[Cursed Crone] Towards the Beast

A mere moment before, Arianwyn had sworn on her ambitions, her parents, her very soul that she was going to step up, fight this monster, and protect her lands, her home. Yet, already, a more practical concern crossed the Silverweaver's mind: what now?

Here she stood; on the threshold of all that she ever dreamed. From where she had faltered to a stop, on the path into the southwest river valley of the Sunless Jungle, she could see the whole of the landscape spread out before her. The towns which dotted the sprawling floodplain looked like mere toys from where she stood; like playthings a child had haphazardly tossed across the floor. The residents of the towns were visible, but only vaguely: Arianwyn could spot craning necks as onlookers stared up into the sky, in the great behemoth that towered before them. At this distance, only the monster looked to scale. Even from afar and in the darkness of the night-scarred sky, the fine details of the beast struck Arianwyn as both beautiful and grotesque. The raven skull perched above what appeared to be a writhing mass shone just slightly in the light, almost iridescent as the very feathers it once would have worn. Where eyes would have sat were voids, so deep and dark and nothing that even here, at great distance, Arianwyn felt as though she could fall straight into them, fall forever into nothingness. The body –if it could be called that—seemed to be fashioned of the very night in which in stood, but, instead of the friendly twinkle of stars, there were only eyes, so sickly green and shiny that they could have been gemstones if not for the way they stared back into her very soul. And the tentacles, so twisted and gnarled, were large enough that Arianwyn was sure they could pick her up and carry her away.

It was a beast so vast in size and so incomprehensible in form that fighting it felt doomed.

As it stepped forward, sharp talons materializing from the shadow to tear wretchedly upon the ground, Arianwyn could see the scattered inhabitants of the valley take off at a panicked sprint, their very homes crushed beneath cursed claws.

In a moment of pure desperation to act, Arianwyn took off at a run. Weighed down by the silver in her blood, she had never had the ability to truly dash before. Her lungs simply could not handle it; her blood could not move the oxygen it needed to in order to sustain her pace. In this moment of adrenaline, not even her own handicap could slow her down. Her whole life, the spotted mare had taken great pride in her grace and poise, but in that moment, all that was gone. The rhythm of her own gallop felt chaotic and offbeat, her legs beneath her hardly feeling in sync with each other. She felt somewhere between a run and a fall, the stuttered movements of one mid-tumble desperately trying to stay upright. And yet, she did not tip. Though her lungs screamed in her chest, the crushing despair of this creature's aura seemed only to spur her on faster. She needed to reach the monster, the residents, the towns, something. Whatever she could do to put a stop to the great tragedy that was befalling the valley.

The people who had homes near the jungle's edges passed her in a blur, running away from the beast while Arianwyn galloped towards it. She heard frantic cries, gasped warnings, pleading her to turn around and join them. Run to the jungle. Hide. Cower in the shadows and crouch in the mud and pray the monster would not see, would not find them. Arianwyn did not blame them for running, but she did not heed their warnings. They might be right, that the only survival was to run far away and hope. But, among the inhabitants of this valley were both the old and the young, those too slow to stand a chance of escape unless they were given a head start. An opportunity to duck away while the behemoth's monstrous head was turned. That was Arianwyn's goal. As a mage of the Order, trained as she was, she had to offer them that chance.

"Over here, you big birdhead!" Arianwyn's voice rang loud over the floodplains, louder than she had known she could speak. Though she panted for breath, when she spoke, she found her words surprisingly clear. Adrenaline sparked through her veins, giving her the push she needed to keep going. As far as catch phrases, or perhaps last words went, birdhead may not have been her most clever inult, but in that moment it hardly mattered. She just needed the raven's attention. "Come and get me!"

For a moment, a pause, Arianwyn saw the monster still. It seemed to wait a moment, as though it was thinking, considering. Debating if she was worth the trouble. Then, it looked at her.

If asked, Arianwyn would have thought the eyes of the beast were the ones that saw. They scattered across its body, peering in all directions, ever-watching the cursed crone's own back. Yet, as the massive raven skull turned towards her, the Silverweaver understood the power of corruption was greater than she could ever know. In the empty sockets where there should have been eyes, the void stared back at her.

It stared into her very soul.

She stared back, and despite skull bearing no expression, she understood.

When she stared into the void, Arianwyn did not see nothingness. She did not see emptiness, the vastness of space or the emptiness of planes beyond her own. No, instead of nothing, she saw a mourning greater than she had ever known. A sadness that, the moment it settled upon her, felt as though it might crush her beneath its immense weight. An anguish that threatened to drown anyone who looked at it for more than a passing glance. Heartbreak, misery, woe—it was too much. She averted her eyes, knowing that a mere moment more would crush her very being.

This beast acted in malice but, in that moment, she was not sure it felt rage. The way it looked at her, with both dismal sadness and a deep need for anyone to see its melancholy, she felt the motivation was not destruction but tragedy. A corruption driven not by greed or power, as she had seen before, but by misery. By a sadness that crushed not only the poor mage, but that threatened to crush the whole world.

Empathy did not come naturally to Arianwyn, and certainly not for monsters crushing innocent people beneath impossibly sharp claws. Yet, even she felt that there was more to this hulking beast than the cloak of corrupted shadow that it now wore.

Yet, for better or for worse, the Silverweaver now had its attention.

The safety of all the others fleeing was in her hands now. Arianwyn could not dare to let them down.

Despite every cell in her body begging her to turn around, she only picked up the pace, running towards the cursed crone, summoning her magic as she sprinted. She had its attention; it was time to make sure she did not lose it. Arianwyn steeled herself for a fight.