Rise of the Demon Lord - Pt 2

“An elf, you say, taught you this?” Patience croaked out in the brief seconds between gumming at bird meat and slurping her tea.

“I speak no falsehoods” I replied.

The thick herbal smoke clogging the hut stung at my eyes and obscured the faces of my old comrades. I couldn’t believe I’d grown so weak in the intervening time.

“We did not mean to imply such a thing,” Tenacity’s voice cut through the haze, “only- Bring you any proof of your words?”

That, I should have expected. Perhaps there was once a time when my word alone carried weight in that accursed village. Still, I had always known the warrior woman to hold words dear. It was a surprise that her opinion of me had fallen so low.

My gaze crossed the room, landing on the final participant in our discreet gathering.

“You trust the boy?”

Patience coughed - for a moment I thought she might choke on her birdflesh - then wheezed, “None gathered here has greater cause to war upon the elves.”

She was plainly right. The swan-like feathered wings protruding from his back proved it. Who can say why the elves bestowed upon him such a gift, but they would surely not allow him to stay in the village for much longer.

I tried to make out Patience’s shriveled visage through the still-thickening cloud, but had little luck.

“I can make you strong once more.”

Another cough, then a chuckle. She set down her tea. It’s a shame I couldn’t see her face.

Another croak, “All right then.”

I stood up into blinding herbal miasma and reached out to place my palm on the crown of Patience’s head, clearing my mind, and recalled the mental motions of the elf who visited me that fateful night. They had been performed so many times over so many countless eons that they came as second nature, so I began:

Works of my peers and ancestors, I beseech thee, look upon the cause of this weary wayfarer.
Behold mine hands and that of which mine right does lay upon.
Descry the place where the spirit instructs the clay. I entreat thee, may the branches of the spirit reach hither into the withered places.
Moreover, descry the vigorous vessels of the flesh. I entreat thee, vouchsafe to grant kindling to their inner lamps.
Moreover, descry the strands of the loom of the flesh. I entreat thee, let the seed be multiplied so that new fruit may be borne.
Yea, and again, I entreat thee that they may wax great and henceforth be edified.
I implore thee, succor this thy servant and grant mine words thy spirit.

Tenacity gasped.

- omegastick