The Burning of a Staff

[Panashea 3327]

 

 

 

 

 

With a swift movement, the bardiche drew down with a sickening crack. Mugath’s lips curved to form a triumphant grin; another druid crushed underfoot. Blood coated him, and in his Bloodlust, his stained face searched, hungry for more prey.

 

Suddenly, he bound forwards, eyes locked on another fool. Her red, worried eyes shot back into him. Like gems, they cut through the thick underbrush of the Grove.

 

His mouth split free with a roar, and his body surged forth like lightning. Her body twisted and danced like the wind, vanishing in an instant. Even he, filled with rage and strength could not match her fleet-footed steps.  

 

The jeweled eyes met him again, two rubies in the distance that were gripped with fear.  

 

Earth ruptured around his feet as the polearm cracked the sacred earth around them. Satisfaction wrenched from his grasp, slipping away as she danced around his weapon. Her life teetered on the brink of death, and her grace had remained.

 

Mugath’s rage had boiled over. Was it arrogance? Pride? His weakness bled free, gushing out with each missed swing. It stung more than any wound, more than any gash could ever carve.

 

“Flat.”

 

His rage had become heat, and with heat, came power. Mugath, fueled by fire incarnate, sprang forth, piercing her along Keshig. Blood dripped from her wound. His mouth widened into its former wickedness, and his yellowed teeth gleamed with pride.

 

Her staff clattered to the floor, and as he drowned in his own arrogance, she vanished. The fires ebbed, and his strength had become nothing more than a cold sweat.

 

 

 

 

Embers swirled into the desert sky as he, Snagarath, and orcs sat around the orange glow of a bonfire. In Mugath’s hand, the druid’s staff lay still stained with blood. Others chattered and murmured, and yet his eyes never left the celestial staff. Warmth still emanated from it’s touch, filled with life.  

 

His eyes met Snagaraths’, and like his sister, the lava pits called to them.

 

Mugath watched as thick black smoke disappeared into the midnight sky. His mind turned to Skathach. Surely the strength had come from him, a stocking of embers within him. This sacrifice would be for him, for the one capable of purging such a foul taint must be revered. Plunged into the fires, the Living Staff of the Butterfly Druid writhed amidst the scorching heat.

 

 

[Smaw 2376]

Kharak'Raguk would observe the staff as it burned within the fires, nodding to himself.

[1 1393]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.