Page 45 of The Divine Shallows
Elyria cast a communication spell, projecting her plea for help as far as her magic could reach. “Help! Somebody help!” she cried telepathically, repeating her distress call like a blazing beacon in the ether. As they continued to run, she noticed Elowyn faltering, her complexion turning sickly, a stark contrast to her usual vibrant aura.
“Elowyn, we have to keep moving,” Elyria urged. “They’re gaining on us. We need to run faster, come on!” She pushed forward, pulling her sister along with her.
Behind them, the terrorizing snarls of the beasts grew louder, steadfast in their relentless pursuit. Despite the burning pain in her lungs and the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her, Elyria pressed on, driven by sheer willpower.
Suddenly, her grip on Elowyn slipped, and Elyria skidded to a halt, her heart pounding in fear. Whirling around, she saw her sister sprawled on the forest floor slick with perspiration, her condition worsening by the moment. Unconscious, her breathing was shallow and her face was deathly pale, so divergent from warmth she always possessed.
Panic surged through Elyria as she realized the beasts were closing in.
“Get up, Elowyn!” Elyria pleaded, her voice choked with fear. As the creatures drew nearer, Elyria’s resolve hardened. With no other option left, she turned to face the oncoming beasts, unsheathing her dagger, and summoning another protective barrier.
The rotting hounds charged at Elyria, battering against the protective barrier she had summoned. With each strike, Elyria felt desperation welling up inside her, knowing she couldn’t ensure her and Elowyn’s escape. The shield began to crack and fragment, slipping through her grasp despite her efforts to hold it together.
Just as Elyria feared her shield would shatter entirely, a bone-chilling, immobilizing voice reverberated through the forest,.
“Oboedite mihi, messores mortis,” the ancient voice rasped, commanding the decaying beasts to halt their attack. Instantly, the creatures obeyed—heeling, remaining at bay.
A hunched figure emerged from the shadows, causing Elyria’s blood to run cold. Elyria’s face blanched as it came into view and her grip on the dagger began to weaken. Though fey in appearance, there was something otherworldly about this being that set it apart from any creature of Neramyr—there was an evil rooted within this soul’s very marrow.
Cloaked in black and shrouded in darkness, the figure had a wickedness that sent shivers down Elyria’s spine. A hooded cloak wrapped around the figure, concealing its feeble frame. The figure’s hooded face appeared female, thoroughly aged and decrepit.
Even the oldest fey in Neramyr did not bear the wasted, withered appearance that this hooded creature from another realm possessed.
“Ave luna mala, filia vetus lunae. Magicam deae in perpetuum periisse putabam,” the crone spoke in a foreign tongue, flashing a grotesque, disfigured smile at Elyria.
When Elyria remained petrified, the crone’s wrinkled face frowned.
“Moon child, you do not speak the tongue of the Old Goddess?” she inquired in Neramyran, amusement dancing in her eyes. “How curious.”
Elyria tensed her muscles, suppressing the tremors coursing through her body as she held the dagger firmly in her grasp, ready to strike.
“Do not step any further,” Elyria managed to speak, the words clear and resonant. “I’ll kill you.”
The crone turned her nefarious flare towards Elyria, her eyes entirely black, bottomless pits. Her aura radiated wickedness, causing even the surrounding trees and vines to recoil.
“I cannot be killed, child. There are creatures within this forest that predate your kind’s very existence. Beings your kind have never encountered, even after living thousands of lifetimes,” the frail crone uttered as she slowly advanced towards Elyria, studying her intently. “But I sense a potent power within you, child. A rare magic, so infrequent, I have not encountered such in these lands since my youth.”
“Stay away from us,” Elyria warned again.
“I wonder what deeds you have performed to wield such incredible power,” the crone mused with an eerie, chilling tone.
Before the crone could speak further, she was interrupted by the high-pitched whines emanating from the three decaying canines. A sinister hiss escaped her lips as she took two steps back from Elyria and the unconscious Elowyn. Her expression twisted into one of pure disgust, spitting another message in the unfamiliar tongue.
Her gaze bore into Elyria’s soul while the next words fell from her lips. “Ierum me videbis, filia deae veteris.”
Elyria’s legs weakened as she heard the dreadful, dark words directed towards her.
Next, the crone commanded the three canines. “Ad ultimum spiritum oppugnabis!”
With a final chilling glance at Elyria, the crone swiftly turned on her heel and vanished into the forest, swallowed by a mist of shadows.
The three decaying canines charged towards them, and Elyria cried out, shielding Elowyn with her own body, conjuring another protective barrier around them. However, to her astonishment, the beasts didn’tattack. Instead, they rushed past them, their rabid howls piercing the air.
Elyria followed their gaze and was stunned to see a massive brindle-coated grimwolf leaping into action, pouncing on one of the decaying canines. The clash between the two creatures shook the forest floor as they fought fiercely. The grimwolf lunged for the decaying canine’s throat, narrowly missing the beast. It retaliated with a vicious claw swipe, tearing through the grimwolf’s fur.
From the shadows behind the grimwolf, four more of its kin emerged, rushing to its aid. Together, the pack of five grimwolves launched an assault on the three decaying canines, moving with coordinated precision. Elyria could only watch in awe as fur and fangs clashed in the brutal dance of combat. Yet, despite their efforts, the decaying canines fought back fiercely, each wound inflicted on them seeming to only be parried with a blow of their own.
The forest became a battleground, with savage beasts locked in a vicious struggle. Elyria remained paralyzed, cradling Elowyn in her lap, as she watched the savage spectacle unfold before her. Time seemed to blur as the battle raged on, the grimwolves tiring from their injuries while the decaying canines pressed on, their rotting forms deceptively strong.
