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<blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 7180284" data-attributes="member: 143"><p>Chapter 63</p><p></p><p>Xeeta felt a ball of tension growing in her belly as she made her way up to the ruin for the second time. She wasn’t worried—that worried—about the orcs. She had never faced one in battle, but she knew enough about them not to underestimate them. She had enough confidence in her own abilities to be able to deal with the two sentries, and enough faith in her new friends to believe they could handle the rest of the fugitive band hiding in the cave.</p><p></p><p>What concerned her was the energy she felt building in her blood.</p><p></p><p>The Demon was stirring.</p><p></p><p>It woke any time she used her magic frequently. It was unpredictable, and dangerous to both her and those around her, her Demon. She had lived with it ever since her magical talents had begun to surface when she was a child. It was a part of her, not something she could ever escape. The only solution she’d found was to avoid using magic entirely. That was an imperfect solution that had worked for a time. But being what she was, alone in a dangerous world, the denial of such an integral part of herself was not something she could long embrace.</p><p></p><p>And now she was here, once again in danger. Not alone, but she could not shake the reality that the closer she got to her new companions, the more likely they were to suffer from the secret she could not share with them.</p><p></p><p>She realized that her distraction was placing her at risk, and with an effort of will focused again on her surroundings. She was near the summit of the rise, on the outer edge of the ruin. She could see the cliffs ahead, and in the foreground the imperfect outline of the structure where the orc sentries were stationed. <em>Had been</em> stationed, she reminded herself. It would be foolish to assume that nothing had changed since her last visit. For all she knew there could be more orcs there now, a new shift arriving to spell the guards. Or maybe she hadn’t been as stealthy as she’d thought, and even now there were hidden eyes marking her every step.</p><p></p><p>That thought had her pausing again, and she had to berate herself mentally to resume her slow approach. She knew that her new spell of transformation—superior in most ways to the mere illusion she’d used before, though unable to affect her clothing—was almost spent, and while she could refresh it with a thought, it would deplete magic that she would almost certainly need in the coming battle. The orc guards hadn’t been paying attention earlier, but if one of them happened to get up and look around the spell might make the difference between being detected and remaining hidden.</p><p></p><p>She shifted her approach slightly to give her a view of the eastern side of the hill. She couldn’t see her companions, but she could guess at where they were. A shallow gully ran along the base of the rise, likely created by the rains that doused the region each spring. At the moment it was dry and choked with brown stalks that were easily tall enough to conceal a band of assorted adventurers.</p><p></p><p>She briefly debated trying to signal them, but decided against it. They would know soon enough when she acted.</p><p></p><p>Keeping low, she crept around to the rear of the ruined structure. The remaining walls ranged from low enough to step over to about five feet high, with enough gaps that they didn’t provide any real security against anything trying to get inside. But what remained was solid enough to offer decent cover. The foundation, cracked with weeds, was a square roughly thirty feet on a side, but there wasn’t enough left to indicate what the place had been or what purpose it had served when intact. Maybe it had been a military outpost back in the day of the defunct Mai’i, or maybe it went back even further, to the days of the old empires that predated the current human civilization that dominated the continent.</p><p></p><p>She realized she was stalling again in her musings about history, and after taking a steadying breath she carefully eased forward to the nearest of the gaps in the outer wall.</p><p></p><p>The orcs were exactly as she had left them, leaning redolently against one of the inner walls of the ruined structure. From their location they could have held a commanding vantage of both the southern and eastern approaches to the ruins, and a protected firing position from which to use the two crossbows propped up against the wall a few steps away. The orcs were awake and talking quietly; as she looked in one let out a deep guffaw in response to something his companion had said. They wore suits of armor crafted out of animal hides and scraps of metal that looked ragged and dirty even by what she assumed to be orc standards. From what the others had said, these orcs were the remnants of a tribe that had tried to raid the elven settlements in the forest beyond these hills to the north. One of the pair had a fresh bandage wound around its right arm, likely a wound suffered in the recent clash with the cyclops. Hopefully the giant had killed a bunch of them; it would make their job easier.</p><p></p><p>For what she had in mind she would have to get closer. Careful of where she placed her feet, she crept into the interior of the ruined building. There were loose bits of stone everywhere, and plenty of cracks deep enough to snag a boot, but she managed to cross to the far side of what might have been a small bedroom or sitting room. All that was left now was a small stone basin that protruded from the waist-high interior wall, carved with half of a face that was so worn down that it could have been almost anything.</p><p></p><p>She slowly lifted her head over the crumbling top of the wall. The orcs still hadn’t moved. One had taken something out of his belt pouch and was gnawing at it. The other perked up, interested. He growled something, obviously asking if his friend had brought enough to share.</p><p></p><p>Xeeta didn’t wait for the sentry to respond. Rearing up, she extended her arms over the wall, touching her thumbs together as she drew upon her magic. The movement drew the attention of the orcs, but they barely had time to register that they were not alone before a rush of flames seared into them.</p><p></p><p>As usual the unleashing of her magic for a moment obliterated all else but the glorious surge of power through her blood. But she was used to that, used to immediately pulling back from that wave of sensation to evaluate the results of her casting.</p><p></p><p>What she saw in this case seemed pretty gratifying; both orcs were down, their filthy garments coated in soot, their mottled hides blackened and crackling. But while the first stayed down, the second stumbled to his feet, letting out a sharp squeal of pain but clearly not so injured that he couldn’t fix his eyes on her. Through the vagaries of luck he happened to be the one carrying the horn, and while the device had been singed it looked like it might be functional enough to sound a warning.</p><p></p><p>Xeeta reached again for her magic, intending to finish off the wounded guard with a <em>fire bolt</em>. But before she could begin the spell she felt a rolling surge of power building of its own accord within her. It was the Demon, coming in response to her <em>burning hands</em> spell, seeking freedom. She tried to hold it back, but the wild magic would not be contained.</p><p></p><p>She screamed as fire exploded out from her in every direction. The <em>fireball</em> enveloped her, searing her as she had seared the orcs, blinding and deafening her with the ferocity of the blast.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Lazybones, post: 7180284, member: 143"] Chapter 63 Xeeta felt a ball of tension growing in her belly as she made her way up to the ruin for the second time. She wasn’t worried—that worried—about the orcs. She had never faced one in battle, but she knew enough about them not to underestimate them. She had enough confidence in her own abilities to be able to deal with the two sentries, and enough faith in her new friends to believe they could handle the rest of the fugitive band hiding in the cave. What concerned her was the energy she felt building in her blood. The Demon was stirring. It woke any time she used her magic frequently. It was unpredictable, and dangerous to both her and those around her, her Demon. She had lived with it ever since her magical talents had begun to surface when she was a child. It was a part of her, not something she could ever escape. The only solution she’d found was to avoid using magic entirely. That was an imperfect solution that had worked for a time. But being what she was, alone in a dangerous world, the denial of such an integral part of herself was not something she could long embrace. And now she was here, once again in danger. Not alone, but she could not shake the reality that the closer she got to her new companions, the more likely they were to suffer from the secret she could not share with them. She realized that her distraction was placing her at risk, and with an effort of will focused again on her surroundings. She was near the summit of the rise, on the outer edge of the ruin. She could see the cliffs ahead, and in the foreground the imperfect outline of the structure where the orc sentries were stationed. [i]Had been[/i] stationed, she reminded herself. It would be foolish to assume that nothing had changed since her last visit. For all she knew there could be more orcs there now, a new shift arriving to spell the guards. Or maybe she hadn’t been as stealthy as she’d thought, and even now there were hidden eyes marking her every step. That thought had her pausing again, and she had to berate herself mentally to resume her slow approach. She knew that her new spell of transformation—superior in most ways to the mere illusion she’d used before, though unable to affect her clothing—was almost spent, and while she could refresh it with a thought, it would deplete magic that she would almost certainly need in the coming battle. The orc guards hadn’t been paying attention earlier, but if one of them happened to get up and look around the spell might make the difference between being detected and remaining hidden. She shifted her approach slightly to give her a view of the eastern side of the hill. She couldn’t see her companions, but she could guess at where they were. A shallow gully ran along the base of the rise, likely created by the rains that doused the region each spring. At the moment it was dry and choked with brown stalks that were easily tall enough to conceal a band of assorted adventurers. She briefly debated trying to signal them, but decided against it. They would know soon enough when she acted. Keeping low, she crept around to the rear of the ruined structure. The remaining walls ranged from low enough to step over to about five feet high, with enough gaps that they didn’t provide any real security against anything trying to get inside. But what remained was solid enough to offer decent cover. The foundation, cracked with weeds, was a square roughly thirty feet on a side, but there wasn’t enough left to indicate what the place had been or what purpose it had served when intact. Maybe it had been a military outpost back in the day of the defunct Mai’i, or maybe it went back even further, to the days of the old empires that predated the current human civilization that dominated the continent. She realized she was stalling again in her musings about history, and after taking a steadying breath she carefully eased forward to the nearest of the gaps in the outer wall. The orcs were exactly as she had left them, leaning redolently against one of the inner walls of the ruined structure. From their location they could have held a commanding vantage of both the southern and eastern approaches to the ruins, and a protected firing position from which to use the two crossbows propped up against the wall a few steps away. The orcs were awake and talking quietly; as she looked in one let out a deep guffaw in response to something his companion had said. They wore suits of armor crafted out of animal hides and scraps of metal that looked ragged and dirty even by what she assumed to be orc standards. From what the others had said, these orcs were the remnants of a tribe that had tried to raid the elven settlements in the forest beyond these hills to the north. One of the pair had a fresh bandage wound around its right arm, likely a wound suffered in the recent clash with the cyclops. Hopefully the giant had killed a bunch of them; it would make their job easier. For what she had in mind she would have to get closer. Careful of where she placed her feet, she crept into the interior of the ruined building. There were loose bits of stone everywhere, and plenty of cracks deep enough to snag a boot, but she managed to cross to the far side of what might have been a small bedroom or sitting room. All that was left now was a small stone basin that protruded from the waist-high interior wall, carved with half of a face that was so worn down that it could have been almost anything. She slowly lifted her head over the crumbling top of the wall. The orcs still hadn’t moved. One had taken something out of his belt pouch and was gnawing at it. The other perked up, interested. He growled something, obviously asking if his friend had brought enough to share. Xeeta didn’t wait for the sentry to respond. Rearing up, she extended her arms over the wall, touching her thumbs together as she drew upon her magic. The movement drew the attention of the orcs, but they barely had time to register that they were not alone before a rush of flames seared into them. As usual the unleashing of her magic for a moment obliterated all else but the glorious surge of power through her blood. But she was used to that, used to immediately pulling back from that wave of sensation to evaluate the results of her casting. What she saw in this case seemed pretty gratifying; both orcs were down, their filthy garments coated in soot, their mottled hides blackened and crackling. But while the first stayed down, the second stumbled to his feet, letting out a sharp squeal of pain but clearly not so injured that he couldn’t fix his eyes on her. Through the vagaries of luck he happened to be the one carrying the horn, and while the device had been singed it looked like it might be functional enough to sound a warning. Xeeta reached again for her magic, intending to finish off the wounded guard with a [i]fire bolt[/i]. But before she could begin the spell she felt a rolling surge of power building of its own accord within her. It was the Demon, coming in response to her [i]burning hands[/i] spell, seeking freedom. She tried to hold it back, but the wild magic would not be contained. She screamed as fire exploded out from her in every direction. The [i]fireball[/i] enveloped her, searing her as she had seared the orcs, blinding and deafening her with the ferocity of the blast. [/QUOTE]
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