Even movements of the brush spread a uniform greenish paint over the bars of the third cage. Made of brine, ghostskin moss and paste of the same fleshy reeds that served as our air-hardening ropes, the mixture was no paint at all but a form of insulation. After left to harden over the reeds making the bars of the cage, it would form a thin, resin-like layer that resisted corrosion, rot and bug infestation similar to but superior than the coating of tar used in medieval shipbuilding. Along with the dark green ropes that bound the bars together and would harden to the consistency of boiled leather, it would ensure a strong and long-lasting cage - especially in the swamps of the Neck.
The green hell of Westeros was probably the one place on the continent that any sort of normal construction techniques were useless. Here any clay or stone buildings were swallowed by the swamp, wood rotted, iron quickly rusted to dust and even castle-forged steel withered and wore down abnormally quickly. And by 'abnormally quickly' I did not mean just the usual exposure to the saltwater marsh. The smiths of Westeros could forge arms and armor that endured frequent, violent use for generations, something 21st century engineering could only do with metamaterials... and yet a few years in the Neck ruined them. And weapons were one thing; the lack of nails, knives, farming and craftsman's tools was exceedingly annoying.
Yet the Crannogmen had long since adapted. The fifty-foot-wide house of thatch and reeds floating in the bog beneath my feet was another display of such adaptation. Standing on a hundred and sixty-eight hollow pillars reaching into the small lake, the building swayed almost imperceptibly at all times, both to natural elements and the moves of its inhabitants. Five years living in the place had made me used to it, though the first couple of weeks after my arrival I had been plagued by nausea and I'd never really grown to like it. The thing was ancient, older than any of the crannogs of Ireland that had been built back in the early Iron Age, yet it stubbornly resisted decay just to spite anyone with modern Earth education that insisted it should have long since been reduced to an overgrown rotten ruin. It disliked me as much as I disliked it, I was certain.
I replaced the vial of herbal remedy I'd used on the idiot, then added two vials of poison paste to my belt for the coming outing. No antidote though; there was no point. Crannogmen poisoners had perfected their craft over the millennia to the point their creations had no known antidotes after the fact, similar to batrachotoxin. So with a scowl of annoyance I downed an entire vial of a hideously smelly black concoction that insulted everyone's noses and taste buds like a mixture of crude oil and raw sewage. I did not gag; unfortunately, I'd drunk the thing often enough to get used to it because it would neutralize many local poisons and venoms as long as it was taken in advance. The foul brew was the only reason, along with an almost religious practice of Mithridatism, that Crannogmen could hunt in the swamps without insane risk to life and limb.
Thus done with my preparations, I lifted the trio of now-hardened cages over my shoulder and walked towards the bridge. Halfway through it, I saw a slender figure of middle height coming in from the swamps. She wore a hooded green camouflage cloak over lambskin breeches and a sleeveless jerkin with bronze scales and was armed with a shortbow of horn and a bronze-tipped three-pronged spear. Behind her she drew a bog-sled of reed and rope heavy with over a dozen eels and snakes and a small mountain of freshly cut herbs.
"Going out again, Flann?" the woman that was the unholy offspring of a Marine and a Ranger straight out of Tolkien's works asked in lieu of greeting.
"You know me, Auntie," I shot back with a shrug. "I'd stay out all day and night if I didn't have my share of the housework."
"So would the Twins and not to their benefit," the older brunette responded just as nonchalantly. "But you youngsters should get to make your own mistakes. Old Gods know I did at your age." And with that she disappeared into the crannog, pausing only to shoot one last remark over her shoulder. "I'll save you some fried snake. Milk or banded?"
"Either is fine but no sauce," I shot back because yuck. Only Crannogmen could invent a sauce out of frog paste.
xxxx
As the Twins earlier accused me of, I crossed overgrown waterways, went around small lakes and trawled through muddy paths until I was at the edges of the black bog once more. The geography of the Neck shifted with the seasons as variable but ever-present currents brought the sea into the land, but the dead areas remained the same. From halfway between the causeway and Greywater Watch up to Moat Cailin to the North, an unseen, unheard shadow fell upon the swamp, its influence spreading for a hundred and fifty miles. Of the travelers crossing the Neck almost none could feel it, but there were those among the Crannogmen that did - and so did I. Here, the swamp was at its most dire and least habitable, its unnatural aspects more pronounced. It was a dangerous place best avoided... but it did have its uses.
Sitting on a half-sunken boulder of black basalt too straight to be natural, I set down my three cages and looked around. Far to the North the ancient wall of Moat Cailin was made of the same seamlessly worked stone, so what equally ancient, forgotten castle did this boulder belong to? None still lived who remembered, I reckoned then huffed. It was not like me to lose myself in ancient history when there was work to be done so I set aside speculation and reached out. Even in the foulest black pools around life stirred; a catfish here, a slick black snake there, another exceedingly poisonous frog the next pool over. The frog would do.
I closed my eyes and reached out with more than mundane senses. Even here, the fourteen flames in my mind cast their eerie light into a world of shadows and in those shadows things stirred; the same things as in the real world. Life had a weight that left echoes, a presence into the Unseen World and it was with my presence that I reached for the presence of the frog. Navigation was hard, the paths slippery and ever-shifting but the animal was only a few dozen yards away physically; my shadow fell upon its own before much longer. That same shadow lifted the impression of a booted foot and stomped on the frog with extreme prejudice. Now that it had been found interaction was a matter of will, and animals had so very little of it compared to people. The frog's shadow was crushed, dwindling into a paltry thing, and my shadow reached to fill out the difference.
One moment I was meditating with my eyes closed, the next I was seeing the world through the disjointed, too-wide but nearsighted perspective of the tiny amphibian. The first time I'd ever done this was by accident, back when I'd been seven. A tiny river snake had somehow found its way into my room and I'd lashed out in a panic with far more than just my arms. Beneath the veneer of a seven-year-old platinum-haired girl I'd had a grown woman's mind; I might have gotten a migraine but the snake's mind had been left a hollowed out, broken thing. From then on it would not do anything at all unless directly controlled until it had died from starvation. Riding in the frog's skin was far less invasive; a few nudges were enough to guide the deadly little beastie straight into the cage until it was left stunned while I closed the cage's door.
Warging; that's what the people of the North called it, but it was just one ability in the broader magical field of Greensight. Meetings with animals behaving oddly intelligently over the years had left me convinced I was far from the only one capable of such in the Neck, though of course I had no idea who the people behind the animals had been. Much like my pyromancy and blood magic my skill with warging was limited; even taking over one nearby animal for a short time was a struggle... but it was just good enough for my needs.
Half an hour later I was locking up a pink mutated lizard in the last cage and was ready for the next step. Crannogmen ate frogs and fish, snakes and eels, bugs and lizards; all the swamp had to offer. My purpose for the day's catch was a bit different; using the butt of my spear, I struck the three animals through the bars until they were knocked out, then threw them on a pile of previously gathered tinder. A flex of my pyromancy and the tinder caught fire; less than a minute later the offerings died and fed their lifeforce to the ritual. The temporary boost of magic I practically inhaled, not using it for anything except a minor, spread-out healing. Suddenly, I felt like I'd spent several days at the best spa on Earth, all my stress and worries draining away as I got full of renewed vitality. The sensation was something I'd almost gotten used to, ever since my hunting skills and magic had grown sharp enough to repeat it regularly. It was how I stayed in perfect health despite sub-par nutrition. How I'd never gotten sick in the past few years. How I'd ensured no zits, spots or pimples would never turn up.
The second part of the ritual was far more subtle and esoteric; just a tiny, almost infinitesimal addition to a mental weight, a certain significance. It was something that had happened with every ritual, all of them adding a little something to that weight in my mind. So far, those additions had never had tangible benefits but I instinctively felt they were building up to something, something important. And after two years I was a good two thirds of the way to finding what it was...
xxxx
The only thing that saved me when I opened my eyes was how slippery the boulder I'd chosen as my seat was. An enormous fanged maw had burst out of the surface of the bog and was even then approaching me in slow motion. Clawed feet thicker than my legs propelled said maw and the body it was attached to but they failed to find purshase on the sheer basalt. I backpedaled and reached for my spear even as the deadly jaws full of knife-like teeth snapped closed but inches from my nose.
The speartip glanced off the mutant alligator's scales, failing to do anything of significance. One of the monster's legs stomped on one of my cages, shattering the harderend, bound reeds like so much kindling and finally finding purchase. The monster dragged itself out of the bog, revealing all of its eighteen-foot, thousand-pound horror. Unlike the bronze tridents of adult Crannogmen, my only reach weapon was meant for fish, frogs and similar light game and maybe scaring off a snake or two. Dealing with a freaking Lizard-lion was beyond it.
I jumped to the next boulder and the next, but the lizard-lion easily followed. Back on Earth, 'gators were capable of outrunning any Olympic sprinter when sufficiently motivated and lizard-lions were Westeros' dire, half-dragon version of the Florida natives. I frantically rolled away from a clawed foot and instead of being horribly eviscerated I only felt my boiled leathers being torn apart before the same happening to several inches of my left hip. It hurt like being cut by three or four daggers at the same time. Had this happened back on Earth I'd have frozen up and died, but after five years in the Neck, this wasn't even among my worst five experiences.
I turned around and stabbed my pursuer in the face. Instead of just my spear I also fed my terror and desperation into my Pyromancy, a tiny but bright flame igniting at the speartip. Through sheer luck, the burning spear stabbed straight into the monster's right eye. Its panicked thrashing shattered my spear, knocked me on my ass and probably cracked a rib or three but also gave me just enough time to reach towards my belt. Not bothering to even check what I'd pulled out, I threw whatever-it-was at the mutant alligator's mouth. The tiny clay jar broke against a huge fang... then its contents splashed all over the monster's mouth.
The effect wasn't immediate but with the lizard-lion already injured and lashing out in panic, I barely managed to slip away before collapsing on a boulder a few jumps over. The lizard-lion did not follow. Instead it became increasingly erratic until it started convulsing, rolling and bashing its snout and head against the black rock until it finally perished.
Then a wave of warmth and sheer life-force like dozens of rituals almost knocked me insensate... Award Quote ReplyReport1066Belial66610/8/2024Reader modeAdd bookmark Threadmarks StrangeSpeederBelieves in happy endings10/8/2024Add bookmark#11Huh, that last one counted?
I mean she did use her magic to kill it, kind of, but she didn't really have the chance to do a ritual and 'properly' sacrifice it.
... But that's probably why it was only "dozens" of rituals in strength, given its a half dragon creature, and an absolutely fuck massive being besides.