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Deep within the castle situated upon a northern island called Miscellania, all was still in the frigid night. The ocean was calm, and the wind outside had even seemed to die down after days of it battering against the castle’s walls. Just as Peer the Seer had predicted, his weather reports were always accurate. The next day promised to be beautiful.
However, for one resident of the castle, there was naught but the sound of a restless body tossing and turning against the sheets, yet another dream slipping from pleasant to nightmare. Brow furrowed in sleeping anger, the orange-haired heroine was forced to relive her worst day for the third time this week. Sweat running down her back, it was like running an endless track while being outside of your body… So close, yet so far. The end never in sight.
It played out the same way every single time, starting with…
“So, finally you darken my door. Time to die.” Hissed the gigantic Dagannoth Mother, spines on her back prickling in the dank air of the cave.
“What, no speech?” Jaxyys retorted, having slung Balmung across her shoulders as she strode into the arena in a cocky stance that was a bit much, even for her.
“What were you expecting? ‘You can’t win, Taltin. Strike me down now and… blah, blah, blah…” snarled the beast. It flexed its claws and bared its teeth in an attempt to be intimidating, but it had no effect on the intrepid adventuress.
“Ya see, I just thought there might be a bit more… Y’know, from someone with such flowery speech. I suppose that’s the Silas influence. Did you ever read his diary?” she snarked in return.
“Are you mocking me?”
“What, me? Mocking you? Of course not!...” Jaxyys mock gasped, clutching one hand to her heart in feigned indignation.
“Okay, fine… Maybe just a little.” She quipped, taking up a combat stance.
“ENOUGH! I know what you’re planning and it won’t work, because I’m going to kill you. Simple enough for you, oh great Regent of Miscellania?” the Mother roared, beginning her approach.
“Whatever.” Jaxyys spat, raising the Balmung up high for her opening blow, in what was to be a daring and thrilling battle.
There was a cacophonous clashing of banite against reinforced hide, magical spells hurled, improvised ranged weapons galore… And of course, far too much talking for a normal fight, but what else was to be expected of the Avenger of Crandor, Slayer of Trolls, Haver of Ponytail?
Normally, this would’ve been a great dream! A mighty foe, vanquished. A hardworking people, protected! All in a day’s work for Jaxyys Tallan, or in this case, Taltin Farstrider. But what came next is what turned a glorious memory, into a bitter nightmare.
Having successfully trapped the dagannoth mother, at the cost of her own life, Jaxyys made her way through Valhalla, greeting and then wishing goodbye to friends made along the way, and being sent back to the normal realm to fulfill her destiny.
Under the usual circumstances, that would be great news. Save the day, AND not have to die? Total score!
…
However, the world she came back to, was markedly different.
Not in the way that gravity was different, or the world had gone topsy-turvy – Nothing so major as that… Though it certainly felt that way, to her.
But in the little ways that seem insignificant to an outsider looking in. A flower out of place, a little more rain than had been expected, a smaller than usual crop… A person, removed from their rightful place…
As she exited into the cave clearing where she’d last left her adventuring party to deal with the Dagannoth Kings, all the usual bravado and joviality that usually accompanied her vanished instantaneously.
Laying in the clearing… her husband, Brand, and her sister-in-law, Astrid. Dead – dashed against the ground like rock crabs against the docks of Relleka by Rocs. Her jaw tightened, and fury burned in her eyes as she approached Baba Yaga, dropping Balmung in the process.
“What. Happened. Here?” she spit, having to restrain herself from pulling the floating witch down to her level and stare her down.
“Oh, Taltin, t-t-thank goodness you’re alive. I’m sorry for your loss.” The floating woman replied, attempting to float just that much higher, and keep the collar of her robes away from Jaxyys’ hands for the time being.
Meanwhile, Jaxyys was almost apoplectic with anger.
“You’re ‘sorry’? Is that it? My husband is DEAD and you’re ‘sorry’?!” she demanded, her pallid complexion burning bright enough with anger to snap Koschei out of his most recent near-death experience.
“I don’t know what else I Can say, Taltin. I did everything I could, but it wasn’t enough.” Baba Yaga replied, somewhat softly. It was out of character for her to be so reserved, and to stop herself from reading the mind of whomever she was talking to.
“You promised to keep him safe! To keep them both safe!” Jaxyys cried out, “He was no use to you, but you took him anyway and assured me he’d be FINE!”
“That’s not true! We needed both of them! There was simply no way Koschei and I would have managed without them!” Baba Yaga snapped back, though her expression softened afterwards. She didn’t mean to be this harsh, and the grief racing through the girl’s mind was almost overwhelming. It was hard to block out, even if she wanted to.
Jaxyys weakned slightly, sinking to her knees.
“You promised…”
“I know, and that was a mistake. I made a promise that I couldn’t keep, and for that I’m sorry. Your husband and sister died heroes, and saved us all.” She said, reaching a hand out tentatively in a gesture of comfort.
“What good is that?” spat Jaxyys in retort, knocking away her hand.
“If it wasn’t for you, they’d be safe on Miscellania now, rather than lying lifeless in this foul cave.”
“Taltin, listen to yourself. You dishonor their memory by ignoring what the achieved.”
The fire in Jaxyys eyes re-ignited, looking straight up into the witches’ own, though she lacked the strength to stand right now.
“How dare you? Don’t lecture me about honoring my husband, you arrogant witch!”
“I don’t have to put up with this.” Baba Yaga warned, a small bit of electricity crackling in the air around her, as the tensions thickened.
Just as quickly as the fight had entered Jaxyys, it left once more. She cast her gaze down, and then to her spouse’s body, which she began to slowly make her way towards on her knees.
“I’m sure you did everything you could…” she whispered in a soft, broken voice, tears beginning to stream down her mud-stained cheeks.
“I did, Taltin. I did.”
Jaxyys gingerly pulled Brand’s body into her arms, the idea of never hearing his poetry, his laughter, seeing the way his eyes lit up when she gave him flowers, again, caused her to weep great big cries of sorrow.
“They didn’t die in vain, Taltin. We would have lost without them, and then you would’ve had the Kings at your back while you fought the mother. We’d all be doomed then.”
Jaxyys did not respond for a long while.
“I’ll make sure that King Vargas hears that… but for now… please leave…” she pleaded softly, gesturing for Koschei to come help her with the bodies. They would need to be transported back to the island.
Slowly, everything began to fade out, the edges of her vision clouding, as her heartrate elevated. Thump, thump, thump, the sound went in her ears, until it was all consuming. This couldn’t be real, right? She’d won! This was all just a bad dream, a terrible nightmare…
With that, Jaxyys sat bolt upright in bed, hyperventilating. Her hair was splayed in the moonlight like a fire’s embers scattered across the night sky. Instinctively, she reached across the ocean of sheets to find a hand… that wasn’t there.
Right.
Her heart fell every time it happened, and the spiral of sadness grew ever deeper. Slowly retracting her hand, she quickly buried her face in them, tears once again falling from her eyes like the waters of Baxtorian Falls.
Eventually pulling her hands from her face, Jaxyys stumbled out of the bed bleary-eyed and sleep deprived. Making her way to the mirror, she gripped the edge of the vanity it was situated upon with a death grip. She’d hoped, no, prayed for even just one night of sleep, leading up to this day. If everything else had been hard, today was going to be… impossible.
Looking in the mirror, her reflection looked an absolute mess. Her hair was limp and tangled, looking even more bizarre than not being in its usual pony tail. Tear-tracks cascaded down her cheeks, spilling outwards from eyes that seem to now be permanently glassed over. Her wounds had begun to heal, leaving light pink patches of raw skin visible, but only barely so.
It wasn’t fair. It shouldn’t be her wounds healing, it should be his.
She couldn’t stand the sight of herself. She just couldn’t. She was supposed to be a hero, a mighty adventurer! But now… she was a mighty mess.
That just wouldn’t do.
She’d need to be in perfect form, after all.
She’d have to light the funeral pyres in the coming night for Brand and Astrid.