Out of the rift - trial chapter

So this is the concept of the badass Elven sorceress that I want to write about. It is still basically a concept. I want to give a sample of my work, for those who are still undecided in helping me.

Out of the Rift: A Sorceress Stranded

Chapter 1

Breathe in.

I felt mana, the source of magic flow into me, coursing through the astral conduit forming the magical circuit of my body. The sensation is, as always, exhilarating, and it’s a rush to feel the power coursing through you.

Breathe out.

I ascertained my identity, dissociating my body and soul from the ether. My name is El’mekia Daasda Lance, I am 120 years old and a High-Elf living on the floating continent of Meridian. That’s young in the elven culture; I am barely an adult. Currently, I am sitting in meditation at the top of the mountain of Shapai, while my partitioned minds are busy absorbing mana, circulating it in my astral meridians, returning the excess mana to the atmosphere and recharging my magical artifacts.

Suddenly, my Wyvern, Igneel, roared and jumped off her perch; she must have detected a prey to snack on.

I opened my eyes and gazed upon the emerald sky, as white fluffy looking clouds passed by, but it wasn’t the only thing I could see in it. Mana crisscrossing it. Still reveling in how mighty the feeling of all that power coursing through and around me felt, I didn’t see the mage bolt streaking toward me until it was intercepted by my mana shield. It knocked me back but I rolled and stood up, all my senses on alert. All around me, I felt nothing wrong; a mage bolt doesn’t fire itself alone. I sent a telepathic call to Igneel to come to me. I ran from the summit and jumped in the air, falling toward the ground, to be caught by my familiar. When I landed, I righted myself onto the leather saddle on her back.

Retreating to my mindscape I traced the runes for clarity, alacrity, acumen, agility and resilience. Once inscribed, the runes traced with mana glowed and stayed in place, not erasing themselves, like they would do if I couldn’t hold more than one hundred runes. Holding five runes is the best a backwater sorcerer can do. Because I am elven, I have more affinity with magic than humans and had more time to develop my skills in sorcery.

“Igneel, up!” I ordered.

The giant forest of Acera with its odd fauna spread beneath us and, toward the horizon, I could see magical flying beasts from all around. This forest has been my home for the last twenty years of my self exile. I linked my senses with the more powerful ones of Igneel; she is my familiar, the second half of my soul, and is as proficient in wild magic as I am in sorcery. Being one with your familiar is one of the basics of sorcery.

The keen draconic eyes of Igneel scoured the forest beneath us, my favorite Wyvern interjecting in my mind, cataloguing every critter she was seeing as ‘tasty treat’ or clearing as ‘a good resting place.’

“Wild game and trees, more trees.” I became mildly annoyed.

My assailant couldn’t have disappeared into thin air, which meant they possessed a stealth spell or an artifact with the same kind of effect. My attention was grabbed by a pink sparkle when Igneel circled around a spot at the foot of Mount Shapai. My Wyvern focused her piercing gaze on it and lo and behold, a robed figure pointing a focusing dagger at me. This time, however, I am ready, and drew my focusing wand. The ornate, silvery wand shone in the sun, the sapphire at the dragon-shaped end glowing from my mana infused into it. The assailant fired a mage bolt; it streaked toward me and I drew runes for capture and containment in my mindscape and unleashed the spell I crafted.

When my spell met with the mage bolt, they stopped in midair and a bubble of my own mana encapsulated it. The captured energy struggled against the spell, but was finally tamed. I made the trap bubble come to me and began to work immediately. Sympathetic magic is one of the bases of mana manipulation; take possession of something of the target, to be able to locate it, mess with it, or even kill it. My will found the mana signature and I crafted a Soul Beam in my mindscape. Pointing my focusing wand before me, I launched the spell toward my assailant. The seeking beam of energy streaked toward the wizard. He stumbled and fell on his back, knocked out by the Soul Beam spell.

I loathe wizards.

They are a stain on the arcane practitioner’s honor. They are on the low end of the great pyramid of the arcanists; all relying on hand movements, rune engraving, and are unable to channel magic directly. Most of them sell their services to kings or communities. Glorified mercenaries and handymen.

Igneel sped toward the downed figure. He was tall for a human; the red and black robe warned me of his alignment to the darker arts of wizardry. White robes are for the do-gooders, the red and black for the more mercenary of them, and the blue robed are those who take an oath of neutrality and serve the populace. Igneel landed, and when my feet were on the ground, I felt the weird sensation of the forest trying to contact me, as usual. Yes, the Acera forest is akin to a living being. Old and powerful, with multiple ley lines and places of power located within it, the forest developed a will and a surprisingly keen intellect; Sorceresses like me must strike deals with it to be able to live in its bosom. Acera likes me, I do not use fire within it or overhunt the animals, and I create barriers for some of the places it doesn’t want found by nosy adventurers. For example, the fairy's home, the forest’s caretakers. Acera spoke by image and feelings, and she was really clear about my situation.

That my enemy is not alone.

My pre-drawn runes snapped into existence in my mindscape; they are my mental and physical ward that I inscribed when I graduated from being an apprentice. Mana shield, kinetic deflection, and the Dark Hecate’s favor, the only blessing the god deigned to give me at birth. I crafted the echolocation spell in my mindscape along with one to detect magic. Of course, there are people around us, cloaked. The trees obscured the clearing, darkening the place. Fortunately, I decided to wear my leather armor to ride Igneel today, the armor enchanted to be able to deflect arrows. I heard my foot falls on the mossy ground, and hoped no physical trap was waiting for me, other than the obvious one.

Those people seemed determined to either kill me, or capture me; however the second option is more likely. I crouched, the leather of my riding pants creaking and placed my naked hand on the ground. Focusing my will to reach Acera’s, I prayed.

*Acera, I beseech thee, help bring down my enemies.*

A second later, I felt warm, then it showed me image of corpses on the ground, and then  cold dread embraced me. Acera is asking me to kill them, to make them nutrients for her forest. Equivalent exchange, safety for food. a basic understanding. It made me smile. I accepted.

Standing up, I flicked my long blond hair behind me and cracked my knuckles. I activated my battle spells in my mindscape; water and wind element should do it. I couldn’t use fire spells, because of my contract with Acera. Fire is one of my most powerful elements, but I am not certain I would be able to survive the forest’s wrath. Advancing toward the downed wizard, I evocated an overcharged stun spell, causing a ray of gold mana to hit his body. I could see the man having a seizure, foaming out of his mouth.

One down, five others to go.

Acera kept her bargain, and screams began to be heard all around me. I moved toward the closest. I conjured a mana blade in my right hand, and an ethereal weapon appeared. shining with a golden glow. The tree and shrubs where the scream and sound of struggle came from showed me a figure in black leather armor bound by vines. I didn’t want to tarry; I plunged my mana blade into his heart to the hilt and waited for him to stop moving. Deciding that I shouldn’t leave my other would be assailant waiting, I pawed everything and threw it into the dimensional manor in the sapphire necklace around my neck. It is a rather important artifact belonging to my lineage, a pocket dimension anchored to the heir, inside is the sanctum and repository of my clan. As the heiress of the Lance family, it is my duty to safeguard it. Lately, it has served as my home, more than anything.

I order Igneel to dispose of the others closest to her and to leave the bodies to the forest, a gruesome task. When all five were dead, I went to loot their bodies. One wizard, two warriors, and two who looked like hunters. A basic party of adventurers, but seeing at how blackened their equipment is, I don’t think they were normal adventurers. They had something mercenary about them; I should have kept one alive for interrogation. I began looting his corpse for anything useful, just a sword and bottles of unknown liquid.

I felt warm and images of a wolf nodding its head entered my mind; Acera thanking me before its presence vanished. I shrugged and moved toward my Wyvern. I heard the sound of cracking and suddenly I saw space deforming in the clearing. A portal. A gateway opened and people spilled out from it. Familiar people, ten elves to be precise, and one of them is someone I hoped to never see again.

“El’mekia, I am so happy to have found you,” she said, in a disgustingly sweet voice.

My mother, El’aria, Priestess of the Goddess of Love, Dianeira. 

My most hated nemesis.