Iron Age Prompt 1

The Marquise - April 26, 2023

https://www.ironage.media/prompt/the-marquise.html

The marquise scanned the area. The trees were spiky silhouettes against the patches of fog and mounds of snow. The absolute silence cut into her mind, causing the void to be filled with visions of the world’s horrors. Training kicked in, the mission took over her thoughts.

A few flakes fell. She shivered. Her mount seemed to be fine. He had been bred and magically enhanced to increase his size. Often, she wondered if it had also increased his belligerence.

More snow. She sighed. Now they would never find the raider’s tracks. Unlike her dog, the marauders were the victims of magic, twisted physically and mentally.

Something dark in the snow. The marquise ordered the dog to take her to it. She dismounted and examined the object.

The craftsmanship, the engravings on the blade, the shape of the handle. No mistaking it, the knife had been made in one of her villages.

The beast nuzzled her. She gently pushed him back a bit, smiled in spite of herself. Without looking, she petted the great head.

Her mount tensed up. She looked, saw that his snout was jutting out, his nose moving as he sniffed the air. The marquise turned her gaze to match that of the dog.

Nothing. No movement. Not even an animal. The dog kept his eyes locked on the snowbank. She looked around, still nothing.

The silence was broken by a barrage of thunderous cries. A horde of misshapen forms crested the snowbank. Crude weapons were waved around. Ragged and rusted clothing and armor hung from their malformed bodies. Their gear had been pillaged from every corner of the world, so that every race and creed was represented. They came at the pair in a full charge, fearless, frenzied.

The dog howled. The woman raised her hand. She focused her arcane power into her palm, holding it there. Then she released that power, focused into a bolt. Just as an archer would draw back an arrow and then release it, she repeated the process over and over again.

Targets fell, jets of fire erupting from their wounds. The squeals of pain did nothing to slow the rapidly advancing foes. Before long, the horde reached the pair.

The dog had one of them in its teeth. He threw back his head and let go, sending the creature flying, blood spilling out of it like the tail of a comet. Another came at him. He closed his jaws around its neck.

Now that they were close, she could see them better. Their crooked, broken teeth snapped. Their eyes were consumed by total madness.

The marquise focused her power into the shape of a long blade. Once again, her training took hold, forcing her into a combat stance. Their attacks were vicious and wild. Hers were cool and controlled.

***

The marquise fought to slow her breathing. She surveyed the battlefield, the carnage. Blood stained the snow and ice, its heat etching it with strange patterns. Bodies smoldered, sending trails of smoke and steam skyward.

The dog trotted over to her. Thanks to the blood, he was more pink than white.

“Come on, let’s get back to the castle,” the marquise said to her mount, then she added, “You need a bath.”

The dog made a frustrated noise, causing the woman to laugh.