Broken Wards Pt1
I've written this in an attempt to begin writing more, and potentially spark interest in commissions. As such, it's written somewhat as a sample platter.
This story follows a rabbit woman with an unspecified tragic past while she attempts to finally achieve success after years of desperate investigation into ancient knowledge.
This is Part One. Part Two will be uploaded soon after, but is much more explicit and erotic.
The wall crumbled in a deafening cacophony of falling stones and the sound of ancient wards failing, a harsh buzzing sound. Finally, she thought as she shielded her eyes from the dust cloud, years of searching have finally paid off. Sacrifices and betrayals will be paid back in full. She planted the grappling hook securely before throwing her hammer down and beginning her descent, where the stairs here would've once been. She was clothed in thick grey hempen garb, the pants lacking even a hole for her tail. There was, she'd decided, no point in wasting time on comfort before achieving her goals; a simple rabbit's tail wouldn't really be damaged by it regardless. Her pack, overfilled beyond reason, threatened to pull her from the rope repeatedly, and each time she gripped harder and waited to recover her balance before continuing.
The descent was long and slow until the line snapped. It was sudden, without warning, and too high above to hear the sound. There was simply taut rope, and then there was limp rope, and then there was the ground below. Her rucksack broke her fall, with a crunch. She lay there for more than a minute before finally rolling over and climbing to her feet. She silently cursed the man who'd sold her the rope before taking in her surroundings. Her hammer, a massive thing of steel, was a few feet away, and the 'room' was bathed in a light that seemed to emanate from nowhere. A jungle of plants so dark green as to look black surrounded her, and it was only by the bricks on the ceiling that she knew she hadn't been teleported out of the temple. She took up her hammer and began forth into the chamber without comment.
There are no trees in the chamber, but the massive plants and vine still choke the way through. Between the heavy pack and swinging her hammer through the vines, her fur is matted to her face with sweat before long. Still, she makes steady progress. A rustling nearby catches her attention just in time as a vine she'd crushed whipped back at her. She raised her hammer just fast enough to block, but the vine wrapped around it and began trying to tear it from her grip. Rather than let go, she was pulled off her feet and dragged around. Plants broke beneath her as the tentacle swung her around with increasing desperation. Everything was a blur, the ground swung up to meet her faster and faster and pain filled her senses until she finally let go of the hammer. She flew through the air until she landed in a bundle of vines. Her ribs ached as she drew in a large breath and pulled her rucksack around. She kept her breath held as she tore it open and rummaged through the papers in the back pocket. Her vision was blurred, and her lungs began to ache as she searched through them. After what felt like ages, she pulled two scrolls out. Unfurling them, she screamed the incantations written within. The first was dreadful, a deathly feeling of cold settling through her chest, her heart and flesh. She'd only started the second scroll before one of the vines beneath her began to curl around, but she continued, heedless, if only due to the cold clouding her mind. When the incantation was finished, fire washed away the cold, the plants, and the sight of the chamber itself. Her lungs ached as she waited for the flames to abate, but eventually, darkness settled and she could take a breath. A cloud of ash and chokingly hot air filled her lungs, and she desperately climbed to her feet to avoid stirring up anymore. Only then did she begin coughing heavily and struggling to look around.
The chamber, once lush, was now barren, but she could hardly walk. It took nearly an hour to find her hammer beneath the carpet of ash. The entire time she cursed the vines, and curses losing her best attack spell so early. Weakly, she walks towards the far wall of the room, using her hammer as a cane. If nothing else, leaving a living trap here that for long must mean that this is the right place. The stone door here bears the same weakened wards the previous one had. Taking a deep breath, she hefts her hammer and brings it down on the door. The same flash, the same buzzing of failing wards, and the door swings open with a crash of ancient locks breaking. The next room was a wall of darkness. Rather than enter, she pulled the broken door shut, and sat in the ash. Once again, she took from her bag two scrolls. The first, healed her enough to, if nothing else, survive a fight to heal again. The second glowed a bright, bluish light, and she wrapped it around her hammer.
Finally, she, after taking a deep breath, entered the room. Even with her light, the darkness smothered in around her, and she could barely see the ground ahead. As she walked, she began to see bones, so ancient that they became dust with only the lightest touch. She allowed herself no time to dwell on it, and focused only on moving forward. The darkness seemed to go on forever, and eventually she became aware of a dull pain on her back, and a trickling down her side. Her hand found a clean cut through her gear, and fur wet with blood. She hastened, and began to wave the hammer around, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever dwelled in the dark, but nothing appeared. After a few moments, she took a deep breath and returned to her earlier pace, holding the hammer steady as she had been. This time, she was ready. Only seconds passed before she felt a slight shift in her gear, and she turned, putting all over her weight and momentum into the blow. The paper, wrapped around the haft of the hammer, brought light to a pale, emaciated creature, without eyes or teeth, just before the blow sent it flying back into the darkness. The resounding cascade of crunching sounds that had emanated from told how well it fared. Still, she kept her guard up, and moved slowly the rest of the way, despite further assault. It was a long path through the dark, without any sign of progress save for the occasional skeleton beneath her feet. It was, doubtless, hours before she could make out the door, covered in the same wards as before. She narrowly resisted the urge to sprint towards it, but struck as soon as it was within range. The flash passed over dozens of eyeless pits pointed in her direction, but all was gone as light from the next room poured in.
Finally.
Years made worthwhile by one glance.
The chalice
Gold and bone and pink crystallized souls, filled with black ichor
It was suspended high in the air, with a single string hanging from the platform. The string bore a single note. The note bore hundreds of ancient letters she did not have the time to translate, not anymore. Her prize was nearly within her reach. Revenge. Safety. Comfort. Power. The possibilities, the rewards and satisfaction would be endless. She'd been betrayed, and she'd made betrayals of her own to get here, but it was all falling away. She'd been right. She'd mastered the old language of Asinara. She'd divined their greatest secret from rumors and burned texts. She'd been right, and she'd been strong enough to make it, after being discarded as a fool and left for dead. She'd been right.
No more distractions. It's for nothing if she's ended by whatever final trap must lay here. Beneath the platform, and beneath the note, was a single lever in an otherwise empty room. Once again, two scrolls. One of telekinesis, and her strongest healing spell. She stood at the entrance of the shadow room and used the first on the lever. Much too easily, the platform lowered. The chalice looked perfect, just as she'd expected and dreamed, but this was too easy. She'd been through three rooms, and this was all? She searched the room frantically, trying to find a final door, but there was nothing. This chalice, too perfect and given freely by the room, was final. Unwilling to take the last step without every chance she could find, she gave in and sat down to translate the note.
If you have come this far, then time enough has passed that this sanctuary's defenses have failed.
If you have entered unknowingly, then you must flee from this place with haste befitting the utmost of grave emergency. Report to your leaders of the Demon Hierarch's prison, and pray to your god's that they are wise.
To the leaders, chiefs, and kings, of a new age, you have come across the prison of the only demon to enter our realm prior to the war between our kin and theirs, and one of only four to remain existing in its full strength on our plane. If your kind has developed the power to banish or destroy it, do so with the utmost haste. Else, take up every force that will follow to repair the defenses here, or build a new sanctuary for the Hierarch's prison.
May mercy be granted by your gods and ours.
So, that's it. They'd hoped someone would carry the torch of locking it away. They'd been too far behind to know how to harness it. From her pack, she took a number of ingredients, some rare and many times refined, and others fresh and morbid. Sometimes a grand task allows for revenge in its pursuit. She dropped them into the ichor, which began to shake and bubble. And, finally, she began to drink.
The taste was blood, and ash, and the tears of a priest irreparably losing his faith. The texture was curdled milk with sharp chunks of soul mixed in. And yet, it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. The chalice did not empty, and she knew it would not until she was done. Of course, she'd known it was coming, but she was still shocked by the sultry voice that welled up from within her own chest, speaking as much to the world itself as to her, "Finally, the delicious touch of something living, though it's cruel to attempt resistance after leaving me alone for so, so, sooo long. Let go, won't you?"
The voice spoke in tones all too alluring, and pleaded in ones that tugged every ounce of empathy a person could possess, but it was wasted. Your prison was your refuge, and the time has come for one of a modern age to benefit from your power. Resign yourself.
The laugh that echoed in her mind chilled her as had the ice spell, and she nearly choked on the ichor, "You think a binding ritual and a soul ward will save you? Only if you flee immediately. The concentrated essence of a demon is far more potent, and you're drinking something far better than your average demon. So, while I applaud your planning, very good for a mortal, you're still not leaving here."
The room grew dark, and her head was beginning to feel like it would simply crack. She didn't respond to the demon, and focused only on consuming.
"I'm looking forward to having cute ears like those. I bet your lovers have a great time using them to reign you in. Horns don't hurt so much to be grabbed, but soon I'll have both again."
Her stomach was full of the ichor, and visibly distending, but still she drank it. The ingredients had fully melted into it, as far as texture would tell. And, somehow, the pain was already gone, along with most other sensations, apart from the intolerable thirst and painfully satisfying fullness.
The voice sounded weaker, and spat at her with the utmost revulsion, "Ohh, you intolerable, soul-tattered, worthless mortal, how dare you? You've ruined us both."
The voice, the presence, the demon queen was gone. So ended the Hierarch, and so ended she. An empty chalice fell, and shattered, leaving nothing behind. She, our protagonist, fell, her mind shattered, and too much was left behind. Bones cracked as she lay there, her fur darkened, two pairs of horns began to grow from her head. From a shattered queen, and a shattered woman composed of obsession, a new queen would rise. The land will not find much mercy from their gods.