roughing them up excuses them for their crimes?"
With an angered tone in her voice, she scowled, "Isaac, I swear to the old gods and the new, if you don’t get back into those bushes and shut your trap, I’m going to turn you into a tree for the time being."
Being turned into a tree was not something Isaac necessarily wanted to experience again, especially since he knew it was a spell that Lizyra had recently learned and hadn’t mastered yet. The potential for things to go wrong and cause irreversible damage was likely, especially since he still felt slightly unwell from the last time, she cast it on him.
As Isaac finished climbing into the brush, the echoes of wooden wagon wheels grinding against the dirt reverberated off nearby trees, alerting them to the approach of a small caravan of wagons making their way down the dirt road. Lizyra peeked through some of the brush lining the road next to her and saw three medium-sized wagons being pulled by four horses each. All three wagons were identical and of a closed-top coach style. The wheels on each one seemed larger than normal, and they appeared reinforced with some sort of steel fittings, suggesting their occupants might be more military than casual thieves hiding in plain sight.
“Well, is it them?” Isaac called out from within his bush enclosure.
Without breaking her gaze away from the oncoming wagons through her brush hole, she said, “I haven’t seen a weeping willow in a while.”
Precautionarily gripping a low-grade anti-magic potion hanging off his belt, Isaac wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he contemplated whether it would still be effective or if it had exceeded its expiration date. It had been sitting in one of his equipment chests for a while since he didn’t need it until recently when Lizyra started learning transfiguration spells. These spells would usually be non-lethal if mastered and cast correctly, but he still feared the effect it could have on himself if he were forced to drink it to counter her tree spell. Since the last time he had one on him and tried to counter one of Lizyra’s rage-induced punishments, it was definitely from an expired batch. He had to physically throw the potion at the fire-bolt she cast to counter it, which turned it to slime instead of nullifying it, covering and ruining his clothes at the time. When she was learning sleep and confusion spells, he remembered that he had to drink them to prevent them from having an effect on him. However, he also remembered buying them immediately after she learned those spells, so there was little worry of them being expired at the time.
"It's not them," Lizyra said as the wagons passed by, her voice tinged with disappointment. She returned to nervously pacing up and down her self-made pathway, her frustration palpable in every step. A small tingle of pain suddenly agitated her, and she looked down to find a small cut in the black leggings she was wearing beneath the skirt of her tunic, just above her left knee. She placed the wand she had been holding into a small holster on her belt and felt her leg to see if there was blood. After determining she must have unknowingly brushed up against a bush too closely, she said aloud, “Damn it, I just bought these. Now I’ll have to buy another pair.”
Isaac wanted to offer to mend them for her but didn’t say anything out of fear of becoming a tree or having to drink a possibly expired anti-magic potion to avoid becoming one.
Lizyra leaned her staff against the tree she had molested earlier with her staff and slipped her feet out of her boots. She began to take off her leggings as Isaac belted out, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Lizyra stopped, hunched over with her leggings down around her ankles, and asked, “What? I’m not going to look tough trying to confront someone while wearing ripped-up leggings.”
Isaac protested, “You aren’t going to look tough at all with no pants on.”
Lizyra casually rebutted, “Yeah, well, you aren’t going to look tough with your branches swaying in the breeze, so shut the hell up.” She removed her leggings and put them in a satchel she was wearing underneath her cloak. She cleared her throat while slipping her feet back into her boots and added, “Plus, leggings don’t count as pants since I’m still wearing a tunic.”
Another set of wagons began coming down the path as Lizyra turned around and peered back through the small hole she had created in the brush. After a short glance, she said, “It’s them.” She frantically reached back into her satchel, grabbing her leggings, and struggled to put them back on since she hadn’t taken her boots off this time. In the struggle to put her leggings on, she fell over and rolled around on the ground, still trying to pull her pants up.
Isaac shook his head in embarrassment and looked away, since he could now clearly see up her tunic as she squirmed around in the dirt, and said aggravatedly, “This is ridiculous. Just let me kill them and get this over with.”
As she continued to wrestle around with her leggings, Lizyra said sternly, “No! What is it with you and wanting to kill them?”
Without hesitation, he replied, “It’s not like they are just going to give Nox back and not say anything afterwards to soldiers in town about him.”
Attempting her best impersonation of Isaac, she repeated what he had just said with strong sarcasm in her voice. As she arched her back up off the ground in an indecent and unintentionally seductive manner, she attempted one last time to pull her leggings up before standing. As she tugged at her leggings, they yielded to her insistent grasp, but not without a teasing resistance, causing her to pull harder. At a crucial moment, they gave way, tearing apart unexpectedly. In the midst of her unintentional yet intimate struggle, one of her hands, still grasping a piece of her torn leggings, flew up and inadvertently struck her in the face. Her back un-arched as she crashed into the ground, causing the skirt of her tunic to flutter up onto her stomach, revealing her undergarments.
Still sprawled on the ground and exposed, she groaned in agony as Isaac rose to his feet, drawing his steel longsword from its sheath. His voice resounded with indignation as he proclaimed, “Enough of this folly! You struggle even to pull your damn pants up! Convince these miscreants to surrender Nox peacefully? Absurd!”
As Isaac emerged from the brush, Lizyra rolled onto her back, clutching her wand again tightly. With a fervent incantation, she invoked, “Transformare!” A surge of mystical energy enveloped Isaac, and a sensation akin to a lightning strike seized him. Roots erupted from his feet, binding him to the earth below. In mere moments, he was transfigured into a humanoid tree, clad in his armor. His hair now resembled verdant branches, adorned with a cascade of leaves that draped around him like the boughs of a sorrowful willow.
Rising to her feet, her attire revealing more than intended, she awkwardly stumbled over to Isaac. With another painful groan, she wiped the blood from her nose and shoved her ripped leggings into the hole in Isaac's trunk where his mouth would later be. Her voice, tinged with embarrassment, muttered, "I already told you, doofus, I'd handle this peacefully. But, um, since you're sooo concerned about my pants, maybe you could just hold onto them for me?"
With a graceful sweep, she adjusted her tunic, brushing away the clinging mirth from her garments as she firmly clasped her staff from its resting place, imbuing it with a quick incantation. Drawing in a deep breath, she slid her wand into its holster, then reached out to claim the grimoire, which had still been lingering beside her. Stepping forth from the shadows of the bushes, she ventured onto the road with a confidence that was more pragmatic than alluring.
Lizyra, draped in her alluringly short black and green tunic, her form accidentally accentuated by the billowing black cloak that tantalizingly danced around her body, halted in the middle of the road while the dust swirled around her like a bewitching aura. As the carriages drew nearer, she turned with a sultry sway of her hips toward them, causing her hat and cape to flutter in the breeze. Her tunic billowed up once again, revealing her panties to the horses as they slowly came to a stop in front of her.
She vehemently exclaimed, "By the ancients, what sorcery plagues these accursed garments?" as she awkwardly attempted to push her skirt back down with both her hands still occupied.
Lizyra's long, slightly silverish-purple hair frolicked in the wind behind her as she continued to fumble with her tunic. From the carriage emerged a man, his voice booming, 'Young lass, are you tempting fate or merely seeking to entertain me with an impromptu spectacle?' Lizyra paused in her adjustment, though her eloquent black and red laced panties were still exposed, fixing her gaze on the man as he continued, “Consider yourself fortunate that these steeds halted their advance, for it was not my command. Normally, they would have disregarded such nuisances.” The man, tall and thin, bore a meticulously groomed Dick Van Dyke-style mustache and beard. His attire was opulent, adorned with multiple large, gold, jewel-encrusted necklaces and jeweled rings on each finger.
361Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpcRtS775hT
Her concern heightened upon noticing the rapier dangling from his belt alongside a pouch of coins. Growing increasingly agitated, he persisted, “Hey! Are you even listening? If you don’t speak up, we'll run you over!” With a dismissive wave, after another moment of silence, he turned to retreat into the carriage.
Lizyra nervously blurted out, “Give him back! You snatched him away like a sleaze bag, and I demand his immediate return!”
The man pivoted back to face her, retorting, “Young miss, we're not involved in human or demi-human trafficking. It's simply not our modus operandi. Now, kindly step aside before you meet the unfortunate fate of being trampled by our horses.”
Pointing her staff at him, Lizyra's tunic finally resettled, properly covering her, as she declared, “I'm not a young miss, and my companion wasn't human or demi-human. He's the dragon you've caged and concealed in one of your carriages.”
The man chuckled and said, “Oh, is that so? Well, I’m sorry to inform you, but you must have gotten us confused with somebody else. I haven’t seen a dragon in years. Probably about ten years to be honest. You know when that piss-poor kingdom to the north got invaded by the Empire and slaughtered those dragon-loving bastards!” His laughter echoed, joined by the amusement of those still within the carriages.
"In the name of decency, remove yourself from the thoroughfare, you impudent wretch, or suffer the fate of flattened vermin," the man sneered, his tone dripping with disdain as he turned once more to board his carriage.
Lizyra cast her eyes downward, whispering, "I warned you..." With a deliberate release, the grimoire slipped from her grasp, hovering in mid-air where she released it. Clutching her staff with both hands, she stood resolute as the man wheeled around to confront her upon hearing her begin an incantation. Upon beholding the levitating tome beside her, he erupted into mocking laughter, his amusement at her expense thinly veiled.
"What manner of trickery is this?" he jeered, pointing and laughing scornfully. "Some feeble attempt at sorcery, perhaps? Is this a pitiful display meant to amuse me?" As he ridiculed her, the tip of her wooden staff began to emit a vibrant red glow, accompanied by an ominous gathering of energy. Despite the sun's radiant beams, a dark miasma swirled around the vicinity, shrouding the carriages in a veil of black mist.
As the pulsating lights reached their climax, Lizyra's voice rang out, sharp and commanding: "Ignis Inferni!" A colossal bolt of crimson flame erupted from her staff, hurtling forth to consume the first two carriages in the convoy. Their charred remains cascaded to the ground like ash-laden snow, though the horses pulling them remained unscathed, leaving the man gaping at her in abject terror. Though he attempted to speak, his voice failed him, lost amid the chaos unleashed by her infernal display.
"Well, it seems he wasn't in those first two," Lizyra remarked coolly, adjusting her aim to the next carriages in line.
"Are you out of your mind?" The man finally erupted, his voice trembling with a mixture of fury and fear. He knew full well that there were no passengers in the first two carriages besides himself, as they housed his precious hoard of gold and treasures. He had been diligently counting his riches until the unexpected interruption of the girl in the road prompted him to investigate further.
"You've just slain some of my men! And by the gods, you'll bring about the demise of your dragon as well with such reckless behavior."
Lizyra's serious countenance melted into a satisfied smile as she retorted, "Ah, so you do possess my dragon after all! And those carriages were devoid of souls, else my staff would have claimed them, transmuting them into gems—an outcome I do not witness. Therefore, sir, you stand exposed as both a liar and a thief." With a pointed gesture of her staff, the man cowered in fear, his bravado extinguished in the face of her undeniable power.
After retreating a few paces to compose himself, he bellowed, "Men, seize this insolent witch bitch immediately!" Drawing his rapier, he gestured to his cohorts, who emerged from their carriages wielding crossbows. "Take aim!" he commanded, and a volley of bolts soared through the air toward the Lizyra.
With her staff raised high, she cried out, "Sagum Ignis!" A swirling cloak of flames enveloped her, incinerating all the bolts hurtling her way. Then, with a swift arc of her staff, a colossal orb of crackling electricity surged forth, accompanied by her command, "Electrica Coniectum!" The massive lightning bolt zigzagged toward the men with crossbows, electrocuting them momentarily before they crumpled to the ground, groaning in unison.
Wheeling toward the original man with the long, pointed goatee, she brandished her staff and bellowed, “Cavea Principalis Glacies!” A frigid gust erupted from her staff, encasing the man in a solid block of ice. Trapped within this icy prison, he shot her a surprised glance before everything faded to black and he slumped unconscious. The girl approached him, tapping the ice with the end of her staff. With a resounding crack, the ice shattered, and the man plummeted to the ground, unscathed but rendered unconscious.
As she approached the next carriage, the grimoire trailed behind her, suspended in mid-air by her arcane prowess. Peering into the carriage, she beheld several men cowering together, their faces etched with fear as they shielded their eyes from her gaze. Undeterred, she moved to the next carriage, her heart racing with anticipation.
Within, a colossal cage confined a majestic dragon, its eyes reflecting a mixture of trepidation and longing. With a sense of triumph, she exclaimed, "Found you!" Vaulting into the wagon, she extended her staff toward the bars of the dragon's prison. "Uro!" she commanded with authority. In response, the metal bars blazed a fiery crimson before evaporating into wisps of smoke.
The dragon, towering over two full-grown men, rose to its full height, its gaze meeting hers with a mixture of gratitude and newfound freedom. With a gentle nuzzle against her forehead, it emitted a melodic purr, akin to the rumble of distant thunder. As its massive wings unfurled, the wagon crumbled beneath its newfound strength.
Amidst the debris, the girl and the dragon remained, a silent witness to the chaos unfolding around them as the other men scattered down the road, their hurried footsteps echoing into the distance. With a gentle smile gracing her lips, the girl continued to stroke the dragon's scales, offering comfort and reassurance. "Are you alright, Noxy?" she inquired softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.
In response, the dragon straightened its posture, its majestic form radiating strength and resilience. With a resounding roar that echoed through the open sky, it asserted its newfound freedom. Meanwhile, on the horizon, a figure emerged from the nearby brush, in light body armor, a black cloak and armed with an array of weapons. His boots were noticeably ruined though he still was wearing them.
"That ordeal stretched on far too long, and I still fuming over your decision to transfigure me," Isaac grumbled, his voice carrying a weight of indignation. "You should have dispatched them all swiftly and put an end to it. Nox's immunity to fire would have hastened the process. And you owe me new boots."
Lizyra interjected sharply, her tone resolute. "I had no intention of ending lives needlessly. Those men are merely unconscious, and the others fled in cowardice. There's no need for bloodshed over such trivial matters. Besides, I refuse to stoop to your level of brutality by killing everyone."
"I am not a killer," Isaac retorted, his tone tinged with irritation. "I take a life only in defense of mine or yours. In this circumstance, it would have been not only warranted but essential."
Turning to face him, Lizyra countered firmly, "Taking a life should never be the solution, Isaac. No one deserves to perish. There are always alternatives to prevent further harm."
With a scoff, Isaac responded sarcastically, "Have you suddenly become a priest preaching the holy word of Dimora?" Before Lizyra could retort, he continued, "We ought to return; the others are likely growing impatient awaiting our return." With a decisive stride, he made his way towards one of the horses nearby. Mounting it swiftly, he spurred the other horses into motion, urging them to depart before their masters awoke. As the dragon lowered itself, Lizyra ascended onto its back, and Isaac cautioned, "Stay low and avoid detection. We cannot afford the attention of mercenaries tailing us back to camp."
Before Isaac could ride off, Lizyra queried with a hint of embarrassment, "Are you still in possession of my leggings? And might thou endeavor to mend them for me?"
For some reason, her sudden bashfulness slightly quelled Isaac's ire as he replied, "I dare say, not even Kitsune, with her healing spells, her restorative enchantments, alchemical expertise, surgical acumen, or divine interventions, could restore those leggings to their erstwhile splendor."
For the first time that day, a hearty laugh escaped Lizyra's lips as Isaac pivoted and commanded the horse to gallop down the road, in the opposite direction away from the nearest town.
ns 15.158.61.54da2
