She awoke to the same green glow but she was lying down. More than that, she was strapped down. Her head throbbed. She tried to move but her bonds were too tight. They chafed against her, she grimaced.
‘Aah ah’ came a voice from somewhere around her head. She twisted trying to see the speaker.
‘Don’t damage yourself my dear. I need you intact. I have plans for you after all.’
Yarlae didn’t need to ask what those plans were. None of the possible options that she could think of were palatable in the slightest. She became aware of another presence lying near her. Turning her head she could just about make out a large frame and white beard. It was Wulf. Blood pooled around his body, covering the table.
The Fleshmancer came into view. Vasilya's visage was noticeably older, clearly the young mages body was not going to last.
"Yes" , she confessed softly. "This one has not lasted as long as i had hoped. It’s my own fault I suppose, I have been working far too hard."
She motioned and Wulf jerked twice and sat bolt upright.
"A truly amazing specimen,’ she continued. ‘He needed little enhancing at all, just repair and replacement of damaged parts. I fear my pets were a little too savage. He must have put up quite the fight."
Yarlae lay, wide eyed in terror as the being she had known so recently as Wulf swung its great head round and regarded her coldly. The damage wrought upon his form had indeed been savage. She could see patchwork skin across his left cheek and down the neck and shoulder. Swathes of repurposed flesh covered his torso, testament to the wounds he had sustained. For all that, structurally at least, it was still Wulf’s body as far as she could see. Some muscle mass had been added to his upper torso but Wulf had never been a small man and his already impressive physique had merely been enhanced not grotesquely deformed and altered.
“Yes, a fine example of physicality despite his age. Why, I almost considered wearing him myself, after all, I have been a man before, many a time. But his spirit, his will, that was something special, I strove hard to bend that to my domination. It was… taxing.“ Yarlae noticed the weary pause.
“But“ the Fleshmancer continued labouredly, still out of sight. “The result is worth it I think. This one will be in my vanguard when I attack my next target. My champion,“ she demurred.
At her words the Wulf-thing stood. Towering over the bound half-elf. Yarale tensed involuntarily and felt the restraint on her right wrist give slightly. Hope flared within her breast.
“Why though?" she asked as she continued to test her bonds. The two leg straps around her shins were still tight, as was the restraint on her left wrist, but the right was definitely loose in comparison. She called upon techniques she had learned as a child, channelling her energies and strength to the muscles in her lower right arm, straining against it. The leather strap flexed once again and she felt the buckle give. She needed more time.
“I mean, what can you possibly hope to achieve?" As she spoke she slowed her heartbeat, entering a semi meditative state. Slower, more powerful pulses were what was needed here. She strained her wrist against the bond, every sinew and tendon striving to weaken the fabric of the strap. She was careful to keep her efforts subtle, even though the strap was on the far side of both Wulf-Thing and the Fleshmancer.
"Why, domination of course," The tone of the Fleshmancers voice made it quite clear that the concept was as natural to her as breathing. "I will continue to grow my army of followers, each an improvement over their original form. I’ll enhance the population of town after town" ; she gestured vaguely at the tower's walls, indicating outside. "I will build an empire. As time continues I shall continue to perfect my servants. Iteration upon iteration, a masterwork of flesh wrought from sheer will and power!" She had reached a noticeable crescendo and now lowered her voice before continuing.
"However, for that, I will need your power my dear. AND your flesh." She moved into view as Yarlae continued to work the restraint. "Yet i tire now. My assimilation of all that you are will require much preparation, and research. I shall leave you here for now with your friend." She stressed the word with a nasty smile before gesturing to Wulf-thing.
"Your brethren are out collecting parts, they will return soon. Watch her, do not let her leave."
Wulf-Thing made a strange kind of gurgle that may have been assent before moving to the far wall where it could monitor its charge. It stood there staring at the bound half-elf impassively with dead eyes. The fleshmancer looked down at Yarlae.
" Farewell my dear, be you soon." She departed, chuckling softly at her own joke. Yarlae heard a door open and close somewhere behind her head, out of sight. She focused her gaze on Wulf-Thing and made a show of attempting to break free of her bonds.
Wulf-Thing grunted in a way far too reminiscent of when he (no, it, Yarlae reminded herself) was still alive but otherwise didn’t move. Satisfied that her pantomime had convinced her captor that she was secure, she refocused her efforts on the weak restraint.
This technique had never come naturally to Yarlae, thanks to her mongrel heritage, but her mother had been a good teacher and Yarlae an attentive student. Soon the bond was loosened enough to extract her hand, albeit at the cost of some skin. Now free, she flexed the hand and then surreptitiously slid it down to a hidden pouch on her thigh, extracting a small, sharp, sliver of metal.
She calculated that it would take around three seconds to cut through each remaining bond. Too long. Wulf-Thing could easily reach and incapacitate her within nine seconds, putting to an end any hopes of escape from the tower. She would need to be faster. Much faster.
Once again she called upon her elven side. She began to channel her energy and strength once more, but rather than directing everything to one area she now readied every muscle in her body for one powerful burst of lightning quick action. Elven speed reactions and strength far in excess of what she would normally be able to access.
It would take a little time. A couple of minutes maybe. She would have to hope she had that long before the Fleshmancer wearing Vasilya’s face returned and started to work her foul magics. She felt her body tense, like a coiled spring. Every sinew every muscle, ready to explode into action, tensing, tensing…
Suddenly, unbidden, images and scenes flooded into her mind-eye. They came in a kaleidoscopic torrent, overwhelming her.
She was straddling Wulf-Things back, plunging her dagger into his (No, its) chest over and over.
She was slitting the Fleshmancers throat. A crimson spray erupted from the slash, covering Yarale’s snarling face.
She was ducking Wulf-Thing’s blows, weaving in and out of its defence.
She was falling through a window, glass shattering and falling around her in glittering slow motion, tumblng into an infinite abyss.
She was being flayed alive by dark energies. Screaming in agony as she was ripped apart, layer by layer.
She was being torn assunder by the patchwork creatures, the body of the Fleshmancer lying nearby, twisted and broken.
She was lying unconscious in an unfamiliar bed, covered in bloody bandages, being tended to by a strange woman. She opened her eyes.
She opened her eyes.
She moved.
Yarlae was a blur. In one swift motion she swept the shiv down her body, severing the bonds on her left side before arcing back to free her right leg. Within a single heartbeat she had freed herself and rolled off the table, landing in a crouch on the floor.
She stayed there a moment, waiting to see what Wulf-Thing would do while willing her racing heart to slow.
She did not have to wait long. Within moments she heard that grunt and a rapid but heavy tread. She rolled away from the noise before gaining her feet and risking a look at her foe.
Wulf-Thing’s face didn’t change but it quickly moved toward her. She was caught by surprise by its speed and leapt backward to escape its grasp. She spied her possessions lying on a table behind Wulf-Thing. She vaulted from the wall behind her, leaping first to one nearby bench and then again, evading Wulf-Thing’s grasping arms and landing lightly on the target table. She scooped up the dagger and charm deftly in one hand, pocketing the latter. After a moment's analysis she abandoned the gilded bow one more with no small degree of regret. It was bent and battered beyond repair and she had no arrows to fire.
Besides, she had no time. Wulf-Thing was already upon her. It was fast, much faster than it had been in life. She jumped again, maintaining distance and looking for a way to escape. There only seemed to be only one door, the one through which the Fleshmancer had departed. So be it. But she had no time to think. Once again Wulf-Thing came for her.
She timed her leap to give herself the best chance of clearing the lunging creature but again she underestimated her opponents speed. Lightning fast, Wulf-Thing reached up and grabbed her right ankle mid air.
Her flight arrested, Yarlae used what momentum she had to land on and cling to Wulf-Thing’s back. She plunged her dagger into its chest in desperation and stabbed over and over with the blade. Wulf-Thing roared and, Yarlae’s ankle still firmly in his grasp, yanked hard to try to dislodge its attacker. Yarlae screamed as her leg was wrenched in directions it was ill designed for. She desperately stabbed again with her weapon, already covered in sticky tar like ichor, straight into the beast’s left eye.
Wulf-thing howled deafeningly and released its hold on Yarlae’s ankle. The half-elf wasted no time in vaulting from Wulf-Thing’s back, sumersalting and landing as gracefully as she could behind the wailing beast. Her weakened leg instantly gave from under her as she contacted the floor and it took all her resolve to not cry aloud, letting little more than a grimace and a whimper escape as pain jolted through her.
Wulf-Thing was still thrashing and howling and Yarlae made sure to stay on its blind side as she made for the door. Still, she caught a glancing blow from the flailing monster and felt her cheek fracture from the impact, barely remaining conscious. She crawled the last few feet to the door and scraped it open. Wulf-Thing whirled at the noise as she crept through.
Yarlae only just managed to close and bar the door before Wulf-Thing’s bulk crashed against it. The bar held but likely wouldn’t for long. It heaved again as she leant against it and took in her new surroundings, grateful to have a respite, no matter how brief.
She was in a much smaller room. It was dark, but there appeared to be hangings, racks. Food storage maybe. Her half-elf eyes began to adjust to the gloom.
No, not food. Ingredients maybe. But not food.
They were body parts. She could see them clearly now and her eyes widened in terror.
Hung upon meat hooks there were limbs, torsos, parts of both. Scraps of flesh, gibbets of meat, bloody yet not bleeding, preserved by dark magics that prickled her skin.
Yet that wasn’t the worst of it.
Among the body parts were heads. Severed heads. They were of varied ages, some old, some young. She wept as she beheld that some of them were but babes.
But it was the faces that truly horrified her. Some held the aspect of surprise, others a piteous expression. Still others were mid scream. Some even seemed to be peacefully asleep.
Yarlae slowly became aware of the pounding on the door behind her. Jolted back to reality as her immediate peril asserted itself upon her once more. She looked about her before coming to a sickening conclusion;
The only way out was through.
Step by agonising step, she made her way through the nightmare larder. Long dead fingers groped at her hair and she kept her gaze averted lest she see accusing stares from above.
After a torturous interminable passage she arrived at the far door. The pounding had continued unabated and she slipped through as quickly as she could. There was no lock or bar so she dragged a nearby cabinet across the door though she held little hope that it would prove much of an impedance.
Spiral steps stretched both above and below. She started heading downward, slowly, painfully, hoping to escape the way she had entered. Fleeing was her only thought, injured and with only a black stained blade to defend herself she would be lucky to survive this night.
Once again though, fate was to turn against her. Halfway down the steps she felt faint and stumbled, her weak leg failed and she tumbled several metres. She landed at the bottom of the stairs, battered, bruised and bleeding. Her head rang as she rolled over and despite the echoing banging from upstairs, her enhanced half-elven hearing picked up something that instantly made her heart sink. Multiple individuals, at least a dozen, maybe more, the floor below, at best the one below that. It appeared that the retrieval party had returned. She was too late.
Instinct warred with indecision in her mind. She doubted she would be able to successfully hide from the horde and if discovered she would have no chance at all in her current condition. She crawled back up the stairs, step by agonising step, all too conscious of both the hammering on the door (and it appeared to be the closest door judging by the juddering cabinet) and the approaching enemies from below.
The only option left was to continue her ascent.
Gingerly, painfully, yet with all the alacrity she could muster, she continued up the dark steps to whatever end.
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