The Golden Sorceress’s Awakening

Author’s note: This story is my submission for the February 08, 2023 prompt on Iron Age Media titled “The Flame.”

Author: James Meyer

Absolute quiet hung over the High Forest as the adventuring party wound and wandered through the verdancy. It had been four days of travel through the underbrush toward the derelict keep, which was the group’s destination. Yet, nature’s activity continued unabated and unchallenged. The long lulls of silence were only punctuated by spikes of activity whenever Garadius tripped over a cluster of branches or got caught in a tangle of vines.

Fairness to the minotaur, though, he was the one least accustomed to the current biome and towed the heaviest pack. The holy warrior would rather be at the castle which was the group’s destination, bedecked in armor instead of carrying it. The citadel’s owner was a death knight, formerly allied with a dracolich. The pair desired to uncover a reliquary linked to the arch lich known as Vecna and bring him to the material plane. However, the undead dragon double-crossed the knight, keeping the object for himself.

That had been the Champion of Triel’s last outing. They tracked the skeletal beast, revealed its lair, and vanquished the beast and its minions. Then, after resting for a couple of workweeks, the time arrived to dismantle the other half of the partnership. The death knight’s castle was the base of the Star Mounts, deep in the heart of the High Forest. The party secured passage east along the Dessarin River and now navigated their way south.

Despite Garadius’s occasional clumsiness, the party made good headway toward their goal. Pushing the through the dense foliage, the Champions forged ahead. The late morning turned to afternoon, then to evening. Onward they pressed, not paying attention to their surroundings. Being so far in the High Forest, the keep was isolated. Reports from guides and rangers familiar with the jungle indicated no far-reaching evil presence beyond the castle’s wall. The true challenge would begin once they arrived.

Evening changed into dusk, and at last night. The group trudged on, searching for an appropriate campsite. Finally, they discovered a suitable place. A clearing of thirty or forty feet in diameter with various trees and shrubs forming a defensive ring. They could camp out underneath the trees and stars or cast a tiny hut for extra protection. The adventurers discarded their packs and began making camp. After 30 minutes, everything is set up.

“Our night meal is ready. The extra will be for the morning meal tomorrow,” said Ena, the Firbolg druid, handing out bowls.

“Aww, thank ya, Ena,” replied Alston, the Gnomish rouge, accepting the gesture.

“Yes, thank you, Ena,” said Gwynnestri in her astral elvish dialect.

“A good meal and rest will be needed for the encounter ahead,” bolstered Garadius.

“I can’t wait to tear this death knight limb from limb and unweave his life essence down to the thread,” expounded Tolis, a human priest of Mystra.

“For having consorted with a dracolich, he better have a decent vault in his castle. What do you think, Frez?” mused Spells, their Tiefling wizard.

The other human in the party didn’t respond to the query. Instead, she sat aimlessly spinning her finger in the air, staring into the distance at nothing. She was lost in thought, her mind elsewhere. This display of aloofness was standard. In the far past, it was expected. Frez disliked large interactions because of shyness. Recently, the reasoning had changed. The undead dragon took extra umbrage and hatred against her, choosing to barrage her with his most powerful wrath. Now, she withdrew for unknown reasons.

“Frez?” Tolis spoke up next, waving his head in front of her face. The gesture did not elicit a reply. The cleric dared not poke or prod. Until the dracolich encounter, Frez quickly snapped back to the interaction. This new wave of introversion caused concern among the rest of the party. The encounter with the dragon changed her. Nobody could divine why and Frez would not share the reason.

“Frez. Daughter,” Ena knelt, leaned into the sorcerer’s ear, placed a hand behind her back, and whispered in the druidic language. The noun was a term of endearment to the human. The grandmotherly firbolg had one for each of the party. The light-skinned human lurched backward into the ready hand at the familiar term.

“Huh? What? What?” she sputtered in a mix of confusion.

“You stared at the sprites again. It’s time for the night meal,” explained Ena, presenting the second to last bowl of food.

“Oh. Thanks Ena,” Frez’s sheepish scowl told the whole story of how she felt. She thankfully accepted the food, and her frown turned into a slight grin.

“Are you all right Frez?” considerately questioned the gnome nicknamed Doublelock.

“Yes, I’m ok. I was just thinking,” answered the human.

“Thinking? About what? The dracolich? Are you still fussing about that giant heap of bones?” Garadius’s social skills sometimes lacked polish.

“Leave her be. You weren’t the one being unfairly targeted for death,” defend Spells.

“I tried to be! It wouldn’t pay attention!” the paladin countered, his anger rising.

“Garadius, calm,” politely ordered Tolis. The olive-skinned human held his palm high with all five fingers extended. Then, slowly, he curled and retracted them into a fist. At each closure, the bipedal bull took a deep breath. The duo’s technique worked at keeping the paladin’s resentment in check. When the hand completely closed, Garadius’s ire passed and Tolis continued his speech.

“What happened with the dragon was nobody’s fault. By whatever twisted reasoning it had, it went after Frez, forcing us to change tactics. In the end, we are all alive, and that was the outcome we desired.”

“Why didn’t it like you Frez? For being an undead creature, it appeared to know who you were,” commented Gwynnestri

The young woman paused before answering her companion’s question. She delicately and gingerly rolled up the left sleeve of her dress. While the hand was covered with skin, the forearm presented a shining layer of golden dragon scales. This strange appearance was not a secret to her companions. The draconic essence which flowed through her was the source of her innate magical abilities.

“I don’t know why that monster went after me Gwyn. Maybe it recognized the part of me that was once like it.”

“No matter why it decided to attack you, we are grateful that you are still living,” consoled the astral elf.

“Aye, we are. And now we must eat before the food gets cold,” piped up Doublelock. Nobody could disagree with the sentiment.

As with all of Ena’s meals, dinner proved to be delightful. As they ate, the party discussed plans of attack, reviewed the lore of their target, and pondered what they would do afterward. Everyone agreed that at least for the foreseeable future, if not permanently, this raid against the death knight would be their last adventure together. How bittersweet the thought of separation. But they had served their purposed. All had grown very strong in their own ways.

Garadius would continue to wander realms as a device of divine retribution and vengeance. Ena needed to return home in the Reaching Woods. Tolis intended to do the same, but at a monastery of Mystra in Baldur’s Gate. Spells planned to study the higher magic circles in Waterdeep. Alston held a contract that promised work along the Trade Way as a guide and scout. Gywn desired to lead a ship and fly the familiar Astral Sea. But for Frez, her future felt unknown. Her gifts lay in studying, speaking, and languages. Perhaps her destiny lay in working alongside Spells or searching far away for ancient ruins.

After the meal, the party decided to take watches during the night. Being so close to the death knight’s keep could mean the presence of patrols. Garadius offered to be the first sentry. With the order agreed upon, the rest of the group began falling asleep. For Frez, the first portion of the rest clears her mind. She is among good friends, and their time together has been excellent.

Tolis woke Frez for her part of the watches. He told her that Gwyn went second in the watch order and cast Alarm around their tents. She understood and thanked him for the information. As he fell asleep, Frez’s mind can’t help but wander back to the encounter with the dracolich. The undead monstrosity was unhinged and bent on her death. If it weren’t for Tolis’s divine magic, she could have died for good.

Following the encounter and during the party’s rest days, Frez’s mother contacted her via intermediaries. Her mother questioned Frez about much her magical ability had grown and if she embraced her birthright. Frez asked for more clarity, but her mother’s answers proved cryptic. Her mother only explained that something had grown within Frez when she internalized her seventh circle spell and extolled her to “be aware of the burning furnace within yourself.” What did her mother mean when she said that? What was her birthright, and how could she embrace it?

Frez’s spellcasting prowess was among the highest tiers of magic. She just learned to cast a spell at the seventh circle if needed, but that was her highest capacity and one of her newest feats. A tide of biological change drew upon her, accompanying this magical feat. Frez battled severe stomach and back pains for a workweek after confronting the dracolich. And even during the fight, on two occasions, something inside her yearned to be freed from its internal prison. Could that have been the furnace within her? Answers to those questions would have to come later. For now, she must maintain vigil.

The morning arrived with no interruptions or midnight ambushes. In the morning, the party gathered their things and ventured off again. Frez donned a unique black and gold dress with odd cuts in the back for the day’s fight. A gift from her mother when she first left home. Ena led the group, continuing to fjord through the dense forest. As with all the other days of travel, the sounds and sights of the undergrowth punctuated the calm and stillness of the morning’s journey. Around midday, the group stopped to enjoy a Hero’s Feast specially prepared by Tolis. Ena’s communication with local birds informed them that the derelict keep was nearby.

Garadius and Gwynnestri donned their heavy armor. The time for quiet traveling had long passed behind them, and now the time arrived to be prepared for battle. Alston completely loaded his repeating crossbow. A complex and unique system of pulleys drew extra bolts from a hollow, rectangular box underneath the bow. Tolis, Ena, Frez, and Spells shared final plans about the strategy to slay the death knight. The former would endeavor to keep the minotaur alive, the middle two would assist in damaging the cavalier, and the last would support those attacking from a distance.

With the firbolg still leading, the group continued toward their destination. With the last stretch of the forest slowly being put behind them, Frez couldn’t help but wonder about her mother’s words and the recent events involving the dracolich. It desired her dead passionately and nearly succeeded. Then her mother reached out, wanting to see how much arcane progress Frez had made. Why? Why was her mother suddenly interested in her? The pair hadn’t spoken in years until that point.

Possible answers had to wait as the party reached its destination. Breaching through the edge of the High Forest, the Champions of Triel stood gazing upon and distressed and destroyed citadel. Long past its glory days, the structure once stood ninety feet cube. Now, the stone and concrete becoming captured and reclaimed by the jungle. Half of the fort had become a heaping mound of rubble. Instead of turrets at each corner, a new tower had been erected to connect with an older one.

“He’s up there,” calmly spoke Gwyn while pointing to the combined platform.

“No doubt he is waiting for us,” commented Tolis.

“He is indeed,” affirmed Gwyn.

“Then let’s go meet him,” persuaded Garadius.

“Be careful about your climbing and sneaking, grandson,” cautioned the druid.

 “I will Ena. I promise,” said Doublelock.

The group continued to the keep’s entrance. The minotaur paladin pushed away some of the collapsed stone to allow everyone safe passage inside, then drew his massive maul to a battle-ready grip. The interior of the standing castle equaled the wreckage on the outside by showing the long scratches of time. The stronghold decayed down to a handful of necessary halls and rooms. A stone staircase winded upwards at the back corner of the keep. No words needed to be expressed about where it led to.

Despite being within the keep but only a minute or two, the clean mountain air was a welcome reprieve from the musty smells of the old fort. Atop the combined turrets, the party faces their foes. A man surrounded by a guard of undead Wight warriors and a bone naga perched like an advisor. The knight is clad in black plate armor, worn over time and countless skirmishes. An aspis-like shield was wielded in one arm, a longsword burnished in the other. A triumvirate of feathers adorned his angular helm. His posture was one of expectation as the Champions filed out of the stairwell.

“You have arrived,” the undead knight-errant monotonously droned.

“I hope we haven’t kept you waiting,” joked an unseen Doublelock.

“Only as long as it is necessary. It is unfortunate that your numbers could not be thinned by the dragon,” replied the death knight.

“I’m sorry that your choice of confederate was a disappointment. Although I’m not sure what you expected from a dracolich,” mocked Spells.

“And we’ve met more engaging undead at the Warlock’s Crypt anyway,” added Frez, moving farthest away from the creature.

“You’re going to pay for your transgressions, fallen hero,” boldly proclaimed Garadius.

“Then come at me!” the foe challenged as his loyal minions stood at the ready to defend their master.

The battle began in earnest. Garadius and Gwyn engaged in vicious melee with the knight’s undead vanguard. Tolis and Spells invoked wards and buffs for their party. In retribution, the undead cavalier banished Spells away from the battlefield. One less spellcaster to worry about. Ena summoned a thunderstorm above while Doublelock managed a sneaky strike on the knight himself. Finally, Frez deployed a tiny yellow magic bead onto the knight’s sabaton. It was her most powerful spell. Frez made no attempt to hide the dot, but the knight either didn’t see it or didn’t care.

The second combat decisions commenced. Without warning, skeletal hands erupted from underneath the stone, capturing everyone except the minotaur. Gwyn and Garadius held their position, waiting for Tolis to channel his holy magic to either destroy or turn away the creatures. The cleric obliged and vaporized the knight’s vanguard. With the ranger restrained, the paladin charged the commander alone. Unfortunately, he couldn’t strike the undead knight because the skeletal hands impeded his movements. The rest of the party could only support from afar using spells and bows. It was a disadvantage for now.

For the third round of maneuvers, the undead knight-errant channels his necrotic energies and tries to push the paladin away but fails. This disruption causes the skeletal hands to vanish for several seconds. In retaliation, Garadius lays into the undead fiend with mighty smiting strikes. The display rallies his friends, who launch into the fight with ferocity and power. Gwyn rushes to support in melee while some of the most potent spells are unleashed from the casters. Having expended her highest circle spell, Frez utilizes simple cantrips to hold concentration on her ticking bomb.

On the fourth selection of actions, the knight again focuses the necrotic energy, this time against Gwyn. She tries to resist but is overwhelmed and flung fifteen feet backward toward her party. The paladin attempts to strike deep again, but one of the strikes misses, and the other is parried. With the ranger closer to her allies, the death knight launches a black and dark red orb, catching everyone except the minotaur is enveloped in the blast. All the casters lose focus on their spells except for Frez. Luck and her draconic heritage are on her side. They allow her to concentrate on her fireball in waiting, but barely.

With the fifth wave of actions, the undead hands returned and seized everyone again. More strong spells are volleyed against the undead creature. Being next to the cause of mayhem, Garadius continues battering the undead monster. Despite one of his attacks being blocked, the other is a critical hit. The hit severely staggers the foe, soliciting a response of enchantment magic. Despite his divine power, the paladin becomes immobilized. The death knight laughs. This is his moment to cause vengeance and wreak havoc.

The skeletal hands remained for the next eighteen seconds as the undead commander began his swathe of destruction. With the most prominent threat rendered paralyzed, the death knight cleaves through the Champions of Triel. Ena, Tolis, and Doublelock all feel the searing blade of the knight-errant as the bone naga chatters proudly and loudly as if applauding its master’s twisted work. Frez could only watch in horror and terror, and the knight calmly strode its way to her. No emotion could be discerned through his visor.

The sorceress leans back against the stone parapet behind her, wincing and bracing for the blow she expects to come her way. Instead, she is gripped by the cold gauntlets of the undead abomination. As if knowing what the commander plans to do, the skeletal hands release her to the knight-errant. She shares his gaze, only seeing glowing red orbs where his eyes would be. They stare back into her gold irises as the voice speaks in a deathly, unmoving cadence.

“I know of your little ball of magic sorceress. I have seen it before by the last group who thought they could stop me. It is a spell shared by your wizard friend. How unfortunate that you won’t be able to judge when the time comes to activate it.”

The rattling tone hung in the air for a few unnerving seconds. Frez’s draconic blood boiled deep within her stomach. It yearned to be released, to be able to do something against this disgusting monstrosity. Then her feet are removed from the stone underneath her. No, he wouldn’t. Yes, he would. Frez quickly looked to the sky, then the rocky earth, as she was thrown over the tower’s edge with a mighty toss. The screams of her friends follow her down the side.

There wasn’t time to think. Only to react. The draconic power within took control. A scream meant to be fearful becomes guttural instead. Something pushed through Frez’s inner dress and ripped the outer ones. Her eyes which had been squeezed shut now opened. Instinctually, she arched back. Her direction changed, going from downwards to upwards, feeling the sky push against her entire body. In that handful of moments, she knew. She knew what her mother meant. She understood what the furnace within was. And she embraced it without hesitation.

The commands for controlling her wings flooded her mind as Frez rocketed back up the tower to the battle. Her connection to the fireball still held, but it was fading quickly. She crested the turret, surveying the battlefield’s new state. The naga and skeletal hands had vanished while Spells had reappeared. Everybody showed signs of grievous wounds. Frez glared down the death knight who seemed to have healed somehow. All expressions changed to astonishment at her reappearance. The time came to ignite or extinguish, and the choice was easy.

“Leave my friends alone and die you hideous monster! The daughter of Frezesso, the Eternal Fire demands it!”

Frez’s new wings and forearms shimmered fantastically in the afternoon. Their gold radiance dazzled and glimmered with opulence. Despite him being surrounded by her friends, the sorceress denoted her fireball at its highest peak of power. The ball erupted into a giant blaze of fury. It was reckless to do so, but Garadius would be unaffected by the blast. His healing magic could stabilize and revive those who would fall.

The flash proved bright and unforgiving. The shockwave was so violent that the death knight lost his focus on restraining the minotaur. The paladin lurched forward, then steadied himself into a battle stance. The undead monster ignited with rage and again summoned skeletal hands to hold down the party. He decided to choose a destructive wave as his last-ditch attack. Thankfully, Tolis’s and Spells’s wards showed their value. The next wave of attacks proved to be a mere formality.

Healing magic was exchanged among the party as Frez floated to join them. The Champions cloistered around the destroyed body of the death knight. Nothing more remained within the suit. No more undead power driving it on. Gwyn pulled away the helm, revealing a human’s face underneath. Drawing a dagger, she removed it from the body. Some found the display disgusting but understood why it needed to be done. Then the attention shifted to Frez, her draconic features glistening in the sun.

“You look wonderful Frez!” praised the gnome.

“Thanks Alston. It feels wonderful,” replied the sorceress.

“What is it, granddaughter?” questioned the druid.

“It’s my birthright Ena. It’s quite spectacular, isn’t it?” answered Frez.

“I would agree,” said the Astral Elf.

“We all would. Now let’s get out of here and go have some good drinks!” proclaimed Spells.

The party cheered at the sentiment and spent time searching through the remnants of the castle for any valuables. Unfortunately, there were none to be had. After an hour to naturally heal, the Champions of Triel depart the unholy keep. There will be much celebrating and visitation once they return home.