Magic

“You want someone to paint my mother... why?” Elayne asks, following behind Osric.

“It’ll help us find her,” Osric says.

The two make their way down the street. Osric, lost in thought, meanders into foot traffic heading in the opposite direction, bumping into several people. Elayne watches him from behind, baffled at his clumsiness. Regaining his balance, Osric makes his way back over to the other side of the street.

“Basically, where I come from, there are people like guards that use sketches to help them identify criminals,” Osric explains, pointing a finger in the air.

“I don’t want the guards’ help,” Elayne replies.

“No,” Osric sighs. How am I supposed to explain to her how a police sketch works.

“We’re not asking the guards for help. What I want is an artist that can paint... her...”

Osric looks up — the stream of people passing him by quickens. His attention is caught by a few worried faces, a mother carrying a crying baby, and panicked elderly hobbling along with their canes. The alarmed chatter around him erupts into screaming as townsfolk pour out of the plaza up ahead. A delirious woman in a blood-soaked green dress barrels straight into Osric. Knocked backwards, he is caught by Elayne. She stumbles back herself, but not before pushing Osric to the ground.

"Don't touch me." Elayne brushes off her tattered rag.

Osric gets back to his feet. Ignoring Elayne, he walks toward the plaza — his curiosity getting the better of him.

Osric enters the plaza and stops. A brawl unfolds before him. City Guards face off with huge men. The group of three large, foreboding men dominate the puny, in comparison, guards, their darker complexion standing out against the townsfolk fleeing in panic.

The men wear warm colored cloth wrapped around their heads. The brown, orange and tan patterened scarves cover most of their black hair. Despite being outnumbered and mostly unprotected, wearing only leather chest plates over their shirts and gray, baggy, billowing pants that cinch around the ankles, they seem to easily outclass the guards.

In front of Osric and Elayne, a guard clashes swords with one of the men. Sparks fly off of the man's curved sword as it collides with the guard's. The curved sword is barely visible as it zips through the air. The guard, helpless to defend the flurry of strikes, barely makes contact with his sword in time. The guard, forced to retreat, leaps backwards toward Osric and Elayne. His attempt to make distance fails as the darker-skinned man closes it instantly, with an overhead strike ready. The guard raises to block — with a crack, his sword breaks in half. Too busy looking at his broken sword, the guard takes a powerful kick to his chest, sending him scraping against the brick street, narrowly missing Osric and Elayne as he slides by.

"AH!"

A shriek of pain makes Osric look to his left. Slightly off in the distance, a guard is on his knees in front of the other two dark-skinned men. His chest plate is sliced, and a stream of blood rushes out of it. He falls to his side, motionless. Two more guards cowardly flee past them. Elayne and Osric are the only two remaining in the plaza.

"There they are!" a familiar voice shouts.

From behind the men, a recognizable short and stout figure emerges.

"I've been looking for you, boy," Broadhold says with a twisted smile.

Ugh, not this guy. Osric recoils upon seeing him. Don't tell me he was serious when he said he was gonna use force to take her?

"You shouldn't have picked a fight with the head of the merchant guild. I have connections everywhere. Like the best mercenary group in Duskhan," Broadhold boasts.

Okay fatty, I did not pick a fight with you. Also, do you really need mercenaries to take on two kids?  Osric stifles his rebuttal, believing speaking would only make things worse.

"Now, hand over the girl, so we can resolve this peacefully." Broadhold directs the men to approach.

“Peacefully? This is already not peaceful.” Osric can’t help but argue with that statement.

“Oh this?” Broadhold points to the downed guards and then to three townsfolk lying on the ground drenched in blood that Osric hadn’t noticed yet. “They had a disagreement with a vendor here, it turned into a little scuffle.”

Broadhold smirks as the three mercenaries close in on Osric and Elayne.

“Run Elayne!” Osric turns around. Elayne is already bolting toward the street.

She's stopped by a fourth mercenary blocking the plaza exit. He charges, reaching for her. She jumps back, dodging his grab. 

Damn it! This is looking bad! What should I do?  Thoughts fly through Osric's head, desperately trying to find a solution with the few seconds he has. I have no choice but to use the magic I've been practicing. He looks back at the three approaching him. No way they'll give me enough time to get the incantation off. I might not have any choice — maybe I just give her up...

No way! I already made up my mind that I wasn’t going to let this creep have his way with her — I also spent a hundred thirty gold on her...

“Hold on, I have a proposal!” He turns, looking Broadhold in the eye.

Broadhold snaps his fingers and the mercenaries stop.

“Let’s see what the boy has to say, it might be amusing.” Broadhold laughs, his belly jiggling.

Osric points the palm of his hand at the three mercenaries. He starts chanting — a Fireball forming in his hand.

“Divine Wisdom, light this flame, Ignis Pila!”

The fireball grows to twice Osric’s height.

“You idiots! He's using magic, stop him!” Broadhold yells at the mercenaries, who look at Osric, confused.

His warning is too late — the fireball is tearing right toward them.

Fwoosh!

The fireball collides with the group, erupting into a violent bright red explosion, rising even taller than the fireball itself.

“Elayne! Follow me!” Osric takes off around the explosion, the heat singes his cloak as he runs past.

“What was that?” Elayne, who quickly caught up to him asks.

“That was magic — have you not seen it before?” Osric explains, now lagging behind Elayne.

“Teach me how to— Argh!” Elayne suddenly drops to the ground.

Osric kneels down. A rope with brown clay-like balls on each end is wrapped around her legs. Osric frantically tries to untangle her. If only I had a knife right now! Osric vainly fiddles with the rope, his hands too shaky to untangle her.

Screams of agony perk up Osric’s head. The three mercenaries — on fire — run around aimlessly, black smoke following them as they flail about. A wretched smell filling the air.

From behind them, the fourth mercenary emerges, holding more of those ropes with balls on the ends in one hand, his sword in his other.

Osric jumps to his feet. The mercenary sprinting toward him, he begins urgently chanting. His hand shaking as he tries to aim it.

“Divine Wisdom, light thi—”

All of the air leaves Osric's lungs as he exhales in pain, the mercenary's sword cutting through his flesh.

How is he so fast? Osric clutches his chest as blood pours out. He falls to the ground. Damn! This hurts so much. He curls into a ball, as if that would ease the pain.

If only the cast time were shorter... he thinks as he starts to lose consciousness.

The mercenary turns to Elayne.

“Don’t touch me!” Elayne screams as the mercenary bends down.

Elayne's shriek snaps Osric awake. That's right, I said I wasn’t gonna let that creep have her. He tries to pull himself up, each movement making the gash on his chest worse. Now kneeling, he stands, but pain radiates through his entire body — he falls to his knees. Come on, stand up, you puny, pathetic body!

Elayne rolls from her stomach to her back, she lunges her neck out and bites the mercenary’s hand. He tries to pull it away, but Elayne moves with it, her fangs sinking deeper into his hand.

The man grunts in discomfort. He raises his hand, Elayne still attached, and slams it into the ground, but Elayne doesn’t let go. He raises it again, this time higher. Elayne tries to brace herself, sticking an arm out toward the ground. It's not enough — her arm snaps, then the rest of her crashes into the ground, her teeth still in his hand.

He lets out an agitated grunt, then raises his foot and slams it into her chest, digging the heel of his sandal into her ribs — her bite holds strong. He stomps her again, even harder. She lets out a pained moan, finally letting go to gasp for air. The man then picks her up by her hair.

"Hey! I said I wanted the girl uninjured!" Broadhold yells at the mercenary, stepping out of a building holding a bucket of water. "Put. Her. Down... Do you want to get paid?" He walks over to one of the burnt mercenaries and dumps water on his smoldering, scorched body.

Did I kill those guys? Osric collapses to his side. I don't know if I want to be a murderer yet — am I gonna get arrested?

The mercenary gently sets Elayne down and backs away. She's mostly motionless — only her chest rises and falls as she wheezes.

"Good," Broadhold says, walking over to them.

"Elayne!" Osric cries out, crawling to her, leaving a trail of blood. He holds back vomit as he looks at her forearm — bent at a sharp angle. That arm looks awful! And that breathing — she might have broken ribs.

"I thought there was something off about you, boy. That magic was incredible, never seen anything like it. If those three hadn't shielded me, I'd be a body just like them." Broadhold points to the charred bodies. "A boy with incredible magic and red eyes... Isn't there a legend about that in the Kingdom — the noble sage, or whatever. I was right to hire mercenaries."

"Sorry it had to end like this, boy, I just didn't bring enough coin to the auction. With my pride as merchant, I can't lose to a child. I didn't want to pass up on a half-beastkin either, they're hard to come by you know." He now stands over them.

Osric drags himself on top of Elayne, shielding her. Braodhold raises a foot and sinks the sole of his shoe into Osric's face before kicking him off her.

He looks down at Elayne, eyeing her up. "A little bit of cleanup and those ears will be cute as ever." 

He bends over, rubbing her ears. His fingers slither into her ear, it twitches as he plays with the inner tuft of hair.

His hands travel down from her ears to her face, He spreads her eyelids to examine her pupils.

His hands continue, sliding down her neck and shoulders, making it to her torso. He feels around her chest.

Elayne squeals in agony, his hands pressing into her side.

"Stop," She croaks. She lies there, helpless.

"Eh, maybe some broken ribs, but nothing that can't be healed." Broadhold's hands snake downward.

Osric desperately drags himself forward. "You fucking creep! Don't touch her!"

"Oh, give it up boy. You'll bleed out soon." Broadhold kicks him in the head again.

He's knocked into air. Flipping over, he lands on his back. All he can see is static.

When his vision returns, Broadhold is slowly stroking Elayne's tail. The corners of his mouth turn up.

"Oh yes, you will be a nice addittion to my collection." A wicked smile on his face.

He picks her up by the tail, and walks away.

"Let her go you bastard! I'll kill you!" Osric yells, his voice leaving him. "I won't let you have your way with her!"

Osric glares at Broadhold until the muscles in his neck give out. The back of his head splashes into a puddle of blood.

He comes to an abhorrent realization as his strength leaves him. Who am I to talk... I came here to buy a buy a cat girl for the same reasons — I'm disgusting.

He closes his eyes, resigning himself to his, bloody fate.

Just as Osric gives up, he hears two familiar voices behind him.

"Osric!" They yell in unison.

His vision is blurry, but he can make out the two figures before him — Randolf and Catalina.

“What happened? You’re bleeding!” Catalina shakily yells, spreading the tear in his shirt to examine the wound.

"We need a priest that looks bad!" Randolf examines it too.

"Help... the girl!" Osric croaks, shakily pointing a finger at Broadhold.

"We need to get you help now!" Catalina interjects.

Osric looks them in the eyes. "Please."

"That girl is a half-beastkin!" Randolf looks over, noticing the tail.

Osric looks at Randolf again, pleading with his eyes.

Randolf nods. He unsheathes a sword from a gold-laced scabbard — an intricate sword, with a gilded hilt.

"Randolf, no! We need to get Osric treated!" Catalina begs him.

"Stop the bleeding and go on ahead, I'll catch up!" He approaches Broadhold.

"Hand over the girl." Randolf stands ready, facing Broadhold's backside.

Broadhold pays him no regard and keeps walking.

“Hey you! Do your job,” he yells at the mercenary tending to the charred body of one of his allies.

The mercenary charges at Randolf, and the two clash swords.

Catalina rips off a strand of her dress, wrapping it tightly around Osric's chest. Pain shoots through his whole body as she ties the cloth.

He tries to watch Randolf fight, but his eyes keep closing — struggling to keep them open, everything goes black.