A Standup Philosopher
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On Ashen Wings Chapter Three
🕑 Added 2023-11-18 19:00:04 +0000 UTCOn Ashen Wings
Chapter Three
Hand to Helm
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If Ciri hadn’t already hated monsters that had captured them, the ‘mind-flayers’, she certainly would have starting hating them when her innocent attempts to save a young woman, trapped inside of a pod just like the one she and Shadowheart had been imprisoned in, had instead used some sort of monstrous transformation magic to turn the young woman into a mind-flayer herself. That had been shocking, and horrifying, enough on it’s own. Lae’zel had mentioned, not minutes ago, that it was the fate of those infected by a tadpole to become mind flayers eventually, if they were unable to find a cure, but to see it happen, to see a frightened but altogether human woman become a be-tentacled beast that radiated the same apathetic malice as the one that had infected them all…well, needless to say, Ciri was more determined than ever to escape while killing every one of the monsters that she came across.
Of course, that determination wasn’t going to make it happen by pure will-power.
The mood had been lightened, ever so slightly, when a search of the room that the woman had been imprisoned in, and the thrall-corpses therein, had resulted in them finding what Lae’zel had somewhat mockingly informed her to be a control device for the console that had controlled the pod Shadowheart had been trapped within. Of course, Shadowheart had promptly come to Ciri’s ‘defense’ by pointing out that the console could have killed her or (worse) turned her into a mind flayer instead of releasing her. And besides, it really was rather impressive that Ciri had been able to tear the pod’s door right off with her bare hands, and perhaps Lae’zel was simply jealous that Ciri had managed something the githyanki was wholly incapable of doing?
Ciri had been forced to remind them yet again that they had to get along if they wanted to survive, and that trudging through the halls of the nautiloid while arguing loudly with one another wasn’t a recipe for success or for survival. The pair had sneered at one another one final time before falling silent, padding along after her as they made their way down a long corridor towards yet another flesh-door. It spun open as they approached, and they found themselves entering a scene of absolute chaos.
A pair of mind flayers were battling a group of tall, humanoid, horned-and-winged demons, small clusters of imps flitting about around them. Even as they watched, one of the mind-flayers emanated a massive, seething-purple blast of magical energy at one of demons, who collapsed like a puppet with his strings cut.
Killed instantly.
The imps, seeing one of their masters fall, wheeled through the air, the flock splitting and curving around as they swooped down on the mind flayer, the long, sharp lengths of their taloned fingers tearing right through the armored robes the creature was wearing. Silver-white blood flew through the air in glittering arcs, the mind flayer staggering back and forth as it tried to defend itself, before collapsing as well as one clawed hand turned it’s throat into a ragged, shredded mess.
The sole remaining mind flayer, seemingly more competent than it’s compatriot, unleashed another blast of energy at one of it’s two opponents, killing it, before glancing over at the trio as it’s surviving enemy staggered through a brief withdrawal.
<Thralls! Connect the nerves of the transponder immediately! We must escape this place!> it’s voice thundered in their minds, the weight of it’s will pressing down on them, and Ciri’s jaw locked as she bit back a particularly vile string of invective that she greatly desired to spit back into it’s distant tentacled face.
“The ghaikis right! We can kill it once we escape, but if we do not leave this plane before the nautiloid crashes, we ‘re all either dead or some beasts plaything!” Lae’zel hissed, clearly incensed at having to agree with and service the needs of a mind flayer, but willing to do so for the greater good. Credit where credit was due, Ciri supposed, and she glanced at Shadowheart.
“The gith is right. The mind-flayer might at least want us alive for the time being, the denizens of the hells have no such compunctions. The three of us against a single injured and exhausted mind flayer is a far better fight than the three of us against hundreds of thousands of demons and devils.” The cleric agreed promptly, and Ciri nodded. She had no reason to disbelieve them, after all, so…
“Can you two handle the imps and the demon boars?” she asked, indicating the three monsters that were squaring off against them, and the pair exchanged glances before looking back at her.
“Easily, if I were to engage the hellsboar and leave the imps to the elf. She is capable of dealing with at least that much, I imagine.” Lae’zel responded, ignoring how Shadowheart bristled, though she also frowned. “Do not tell me you will be remaining behind or some such thing, and leaving the fighting to us?”
“Of course not, now get ready to attack.” Ciri scoffed, hefting her own weapon and eyeing the distance between herself and the battling pair across the deck. Taking a deep breath, her body dissolved for the second time since she had arrived on this bloody plane. An instant later, she was reconstituting behind the winged demon the surviving mind flayer was battling, one that (judging by the flaming greatsword it was carrying) was higher ranking than the others had been, and putting her sword through the back of it’s neck. It collapsed, instantly slain, and the fingers of her free hand twisted as she called on Igni’s power again. A great billow of flame poured out, reaching towards the mind flayer with a primal hunger, only to wash across a shimmering shield that the creature summoned with a negligent wave of it’s hand.
<Fool! Do you believe you can stand against one such as I? For a hundred years, I have…> it hissed, even as a racket broke out from the direction she came, her allies finally engaging their own opponents, only to rear back as she took a swipe at it with her sword. <Insolent cattle! You dare to raise your hands against the true masters of the planes?>
“Oh, by the gods, just shut the fuck up. You shouldn’t have fucking kidnapped me and put a fucking worm in my head, maybe you would have survived a little bit longer. Then again, it seems I’m not the only one who wants you dead, given the fucking dragons and the demons.” Ciri retorted, absently quite sure that her grandmother would have had her hide for this language, and that Yen would have been chastising Geralt for ‘infecting her with his obsession with that word’. A retaliatory energy blast from the monster was deflected with Quen, and it flew back to hover in the air as she attempted to strike it with her sword.
<Your purpose is to serve. As our tools, as our servants, as our meals! That you would rebel against us…!> The mind flayer seemed to be working itself into something of a wrathful frenzy, hurling a pair of small fire balls in her direction, which she dodged with a rapid Blink before trying to knock it from the sky with an Aard. The telekinetic strike failed, dispersed as it swiped it’s hand through the almost-invisible wave of energy. Then there was a shout from Shadowheart, a golden spike of light blasting into it’s side as the elf joined the fray. She looked little worse for wear, a bit of blood on her armor and plenty of grime, but to Ciri’s quick inspection none of it seemed to be hers.
A clatter of metal on metal echoed beside her as Lae’zel charged past her, now holding the same flaming greatsword that the demon commander had been wielding, making an admirable leap into the air and swinging the sword at the floating slaver. With one hand pressed to it’s side, robes scorched where Shadowheart’s spell had struck it, it darted sideways through the air, Lae’zel letting out a shout of frustration as she sailed past fruitlessly. It spun, free hand coming up to point at her, and with a crackle and the smell of ozone a bolt of lightning leapt from it’s index finger. Fortunatly, it’s injury seemed to have compromised it’s aim, because the bolt only brushed against the githyanki’s side.
Of course, even that glancing blow was enough to scorch her armor and cause her to tumble across the ground as her muscles seized, her ability to catch herself lost for a brief but vital instant.
“Shadowheart, help her!” Ciri ordered, jumping into the air and firing an Aard beneath herself, the extra propulsion sending her rocketing towards the mind-flayer. She plowed right into it, her momentum carrying them into the nearest wall of the ship, and she cried out as she felt something crack in her chest. They crashed to the ground, rolling painfully, and Ciri gasped for breath as she clutched what she was positive was a broken rib. Movement caught her eye and ear, and she looked up just in time to see the mind flayer reaching out for her with it’s facial tentacles, the circle of short, viciously sharp and serrated teeth that was it’s mouth opened wide.
Then Shadowheart was there, her mace slamming into the creature’s face with a satisfying crunch, silver-white blood spraying through the air as it’s head snapped to the side. Lae’zel arrived next, flaming greatsword falling with all the grim finality of an executioner’s stroke, and in an instant of sword parting flesh and a sickening thunk later, it’s head was rolling away from the seared stump of it’s neck.
“Easy, Ciri, hold still a moment.” Shadowheart dropped to her knees beside the injured vampires, putting her mace and shield aside as she reached out with hands that shone with a warm, radiant golden glow. Ciri gasped in relief as the pain ebbed, faded, and vanished, her breathing clearing up and her ability to move restored. She looked up at the elf, intending on thanking her, and noticed that Shadowheart’s eyes were closed and she seemed to be slumping in exhaustion.
“’Heart, you okay?” she asked, and the black-haired woman seemed to shake herself, opening her eyes and giving Ciri a reassuring smile even as she picked up her shield and mace again.
“Fine, just a little worn out. This many healing spells in such a short time frame is tiring, that’s all.” She responded, getting back to her feet carefully and glancing at the mind flayer. “That wasn’t a fun fight, though I am glad that you were able to kill that higher-ranking cambion so quickly. Otherwise, we might not have survived the fight.”
“Yes, yes, it was admittedly impressive, but stop complimenting her competence and get moving. We’re running short on time.” Lae’zel interrupted briskly, sounding a bit exasperated, though she also seemed rather pleased as she gave the severed head of her most recent kill a contemptuous kick, sending it bouncing and rolling across the deck. As if to punctuate her warning, a faint roar resounded through and around the ship, followed almost immediately by an explosion that sent them staggering as the craft bucked and heaved violently. “Tsk’va! Hurry!”
Ciri scrambled to her feet and they dashed around the wreckage littering the middle of the bridge deck, only to find themselves confronted by the sight of four more imps and a pair of hellsboar. Lae’zel charged the two demonic porcine creatures with a yell, greatsword raised high, and Ciri exchanged glances with Shadowheart before moving forward and incinerating half of the imps with a carefully aimed Igni. The remaining pair, separated and unable to support one another, fell quickly to more conventional attacks.
“Ciri, get the helm! I’ll help the gith! Just connect the two big tendrils and then pull!” Shadowheart called out, even as she charged off across the room, driving her shield into one of the hellboars like a battering ram, knocking it aside, though she staggered as well and failed to follow-up with her mace. Ciri nodded in acknowledgement, though the other woman couldn’t see it, and Blinked across the room. A shadow fell across her, and she looked up to see one of the dragons had just landed, it’s slitted pupils staring right at her as it started burrowing it’s head into the ship.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out it’s intentions, and Ciri swore as she hastily did as Shadowheart had instructed her, grabbing the two longest and most bulbous-ended of the nerve tendrils and drawing them together. The small hair-like tendrils on their inner curve wiggled and grasped one another, creating one unified length of slimy, oddly-warm flesh. A low, deep, rippling growl had her looking up to see the dragon had finally gotten it’s head past the shell of the ship, it’s gaping maw spread wide as fire gathered in it’s throat. She watched it’s body contract as it inhaled, and plucked the transponder in the instant before it could exhale.
The dragon, and the world outside the windows, vanished with an echoing thud and a pulse of powerful magic. The ship shook, the world snapping back into reality as a sea of stars, only to vanish again as the shaking got worse. At this rate, the damn thing was going to come apart at the seams while they were still…
The ship bucked like a wounded animal, something struck the back of her head in a blinding burst of pain, and all she knew was darkness.
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Ciri awoke with a gasp and a long, deep, heartfelt groan as the sudden, aborted shift in position caused her body to protest with a bone-deep ache. After a moment the discomfort settled and she carefully repeated it, sitting up slowly and cautiously to inspect her surroundings.
She was sitting on a sandy beach beside what looked like a small ocean cove, driftwood littering the shore, the skeletal remains of many a tree caught on the rocky outcroppings all around her. Rocky outcroppings, she could see, that were also strewn with the colossal wreck of the nautiloid. To her immense disturbance, despite the damage the craft had sustained in the multiple attacks and the crash, the massive tentacles sprouting from what was left of the ship’s bow were still moving feebly, pulsing and rippling as if trying to move.
“Gods…what does it take to kill one of these things?” she sighed to herself, shuddering in disgust at both the ship and the implication that it was still alive. Or whatever passed for being alive, at any rate. Nor were the tentacles the only bits of the ship in her vicinity. Now that her eyes had adjusted and her attention had settled, bits of wreckage (some flaming and some not) were strewn every where. In the water, in the sand, caught up in the scrub brush. She shook her head, marveling at her good fortune that none of it had killed her during the crash or as she lay in helpless unconsciousness. She would be grateful that no predators of the bestial or mortal kind had attacked her either, but she was willing to bet that any living being with half, no, a quarter of a brain was now as far away from this place as possible.
Which sounded like a damn good idea, frankly.
Pushing herself to her feet, Ciri groaned in slight discomfort. She was injured, she could tell that much. Likely from whatever had knocked her out and hurled her to the ground. Frankly, she was amazed that she had survived, but then again she was even less human than she had used to be. Besides, she could have landed in the water and washed ashore before she drowned, or something of that nature.
Metal glinting in the sand caught her eye, and she breathed a sigh of relief as she spotted the shortsword that she had been wielding on the nautiloid. At least now she wouldn’t be entirely helpless if she ran into something unpleasant, because she quite frankly felt too tired and too frazzled to properly shape and wield a Sign right now. Scooping the weapon up, she stuck it through her belt, shifting it until it was, if not comfortable, than at least tolerable. Not the most ideal method of carrying it, but she couldn’t exactly keep it in her hand at all times and she was currently lacking a sheath, so it would have to do for now.
Her nose twitched as the wind shifted, carrying a scent that washed across her like a wave, and her throat bobbed as her stomach made a point of protesting it’s emptiness at that very moment. Someone had died recently nearby, a human male between 25 and thirty years of age, with alcohol in his bloodstream. As if caught in a trance, the child of prophecy followed the scent further down the beach. A hundred yards later, she came across it’s source.
He was dressed as a fisherman, and it looked as though he had been killed by a flying piece of debris, given the ruin that used to be his face. Her instinctual knowledge about his sex, race, and age had been spot on, from what she could tell, and she was willing to bet he did indeed of some manner of alcohol in his body. Fisherman weren’t exactly known for their sobriety, after all. Much of his blood stained the ground around him, but the same part of Ciri that had known his vital statistics also knew that he had plenty of blood left in his body for her to consume, and that it had not gone by. Picking up his right arm, she rolled the sleeve back and was oddly pleased to find it free of any sand or grime. It would certainly make what was about to happen a bit more pleasant.
“Sorry, friend, but you don’t need it anymore and I certainly seem too.” She murmured with a slightly remorseful glance at what was left of the dead man’s face, before bringing the arm to her mouth and sinking her teeth into his wrist, her fangs piercing the veins there and unleashing the crimson sustenance that they contained.
A heartbeat later it hit her tongue, and she gave a gasp, her nipples tightening and pussy moistening. It was like an ambrosia, better than any wine or beer or ale that she had ever drunk, and she couldn’t restrain herself from clutching the wrist even closer to her mouth as she startled to suckle with a desperate desire. She had known that she was thirsty, known that she had needed to consume some blood, but in all the fighting on the nautiloid the need and the knowledge had fallen to the back of her mind. Now the taste of this man’s blood had brought it back to the foreground, and she realized why so many tales abounded of vampires simply ripping their prey apart.
It allowed them to consume more blood faster.
Still, Cirilla Fiona Riannon Elen was better than that, much better. Ciri controlled Ciri, nothing and no one else.
She kept drinking, deeply, steadily, and slowly, gulping down more and more of the man’s blood until it finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, trickled to a halt. Withdrawing her fangs with a gasp, she fell back in the sand, lying on her back and licking blood-stained lips with an air of profound satisfaction. Her hands started to wander, ghosting across her body, before she shook her head and snapped out of it. She wasn’t going to get herself off, not here and not now, no matter how turned on feeding had made her. It wasn’t right to play with herself right next to the corpse of a man she had just drained of blood, even if he had already been dead, no matter what her new instincts wanted.
Note to self: consuming blood is incredibly erotic for me. She thought to herself with a sigh as she rolled onto her knees and set about arranging her unaware donor’s body into the best approximation of a respectful repose that she could. I’ll need to be careful with that in the future.
Of course, the ideal solution would be to find people she held in esteem, trusted, and desired. The problem with that, of course, was that she was…well. She had been about to mentally complain about being alone in an unknown world, but perhaps that was a good thing? This could be a fresh start for her, in a world where no one knew her and wanted her for their own goals. Maybe she could finally have a little fun without worrying about getting drugged or kidnapped or bred like a prize cow.
Shaking her head, she quickly (with another mumbled apology) searched the pockets of the dead man before getting to her feet, a handful of gold richer. Looking around again, she huffed out a sigh and set off down the beach, the only course she could plot that didn’t involve Blinking up to the cliff face that the nautiloid was strewn across, which wasn’t exactly something she wanted to do. Not just because she had no idea what she might run into up there, but also because she had no idea how much the crash might have destabilized the cliff, and Blinking in midair wasn’t exactly the safest proposition. The humiliation of dying from a fall if the bit of ground she was standing on suddenly collapsed would be as awful as it would be darkly amusing.
A handful of minutes later, as she dropped to her knees next to an unconscious Shadowheart, she couldn’t have been happier about her choice. A quick visual inspection didn’t show any obvious external wounds, which was reassuring, and Ciri instinctively knew the other girl wasn’t bleeding internally either. She would have smelled it otherwise. Handy, that. This whole vampirism thing seemed to be working out quite well for her, so far.
Gently patting her fellow escapee’s cheek to bring her around, Ciri watched with concern as she jerked away, flailing slightly and scrabbling for a weapon that fortunately wasn’t there, and she breathed a sigh of relief as recognition entered the ravenette’s eyes before the elf gave up on the ‘weapon’ idea and went with ‘magical blast’.
“Ciri, you…we survived! The Gith and I tried to reach you before the ship went down, after the wreckage hit you in the head, but we didn’t make it before…well, I’m guessing we crashed. The last thing I remember is running across the deck towards you after killing the last imp…” Shadowheart sounded relieved to see her, something that warmed Ciri’s heart and brought a slight flush to her cheeks, and the cleric looked herself over carefully. “It seems I’ve not much in the way of injuries, you?”
“Nothing of note. A few bruises, and I want nothing more than a hot bath with some soothing oils because my muscles are screaming at me.” Ciri responded, and Shadowheart huffed a laugh as her head bobbed in agreement.
“That does sound nice, yes. We can hope and dream.” She said wryly, taking Ciri’s freshly offered hand and allowing herself to be pulled to her feet, though she stumbled slightly with a wince and fell against Ciri, who blushed at the feeling of the other woman pressed against her, her blood still running hot from feeding. Not that a lack of feeding would have changed things, she didn’t think. Shadowheart was incredibly beautiful, especially when she had that little smirk of a smile creasing her lips, and Ciri wasn’t blind damnit! Shadowheart was blushing too, when she backed away, hands tugging on the bottom of her chain-shirt tunic in the ancient and universally-recognized display of nervous embarrassment. “S-sorry about that, didn’t meant to fall into you. And after you warned me about being sore, to boot.”
“Don’t worry about it, neither of us is at our best.” Ciri reassured her genuinely with a smile, before noticing that she was still holding the other woman’s hand. Her very warm, rather soft hand, as it happened, and she absently marveled at the feeling of it before her eyes widened and she released it with haste that barely avoided being impolite. “So, I don’t suppose you have any idea where we are? This beach wouldn’t happen to be a convenient child-hood swimming hole for you, would it?”
“I have no idea.” Shadowheart shook her head, and there was something strange about the way that she said it, though Ciri immediately dismissed the thought. The other girl had just woken up on a beach after getting kidnapped, infested with a parasite, and nearly dying in the colossal crash of a flying ship. Of course she sounded somewhat off. She looked around, apparently to get her bearings, before pointing towards the water’s edge. “Crates and barrels, though. The sort that tend to get left behind by the locals. Someone lives in the area, at least.”
“I found a dead man, a fisherman, a little ways down the beach. Killed by debris from the crash. Nothing on his clothing to indicate any sort of political loyalties, so I’m afraid I can’t offer much in the way of additional information.” Ciri agreed, jerking a thumb back towards the body of the man that she had fed from, hoping fervently that Shadowheart didn’t try to inspect him herself. A hope that was realized as Shadowheart hummed in thought and glanced the other way, further up the beach.
“The only thing that we can do is head further along the beach and look for a way up the cliffs, try to get our bearings. Even if we can’t find anyone still living, we might be able to find signs or settlements or something of the sort.” She decided, glancing back at Ciri and shrugging slightly. “Anyone smart probably headed for the nearest garrison or fortified town when they saw a nautiloid crash in the area, but there are plenty of foolish people in the world. Maybe we’ll get lucky and some of that foolishness can be to our advantage.”
“Suits me, then. Let’s try to find your weapons and move on.” Ciri cast a critical eye on the beach around them, before grimacing a moment later as she beheld the shattered ruins of Shadowheart’s wooden shield, scattered around a particularly large stone. The cleric followed her gaze and gave a sigh of aggravation.
“That’s…not the best thing to see, but I suppose I should be glad it was my shield that shattered on that rock and not my spine. And, frankly, the shield was more an act of desperation and caution on the matter of stray arrows than anything else. I’m not particularly well-suited to front-line combat instead of supporting my allies with magic and healing.” She told Ciri, who felt a tinge of surprise at that (the other girl had certainly done well enough for herself against their enemies on the nautiloid) before mentally shrugging. This was a whole new world, with all new rules, that required a new and different point of view. There was little point at wondering over it.
“Speaking of which, have you recovered some? It was obvious that you were getting worn out on the nautiloid, even before you told me what was going on.” The question was posed with a genuine air of concern on Ciri’s part, and Shadowheart grimaced slightly as she picked up her mace and dusted the sand off of it before sliding it into it’s holster-loop on her hip.
“Some. Too much, honestly, for the amount of time that has passed without food, drink, or proper rest. It seems that, alongside letting us sense one another’s emotions and presence, our new passengers help us recover from spell fatigue quicker. I’d almost be grateful, if it wasn’t for that fact that such a boon was being provided by a malicious brain parasite.” The answer was delivered with a dry sardonicism as the pair started to make their way down the beach, and Ciri gave a bitter snort of amused agreement.
“My own magic is more powerful than before. Or, perhaps it is not more powerful, but that I can access more of it?” she responded thoughtfully, before making a flicking motion with her right hand to discard the issue. “Either way, it’s thrown me rather badly off balance when it comes to fighting. Mother and Father would both give me an earful before putting me through some corrective training.”
Shadowheart nodded sagely at that, absently rubbing at the back of her right hand lightly as they walked. The beach was littered with even more debris from the nautiloid, but the further along they got the less prominent it became and the smaller the pieces were. There were more bodies too, near a very obvious, very broken fishing boat and the ramschackle dock it had once been tied alongside.
“No sign of the gith. Either she didn’t make it off the ship or, more likely, abandoned us and ran off on her own.” Shadowheart scoffed after several minutes of searching bodies and wreckage for anything useful. “Though at least there is no sign of her dragon-riding friends either, and she didn’t slit our throats...”
“The dragons would have been a problem, yes.” Ciri agreed, before glancing over at her companion and raising an eyebrow. “What is your issue with the gith, anyway? You seem to have a rather virulent dislike for them, and it doesn’t seem to be born entirely of personal experiences.”
“Gith are animals. Beasts in humanoid skin. Despite having been enslaved by the mind flayers for generations, they act as though they are superior to any other race, and they are known for ruthlessly slaughtering anyone who crosses their path that is not gith, soldiers or civilians alike, regardless of age.” Shadowheart spat, seething distaste dripping from every word. “They’re famed for acting as planar pirates, attacking settlements across the realms without mercy or pity, stealing whatever they desire and taking it back to the Astral Plane. I once heard a gith claim that Vlaakith, their queen, had decreed all the realms across all the planes are their garden from which they may harvest. And if that didn’t prove their wickedness, the fact that they are so intimately bound to the red dragons would.”
“What do you mean by that?” Ciri asked, curious why a race being allied with a certain sort of dragon would be a definitive sign of their morality (or, apparently, their lack thereof) in this new world in which she had found herself. Shadowheart gave her an odd look, likely wondering how she couldn’t know this, but didn’t comment directly.
“Red Dragons embody the worst of all dragon-kind, even amongst the chromatic dragons. Greedy, vicious, vain, and aggressive. It isn’t unusual for a bored red dragon to decide to burn a city to the ground simply because it can, without any sort of provocation. At best, the only provocation one of their kind needs is desiring an object or objects that the city or settlement is in possession of, that they might add it to their hoard.” She explained instead, and yes, Ciri could easily see why being close allies with an entity like that wouldn’t exactly indicate a robust moral compass aligned with that which might be considered ‘good’ or ‘right’. “Fortunately, they’re nearly as lazy as they are malicious.”
It was almost sad how reassuring that could be considered, Ciri reflected, tearing the lid off of another barrel and peering inside. Frowning, she pulled out the bottle of crimson liquid within. Even through the glass and the wax-sealed cork, she could smell the magic in that liquid, and she turned to her companion with the bottle out-held in curiosity.
“A healing potion! That’s a fantastic find, though I have no idea how a regular fisherman could ever have afforded something like this. Last I was within a city that could sell these, they cost just over fifty gold pieces each!” Shadowheart’s excitement was obvious as she took the bottle from Ciri’s hand and held it up to the light, eyeing it critically. “It looks well-brewed as well, this wasn’t made by a hedge-witch fumbling over their fireplace. This is the work of a professional.”
“What are the side effects?” Ciri asked, pleased by the find but wary of the dangers ingesting it could provide alongside the benefits. The bewildered look she received in return would have been enough of an answer in and of itself, but Shadowheart followed it with words that made that answer painfully clear.
“Side effects, for a healing potion? I don’t know where you come from, Ciri, but most potions don’t have side effects. Certainly not healing potions, that would defeat the whole purpose! You drink one of these and it will heal your wounds, even stop internal bleeding, though it won’t restore life to the dead or anything of the like, and there is a limit to what a basic potion such as this can do.” The cleric informed her in a tone that bordered on chastising lecturing. “Don’t help with fatigue, though, or replace a good night’s sleep. Doesn’t do a damn thing for hunger or thirst either.”
“Well, you ought to hold onto it. With my Signs I can look after myself well enough, and I can Blink away from most threats fast enough to avoid being hurt badly in the first place. Events on the nautiloid notwithstanding.” Ciri decreed, filing away yet more information about this world and how it functioned into her mind. She would need to start taking notes soon, at this rate, unless Gaunter had gone and given her perfect recall as well. Hmm, was that a trait of Higher Vampires?
“Thanks, but are you…is that a Temple?” Shadowheart’s words drew her eyes to the far end of the beach as they rounded a rocky outcropping, and Ciri’s eyes rose to her hairline. Set into the cliff face was a massive stone doorway, seemingly carved from the cliff itself rather than built into it. “It certainly looks like one, though I can’t imagine why any god would have a temple all the way out…”
A scream, high and loud and full of terror, sounded up the rocky slope towards the north before cutting off abruptly. The two women exchanged glances, drew their weapons, and rushed towards the sound.
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