Scene 14: Every Witch Way


As the sun climbed higher in the sky, Aerie checked on and prepared her spells, scrolls, potions. Many of the Harpers wanted to help in the fight, but she had chosen a site for the battle away from the village; their job was to make sure no-one else came near, and if she should fall do all they could to get Jaheira away. She had watched Vortigan when he left, and knew this was the road he would take on his return, being as he was supremely confident no-one could stop him, and nothing had given him a reason to doubt it. And so in the middle of it she knelt and hung her head, praying to Baervan and Aerdrie Faenya and whatever other gods might, this once, be kind to her.

She had an arcane eye scouting around just above the trees, just in case Vortigan decided to surprise her. But, he didn’t. With a resigned sigh she stood, as ready for battle as she would ever be.

Vortigan strode slowly, but surely, regarding the world around - the trees, the sun, the fields, birds, and busy bees - coolly and impassively, unmoved by them; only by his own grim purpose. Even when the world began to change - the sky turning purple, green fields giving way to a barren, blasted landscape, and a legion of mirrors rose out of the road in front of him - his head merely tilted, only mildly curious.

He strode on, the mirrors floating around, his reflection distorted. There was guttural growl, heavy paws thumping the ground, bounding, jumping, pouncing. He swung his axe, slicing through the snout of a werewolf, then watching it fall as it turned to dust and was blown away.

“Impressive illusions, witch,” he snorted, “but you only delay the inevitable.”

Aerie’s voice echoed from each of the mirrors, “I believe in second chances, Vortigan, I really do. But you hurt my friends so you’re only getting one; just turn around, and walk away.”

“I believe you know my answer.”

“So be it.”

The air crackled, Vortigan raising his bracer’s to absorb the impact of three bright searing orbs. He spun round one of the mirrors pulling a knife from his belt and there glimpsed a fleeting shadow and threw. Another mirror shattered, Aerie stood behind with her finger in the air, the knife frozen just inches from her forehead. Her hand twisted, the knife turned about, flying back along the trajectory it had came, Vortigan striking it down with his axe as he bounded at her.
As before Aerie raised her shield. She couldn’t run fast, but she had some agility; enough to deflect and dodge his initial flurry of blows, bright magic armor absorbing the ones that did make it to her. But as before she soon started to tire. She ducked under a swing, managing to finally land a hit on his side, cracks and sparks of electricity spreading through his veins. To her horror this didn’t seem to do much more than irritate him. He grabbed the edge of her shield and kicked, ripping it from her as she was flung away.

Aerie rolled to her knees, dazed but recovered in time to see Vortigan rushing at her with his axe raised. Not in time to get out of the way. She flinched, shielding her eyes as the axe fell, Vortigan snarling as it struck. But this was not yet his moment of victory, his snarl turning to surprise as his blade caught between two shimmering blue wings that encased his prey.

She pushed, staggering him as her wings swooshed, the tips of her feathers scratching his flesh, and then she jumped back taking to the skies out of his reach. She circled, a bright orange ball growing in her hand until she threw, Vortigan and a wide area around him erupting and engulfed by brilliant dancing orange flames.
For a moment even Aerie had a hard time seeing through the glow of all the fire. For that moment she dared hope that had been enough. But then he emerged, flames clinging to him but his skin unburnt as he spun, Aerie’s surprise enabling the rock he hurled to just clip her, yet it was enough to bring her crashing to the ground.

She scrambled to her feet, still having some distance between them as he charged. She swung her staff, a thick silver crackling bolt striking one of the mirrors, bouncing off and then between all the others, striking him again and again. A column of flame erupted from her, hitting him, his bracers glowing red, yellow, white hot as he pushed ever onwards, nothing she could put in his way seeming to slow him down.

It was time. As he came close, axe ready to strike again, she flew up, spinning over him as she chanted. The illusionary battlefield disappeared, as did her wings and the magic armor over her skin. She dropped to the ground behind him, just a weak and vulnerable elf, unable to resist as kicked her into the trunk of nearby tree.

But he was confused by what she had done. “Antimagic?” He squinted suspiciously, “why would you place yourself at such a huge disadvantage?”
Aerie gulped and swallowed as she staggered to her feet. “Those are very powerful bracers,” she explained, “they’ve been absorbing all the magic I can throw at them. But, you see, all that energy has got to go somewhere; dispersed back into the weave. Which I’ve just cut you off from.”
Even if his mind couldn’t decipher what she’d said, it soon became clear as the bracers continued to glow, humming, his flesh already starting to sear. He spat, dropping his axe as he tried desperately to unfasten them, turning to get outside of her field. But she jumped on his back, hanging and holding tight onto his neck as he thrashed.

“I’m not much of a boxer or wrestler,” Aerie admitted, “but I am a great witch.”

The next part she had to time perfectly, dropping the field and hastening away just as Vortigan pulled the bracers loose and chucked them, but not in time to completely avoid the blast. He was thrown, colliding with the unyielding bark of a tree, falling and rolling into a ditch.
Groaning he sat up, gritting and grimacing as he flung himself at the side of the trench to snap his shoulder back into place. A shadow fell over him, briefly. Aerie touched down on her toes further along the trench, her wings disappearing again. Vortigan had lost his axe, but it didn’t matter; all he had to do was get close enough to clamp his hands around her throat.

He sprung up and bounded, a few strides being all it would take to close the distance. A yellow bolt flew from her, striking him in the chest, and he winced, looking down in shock as he could smell his flesh burning from the acid. More orbs and bolts flew at him, his body shaking from each impact as he staggered and was forced further and further back along the trench. Blood dripped from his lips as he dropped to his knees, and a final orb struck his head knocking him all the way down into the mud.

Aerie could finally catch her breath, climbing out of the trench and back to the road where she put her hands on her knees, sucking in all the clean air she could. She had actually won. The gods had actually been kind to her. It was only a pity Jaheira hadn’t seen it. Or maybe that was best; she would find something to criticize, and Aerie really felt she deserved at least a moment of triumph.

But then she heard rustling from the ditch, her eyes widening as she watched Vortigan rising yet again. Although his body was charred and battered as he spat out blood, only able to crawl. Still he kept coming, only pausing to rise to his knees and grin at her.

“This,” he wheezed, “is the life of a warrior. It is a simple life. Pure. You seek out foes. You conquer them. And when one bests you, you die.”

Aerie guessed she wasn’t a warrior, then, because she really didn’t understand. With a final burst he pulled a dagger and charged. Aerie’s wings lashed out to defend her. He rushed by, falling again to his knees, a red trickle across his throat. Then he fell on his back, still grinning up at the sky as he breathed his last.

Aerie admitted that when in battle, she felt a clarity she rarely did at other times, as if a fog lifted and her purpose was clear; win or survive. But when the battle was over and this was the result… was it really what he wanted? What he had truly been seeking this entire time? Perhaps they were too different for her to ever really understand.

The black robed watchers appeared, Aerie tensing in case they wanted revenge for their fallen idol. But they ignored her, gathering around and kneeling by Vortigan, a weeping woman placing a gentle hand on his chest. After a few moments of mourning a couple turned and genuflected to her.

But no; she didn’t want followers. All she wanted right now was a drink and then a long rest.

NOTES: Round 2. In one corner, Vortigan; seven-feet of bulging muscle seemingly impervious to harm. In the other corner, Aerie; five-feet of fretful elf, and very easily harmed. The result will shock you.