[Cursed Crone] The Final Showdown

Arianwyn had the Crone's attention. It was time to act.

To the casual observer, this looked like an impossible fight to win. The silver-spotted mare was a mere silhouette on the river valley, a dot in the middle of wide-open fields compared to the sheer mass and power of the Cursed Crone. An ant, ready to be crushed under an uncaring hoof. What chance did she possibly have? Add in her blood disorder, and her magic which was decidedly not combat-oriented, any it would seem the young Arianwyn had a death wish.

However, the dismal reality of the situation was not going to dull Arianwyn's courage, or temper her determination. For the first time in her life, her fate was entirely under her control. She was no longer restrained by her battle mage mentors, who valued her safety more than her desire to excel, and often held her back from the most intense exercises. Nor, for once, was she under the full purview of the Mage Order. She was acting on their behalf by venturing out to the Sunless Jungle, but, once she had spotted the monster, the orders she had been given had fallen aside in favor of protecting the lands and people of Ivras from danger. She had full right to act on her own accord, and by Destiny, she was going to act.

Arianwyn sprinted forward, her energy renewed. She could feel the race of her heartbeat, the blood rushing through her veins, and felt invigorated. She had her wits, her blades, and her magic. No allies, no escape. No commands to follow. Hell, no one watching who could reprimand her for recklessness later. She drew her blades in one smooth motion, four polished silver daggers coming to life from their sheaths and hovering around her as she ran, a halo of sharpened knives. Experimentally, she spun them, appreciating the way they flashed in the air, catching the dim light of the sunless sky. At the same time, she summoned the plates of silver from her bag, letting them settle over her shoulders and neck: armor, though she knew they would be more useful readied as a reactionary shield than as static defense. This fight would take all of her magical and physical prowess just to survive.

She raced forward, noting the moment she entered the cloud of small, dense meteors orbiting the Crone—they were the most immediate threat, at least until the Crone's claws were drawn. She had to trust that her magic would alert her to an incoming threat, and otherwise focus on fighting. Before the Crone could make a move, she hurled one her daggers. As the metal spun, she willed it to morph, correcting flaws in its aerodynamics and shifting its weight just slightly until it hit into a writhing tentacle with a deep, satisfying thud. Her first really hit! The moment of satisfaction could not last long, as she quickly withdrew the weapon back towards her and jumped away from an incoming meteor's rapid path, landing poorly on one ankle and cursing loudly.

She looked up at the raven's skull head of the hovering beast. Though she could not read it's static expression, she knew in her heart that she had invoked its deepest wrath, and, if she did not move, would suffer dearly for her insolence. Arianwyn did not spare a glance at her recalled dagger, instead quickly folding it into her protective halo of silver and shifting the armor towards her more vital organs. Though she had managed to injure the enemy, the Crone appeared unaffected, unbothered. This was going to be a tough fight.