[Great Hunt] The Pyre of the North

Arianwyn leapt over another flaming patch of brush and bramble, a feat she could have never imagined herself accomplishing mere hours ago. She had always had a fear of burning; but, when facing down a monster cloaked in raging infernos, the small tongues of fire that licked at the dry earth hardly seemed worth the effort to avoid. She had far bigger problems than the embers she snuffed under graceful hooves. Even the ichor, thick and smelling of migraine and chemicals, was worth no more thought than the intent to avoid stepping in it. Funny, how such terrifying conditions could become commonplace so easily when one's life was on the line.

Her adversary swept at her with its massive head, diving sharpened tusks into the burning earth. Arianwyn was sure she could smell its burning bone as she dodged just out of reach, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment to protect against the wall of heat the missed attack brought with it. As it neared, she took a moment to dislodge the silver dagger embedded in its zygomatic arch with her telepathy, though she almost immediately dropped it from her control in shock. The dagger was hot. Even with her innate magical control over argentum, it was impossible to grip for long, the sensation of pure, unyielding heat threatening to wound her, to boil her very blood. She had never experienced this before: she was innately connected to the element and moving it to her will was as easy as moving her own body. Yet, though her own body could ache and hurt, she never experienced such feedback from the metal she manipulated. The dagger fell into a puddle of ichor, sizzling against the dampness of the black stain.

Yet, Arianwyn noted, the dagger had not and did not melt. For a moment, she drew her eyes away from the attacker, regarding the weapon. Though it was exposed to the raw heat of an ichor able to melt the very earth, it did not seem to react. No, it was too hot to comfortably touch, but it remained steadfast. However hot the monster was burning; it was not enough to melt silver. The daggers she had tossed remained embedded in bone. Her creations could withstand the heat, even if her body could not. She could do more than toss weapons towards it. She could manipulate silver around it if she could withstand the heat. It was a near impossible task, and yet, she believed she could make it work.

Arianwyn worked to reclaim and regather her silver—minus what fell into the toxic ichor, which was too hot and too stuck within the sticky material to gram, she was able to gather all that she had brought with her. The daggers dislodged from the skeletal monster with a crack, the Silverweaver using its physical attacks to get close enough to pull them free. It was hard to focus with the Pyre of the North's continued attacks; though she longed to ask for a moment of respite, a break so she could catch her breath and assess her metal more carefully, she doubted the beast could even understand her. Its soul, whoever it was before it corrupted, was far too far gone. Or so she hoped. The monsters she had fought did not seem to understand shouted words. She just hoped that whoever had erupted into such a form was not trapped inside, hearing her but unable to respond.

When she had gathered enough, she began her counterattack. The next time the beast lunged with its deadly tusks, she reacted with a lunge of her silver, melting it with her magic into a cloud of heatless liquid metal. She widened it like a net as it flew through the air, aiming towards the leg which had stomped in her direction. Her aim was true; and as the metallic cloud hit, it solidified and closed around the limb, stretching from hoof to shoulder. Immediately, she set about reinforcing the silver, causing it to condense back to solid form and stiffen instantly, wrapping the bone in an argentum cast. A hobble, enclosing around blackened bone, snuffing out fire and preventing the beast from flexing its leg. She could see the monster trip over its new impediment, suddenly unable to properly walk as its foreleg was stiffened in an unnatural straight pose.

At the same time, Arianwyn was beset by a burning sensation, worse than she had felt when she grabbed at heated daggers. The silver molecules in her blood screamed out in agony and empathy for the ore that had wrapped around the monster's charred leg. Though she flamed were extinguished, suffocated under an airtight layer of metal, the skeletal remains still radiated heat. The Pyre screamed, a noise of pure heat and rage, but it couldn't reach Arianwyn as she limped away, consumed in her own sudden pain. She had never gotten feedback from her metal from before this day, but this heat was simply too much. Her metal could withstand it without melting, but her silvered blood could not escape. Her entire body felt as though it were on fire, and while she knew deep inside her that she was experiencing no physical harm, she could not escape the sensation of burning alive.

Still, she could not let go of the monster, could not release the silver and let the monster run free. As much as she longed to faint out of pure pain, she squeezed her eyes shut, and forced the silver to spread across the skeletal body. From the shoulder it spread to the Pyre's ribcage, attempting to sever the beast's connection to its wings of flame. Unyielding, she shifted the metal, moving from ribcage to neck, and down its other legs. Though she was not sure she had enough, she longed to encase the Pyre in silver, surround it with her magic and suffocate each and every one of its flames. Perhaps, if she could manage it, she could snuff out its fire and put the terrifying beast to rest. That was, if she could survive the sensation of burning that threatened to consume her alive.