Been a bit. Sorry about that. Let's get back to it.
Battle of Silvermere Part VI
A Harried Hope Part I
Morgana lunges to her feet as the warped creature holds Poppy aloft, head tilting to the side like a curious dog.
It is a being of primordial power, and while the name given to it by the current era many deride as ridiculous, others marked the immense tenure of its existence.
The Voice Eater.
The First of Ten.
The Crowfather.
The Wandering King.
Eldest of Fear.
It had lurked in the shadows of the world when she was but a child and longer still before that.
And now Fiddlesticks stands in the middle of Silvermere, surrounded by hundreds of innocent people, and it is laughing.
She isn't sure who screams first, but the creature's head twitches and shifts, beady red eyes hunting for the culprit.
Holding Poppy aloft, it stands taller, reaching up with a shorter, almost human arm, and wrenches what she now realizes is a crusty, aged scythe from its back.
It turns its head skyward, letting out a shiver-inducing cry, sounding like a mixture of a howling wolf and screaming swine.
That proves too much for the assembled crowd, and they scatter, screaming and bellowing in primal fear as the creature lashes out at them.
Morgana shield's its chosen victim, blade grating across her magic, and the being chuckles, long tongue licking metallic teeth as it turns to her.
"Veiled Lady." it croons, "Shadow. Fearing. Darkness."
The Black Mist roils around the entity as Garen, and his forces try to close in, and out of it begins to pour facsimiles of beasts, people, and creatures invented within the panicked minds of the fleeing crowd.
"Drive them back!" Garen orders, drawing his Relic-blade and severing clean through a demented wolf that lunged for his sister.
"Fear does not come easy to Demacians." Morgana remarks, purple fire cooking up her arms.
Fiddle chuckles and Morgana sees Poppy worm free of the demon's grip a tad as it keeps its attention locked on her.
"Liar." the demon chokes out, and she feels her heart flutter as warped shades of her sister begin to limp out of the Black Mist, eyes burning with blood-red light.
The creature goes to laugh again, only for Poppy's shield to catch it in the side of the head, a crack of silver light igniting.
The creature burbles in confusion looking up at Poppy, and Morgana looks up as well, blinking as she sees silvery light flickering within the Yordle's eyes.
"You're not welcome here." Poppy growls, and she begins forcing the creature's claws apart.
Fiddle stares at her for a moment, and the sound of crows fills the night drawing eyes skyward as descending from on-high are hundreds of blackbirds with blood-red eyes.
"Wrong." Fiddle mutters, and with a heave of its extended, warped arm, it sends Poppy careening over the cliff face and into the open air.
Morgana's heart drops.
She feels her wings instinctively push against their chains.
"Poppy!" Tana shouts, even as her drive to protect her daughter keeps her from lunging toward the beast.
"Valor!" Quinn orders, firing several shots, cleaving through the shades, one gleaming bolt catching Fiddle in the side.
The eagle darts into the air, darting, and weaving, attempting to break free of the mobbing crows.
Fiddle keeps its hungry eyes locked on Morgana before suddenly rushing her, shrieking in her face and driving her back instinctually.
She lashes back, fire erupting beneath the demon's thin limbs.
The Black Mist was consuming the pavilion, hemming in the remaining defenders, warped horrors pouring free to assault them from all angles.
"Fear. Is. Always. Welcome." Fiddle snarls, clutching for her face.
Spinning, she lashes out with a ball of fire, chains briefly locking it down, before shattering the cobblestone beneath several of the demon's creations, freeing up Garen and Quinn to move in closer.
Lux flung her staff, bubbles of glimmering light snaring around her allies, halting the shade's blows and sending an orb of light to detonate in the side of Fiddle's head.
The creature shrieks as its world goes blind, and Morgana draws all of her power to her.
"You are a parasite!" she intones, her eyes igniting with purple fire, "And I will burn you out!"
Her chains cascade forth, snarling towards the old demon, purple flames intent on igniting its flash burlap skin.
Its clawed limb catches hold of her chains, entwining them around its fingers, and the creature lets out a deep wheeze as it looks up.
"Shadows. Consumed. In darkness." the creature mutters.
And at that moment, before its cavernous jaw unhinges, it hits her that the creature, which even the eldest grimoires stated couldn't speak for itself, is not mimicking anyone.
A guttural gasp bellows above the snarling shades and screaming crows, and a coiling rope of Black Mist lances from its mouth, wrapping around her neck.
And it begins to consume her.
Poppy barely has time to react before she finds herself soaring out over the cliff.
She plummets, and as magic flairs above her, the Mist reaches for her, intent on lapping up her fear, as Valor races to catch her, buffeted back by Fiddles summoned crows.
Her hopes were thin.
But they were not gone.
That thing up there had stalked Demacia when it first started, a small nation seeking respite from a world consumed by war.
"I would have my people know peace." Orlon had stated, looking down at her with a smile, "Even if I have to give all of myself to make that happen."
Gritting her teeth, she gathers her magic to her and focuses on the cliff face, and with a burst of momentum, she finds her hands digging into the cliff face.
"First step," she mutters, and ignoring her aching spine and the bandages fluttering freely about her, she begins to climb.
Morgana finds herself falling to her knees, her body withering as her vitality leeches from her, the demon chuckling like a giddy child.
Which turns into an annoyed shriek as Garen buries his new blade into its side.
"Back, beast!" he roars, spinning attempting to carve even more of the demon away with his gleaming blade.
Fiddle stutter-steps back and swings its scythe, nearly removing the knight's head from his shoulders.
"Are you alright?" Garen demands as he backs towards Morgana.
"I…will be." Morgana rasps, looking down at her withered hands as they begin to revitalize slowly.
Quinn fires several shots, annoying the demon but not seeming to do any real damage, and even Garen's deep wounds are already stitching shut.
"I thought these things were supposed to do the trick!" Quinn shouts, dodging behind a pillar as the creature sends an arch of dark energy lancing towards her.
"It…it is an Elder Demon." Morgana remarks, "We need to…."
"Down!" Garen orders; as the beast lunges for her again, Garen brings his blade up, carving into its wildly gnashing mouth, and then ducking low, bringing his blade up to sever its scythe-wielding arm.
Fiddle stumbles back, looking at its severed stump with confusion.
"Hit it!" Quinn barks, sending a cascade of bolts free of her Relic crossbows.
Morgana lashes out with a ball of fire, further stunning the creature, which turns to look at Garen with an expression almost comparable to a befuddled dog.
"Stay down.' Lux states, emerging from where she had been shielding Tana and several other civilians.
"Lux, don-" Garen begins, but Fiddle lashes out, smacking him to the ground with its long claw.
"This. Is How. We Slaughter. Swine!" the beast bellows, mimicking the deep tones of a man from one of the Crownguard's nightmares.
It picks him up and slams him again, and Lux's eyes gleam a brilliant gold before a lancing beam of scintillating light punches free of her chest and burns into the creature, consuming numerous shades and demonic crows as it goes.
The younger Crownguard collapses to her knees as Fiddle releases her brother and teeters, screaming and snarling in dozens of voices, as its body knits back together around the hole the former cleaved through its body.
Quinn lunges in as the Demon regains its balance, plugging two bolts into its lower jaw, pining its mouth closed.
"That's enough out of you," Quinn growls.
A profound and unsettling silence falls over the pavilion for a moment as the creature wobbles back and forth, the viscous skin beneath the burlap and metal bubbling.
Fiddlestick screams, wrenching its jaws wide open. Numerous new limbs pull free of its body, lashing out at all around it; crows race down from the sky alongside tendrils of the Black Mist, racing about the demon like a miniature hurricane.
Quinn is battered to the ground, dozens of cuts appearing across her arms and face.
Tendrils burst from the creature's back, snaring around her neck and Garen's. Morgana, still feeble from the demon's attack, watch as their vitality begins to get taken as well.
Yet, they are mortal and will not last nearly as long.
Fiddlesticks then lowers to the ground and skitters towards Lux, cursing, snarling, and screaming in a rising cacophony.
Morgana lunges to her feet, slamming her hand down, so a burst of purple fire sets the demon stumbling.
Its scythe lances out, aiming for Lux's heart.
And instead, it buries deep into Morgana's stomach, piercing out her back.
With a scream, she lashes out purple fire licking up the demon's form, buffeting it back.
"Run, Luxanna," Morgana states, pushing the girl back as the scythe is pulled free of her stomach, and she collapses to her knees.
Luxanna backs away, looking at those still trapped in the demon's crafted cage and her brother desperately fighting to stand.
"No." she breathes, even as the great demon clambers to its feet.
"Fear." the ancient demon croons, looming over them, and Morgana feels like a child once more, but this time her brash, headstrong sister is not there to stare down the hungry beast before her.
Yet the Headstrong are not rare in Demacia.
Poppy pulls herself over the wall and takes in the carnage.
Things look hopeless.
Quinn still, her chest fighting to rise.
Garen feebly clawing toward his sword.
Morgana's silvery blood coloring the cobblestone as Lux fearfully raises her hands, light flickering along her fingers as the Demon chuckles.
"Demacia. Built. By Fear." it gurgles, not noticing her presence as it almost leisurely reaches out to grab hold of Morgana's face, staring down Lux with cold intent.
"No!" Poppy roars and Orlon's hammer is in her hands before she can acknowledge what is happening.
She lunges into the air, and as the ancient demon turns, she feels a burning, cascading truth in her heart.
"This isn't hopeless. Give it all you've got!" a voice shouts, seeming to come from afar yet deep within.
To all others, it is as if the Yordle of Legend becomes a gleaming beacon of silver fire, from the head of her hammer down to her metal-clad boots.
She is a gleaming Beacon of Hope.
To her, she is simply warm and confident in what she is about to do.
But as the beast looks at her, the uncertainty crawls back in again. She can't fail again.
She can't.
Her hammer collides with its head, and the world is hidden in pure silver light for the briefest of moments.
There is a crack like thunder.
Fiddlesticks screams, not an annoyance or excitement or anger, but in pure, primal pain.
And Poppy's wounds reopen, leaking blood emerges from the flames. Collapsing to her knees as Orlon's Hammer falls to pieces all around her.
As her vision goes dark, she hears elated cries mix with gasps of shock as Fiddlesticks vanishes into the Mists, which dissipate as if fleeing from her presence as well.
Morgana stares down at Poppy, stroking her cheek as the latter eyes dart frantically beneath her eyes as she sleeps.
It had been several days, and while the Black Mists still clung to the horizon, the only demons or spirits scenes were far in the distance.
Poppy's fingers tightened around the haft of her hammer.
Tana, Rya, and Nora had spent hours collecting every piece of the broken artifact they could find, all of which sat in a carefully placed pile on a dresser at Poppy's bedside.
"Is she awake?" Rya asks, entering the room and holding two steaming mugs of coffee.
"No." Morgana returns, taking the offered mug with a soft smile, "She was badly wounded even before facing the Voice Eater; in chasing it away, she pushed herself beyond her limits."
"I've heard some folks talking about what happened," Rya remarks, looking slightly shamefaced. Morgana knew it bothered the young guardswoman that she hadn't been there to aid in the fight, "But, do you know what she did?"
"I…have my theories." Morgana offers, "But I am not yet certain if what I believe and what is true align just yet."
"What do you believe?" Rya asks.
"That if we want to beat back the Voice Eater for good." Morgana states, "We need her."
"The others think we need far more than that," Rya mutters.
"I take it that means you are here to relieve me as well?" Morgana asks.
"Yep, they're in the war room, trying to cook up a plan on what to do next since…." Rya's eyes flick from Poppy to the broken hammer, "Things are looking pretty up in the air right now."
"Have faith." Morgana comforts, "We will find a way."
Rya nods, and Morgana rises, leaving the room, glancing back at Poppy with a pensive expression.
"I hope." she thinks to herself.
Poppy wanders the streets of this "Demacia," smiling at the frantic cacophony around her.
Her aid is offered here and there, lifting pallets, raising walls, and loading lumber. Where ever she is needed, she is there.
She ignores the askance glances that occasionally come her way after all, as Orlon states, "All are welcome, as long as they offer their hands to the cause."
There was a frantic hope about this place, and new faces arrived every week, fleeing the chaos of the East.
And the arrival of another band of new travelers drew her attention. Orlon stood before them, towering in form but gentle in countenance. He was listening intently to what the refugees were saying.
"Orlon!" she cries, racing towards him.
He looks at her, smiling wide, and nods for her to join him. His great hammer rests on the ground beside him, and several more of his order linger nearby, clearly anxious at the news of these travelers.
"It attacked without warning." the leader states, a tired woman, one of her arms in a tight sling, "I know not what it was before, but the sick fools of the East have crafted it into something terrible."
"I see." Orlon remarks, "Then we will go to face it."
"That is folly." the woman warns.
"Not if it keeps you and everyone else here safe," Poppy interjects.
"Very well put, my apprentice," he states. She laughs, knowing the title was just another of his many little jokes.
The woman stares at her nervously, looking up at Orlon, but before she can ask, Orlon stops her with a comforting smile.
"Your journey has been long, you and your people are hungry, tired, and wounded, but you can put that behind you. You are safe here in Demacia."
He nods to two of his soldiers, who begin ushering the refugees within the still half-built walls.
"Make sure to have the medics see them first!" he calls before turning back towards the horizon.
His brow was knitting together in the manner in which she knew meant he was worried.
"Are we going after it?" she asks.
"Yes." he states, "Whatever it might be, we can't let it come any closer to this city."
"They seemed to be quite afraid, even more than most people that come here." Poppy remarks, scratching her chin.
"The battles in the East cost many much." Orlon mutters.
"So you have told me." Poppy agrees.
"And what have I told you of fear?" he asks.
"Fear is the most common emotion in the world." Poppy states.
"So it is good, then, that we have Hope to overcome it." Orlon finishes, smiling down at her, "Go get your arms, apprentice. We have a monster to hunt."
Poppy nods, darting away, but she pauses as staring down at her from a nearby stack of logs is an immense red-eyed raven.
"Your so close to understanding." the Raven remarks, in a smooth, cold voice, "What he was trying to teach you all those years."
"What?" Poppy demands, eying the bird suspiciously and stepping back.
"That would be telling." the Raven remarks, "But I ask you, little spirit, what makes a God?"
"Faith." Poppy offers.
"Faith in oneself or the faith of others?" the bird asks.
"I…don't know." Poppy returns.
"Belief as ever is a powerful thing. The nation Orlon forged is on the brink. Do you believe it should be saved?" the bird demands.
"Yes." she returns.
"Then mayhaps you should have more faith in yourself." the Raven intones, "And recognize what others have seen for ages."
Poppy stands silent, staring at the being for several moments.
"But even then, Hope won't be enough to overcome this alone." the bird states, "No, you will need cunning, and for that, I offer my aid. Would you like it?"
"Yes." Poppy remarks.
"Then find me…" the bird states before alighting on her shoulder and whispering something in her ear.
Morgana sat down, looking at the others, all still worn and bedraggled from their fight with the First of Ten.
"Our weapons can take care of the specters and the lesser demons, but…." Garen begins.
"That thing shrugged everything off except whatever Poppy did, and her hammer is shattered into dozens of pieces," Quinn remarks, putting her head in her hands.
"So…what can we do?" Lux asks, wringing her hands nervously.
Morgana opens her mouth to answer, and the door behind her slams open.
The turn, seeing Poppy, covered in bandages, supporting herself on her hammer's haft, a mad look in her eyes.
"You need to find the Durands." Poppy states, standing to her full height and then tilting forward as her eyes roll back.
Morgana lunges to catch her, sending the others a confused look and seeing a glimpse of confused hope on Quinn's face.
"We need a Silverwing." Quinn states.
Thresh growls in frustration. Three days had passed with the demons and specters being held back, and he could see the desire to swarm back into Silvermere was written across many of their features.
The beast that commanded them was still sulking within the Mist, rasping and gurgling and Thresh had long since tired of the inaction.
He looks to Evelyn, knowing she can sense his desire to march into the city tonight and carve it into pieces, the Crowkeeper be damned.
Evelyn turns to him, and for a second, a cunning smile crosses her face, but it falters, and she backs away.
The other demons follow suit, slowly moving away from him, lesser predators parting for the alpha at a watering hole.
Thresh is not afraid. However, Fear has no hold on him.
So he turns to face the Elder Demon and starts as two viscous hands lunge out and grab the side of his skeletal head.
The burlap false face was shredded, and beneath was a burbling, dripping mess of black-red flesh.
Another set of arms lunges out, grasping his wrists and pinning them to the side.
"I do not fear you." Thresh rasps.
"Liar." Fiddlesticks rasps, pulling his head closer, and Thresh begins to feel his body want to dissipate into the Mist.
"Erlok Grael." the creature growls, "You. Do Not. Fear Darkness."
The burlap fell away, revealing even more quivering oily flesh, which began to pull away, blood-red light beginning to seep out.
"So. I Bring. Light!" the creature rasps, and Grael finds himself staring at the true face of an Elder Evil.
It is Terrible.
It is Beautiful.
It is Power.
It is Fear.
And Scene.
So, we are indeed in the end game now, folks.
Who was the Raven?
What is happening to Poppy?
How will Fiddle be pushed back?
All will be answered, some sooner, some later, but I hope it is enjoyable.
As always, comments, questions, and critiques are appreciated. This has been VerBeeker, signing off!
