Aldoursaea: A Journey Within

Chapter IX: The Birth of a Toungesmith and The Brewing of a Crisis

"Ow!" yelped the bandit as his knuckles got flicked after missing his shot.

He scowled, rubbing his hand while the others chuckled. They were playing targets with daggers, aiming for a swinging stump hanging from ropes.

His companion, grinning, took his own shot and hit the mark dead-center. "Maybe next time, don't miss," he taunted, to the chorus of laughter from the others.

"Psst. Psst. Serriah!"

Serriah's eyes fluttered open, her vision blurry. Borromeo's face hovered, his expression tense as he tried to wake her without drawing attention. She realized they were bound, seated on a hard floor, the walls around them formed from solid, dark wood. A crude yet oddly sturdy makeshift cell.

"Borromeo!" she whispered, forcing herself to focus. "Where are we? Are you okay?"

"Easy, one question at a time," he replied quietly, glancing around. "I think we're at the bandits' base. Feels like a cave, but..." he trailed off, eyeing the polished wood beams around them. "It's too bright and..., well, a bit too refined..., for a cave, don't you think?"

"We need to get out of here," Serriah muttered, "I've got an idea."

She turned, calling out, "Hey! I need to take a piss!"

A bandit approached, shoving a rough, deep wooden bowl through the bars. Serriah glared, feigning indignation.

"This is how you treat women?" she snapped. "Don't you have a mother? Or a sister? Or a wife?" Her tone softened, almost pleading, her eyes wide with false vulnerability.

This made Borromeo rolled his eyes to the heavens.

The bandit hesitated, visibly softened by her words, inching closer. But just then, another figure entered—a mage, cloaked in dark robes. His presence alone seemed to drain the air of warmth. On his cloak's clasp was a distinct sigil: a dark horned owl, glinting in the dim light.

"Enough!," the mage's voice cut through.

The bandit quickly retreated, chastised by a cold stare. The mage's voice, dark and laced with authority, broke the silence.

Without a word, Borromeo spat on the ground, the spit landing at Ebonclaw's feet. His defiance was met with a flicker of cold amusement from the mage.

"Foolish," the mage muttered, stepping forward. The air around him grew heavy with an ominous crackle. "Lucky for you, we have use for you. Fulgara!"

In the blink of an eye, the mage raised a hand and released a surge of dark, purplish lightning. The spell shot out like a whip of doom, crackling through the air and slamming into Borromeo's chest.

Borromeo's body seized up with the brutal shock, his vision blurring as electricity coursed through him. His mouth opened in a silent scream, his legs nearly buckling beneath him. He barely managed to stay upright, but the overwhelming pain made him nearly lose consciousness.

Serriah's heart raced as she helplessly watched Borromeo convulse, but she knew better than to provoke the mage further. "Stop it!" Her voice shaky but defiant.

Themage lowered hand, the lightning fizzling out as Borromeo slumped against his restraints, barely conscious. "Next time," the mage warned, the tone cold and unfeeling, "you will learn to respect your situation... and I am your situation... I am Ebonclaw..."

Serriah's eyes narrowed. "You'll regret this."

"That's what all they say, dear...," as Ebonclaw turned away.