The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage

WM [54] Enchanter of the Seventh Circle

The fort was in near complete chaos, as druid geokinetics bore holes that ripped through the mountainside defenses. Tremor sent a cascade of dust and stone through the air, rattling the fortress walls like the slow heartbeat. From his position at the main entrance to the medical ward, Bjorn could feel the mountain’s groan beneath his feet, a horrifying sign of a potential collapse.

The ward itself was a refuge, but also a trap. There were three entrances to the medical ward with people stationed at each entrance looking out for druid forces while reconnaissance teams headed by Sigvard went in search for survivors and taking opportunistic shots at druid forces. The laborantian fortress worked to the wendigo advantage as they were familiar with the purposefully confusing architecture.

Bjorn watched what was considered the main entrance to the medical ward alongside two of recently cleansed Royal Knights. The medical ward behind him was filled with the scent of sweat, blood, and the pungent tang of the cleansing potion. The soft glow of healing magic flickered in his peripheral vision as Tanisha and Jakob worked tirelessly, tending to the wounded. Healers moved between the rows of cots, their hands glowing as they worked, but it was a slow and draining process. Even magic couldn’t reverse the damage done by the druids' toxins fast enough to get everyone back into the fight.

Taking the potion didn’t mean that they could instantly get up and fight again. Some people could and Bjorn and Failsafe it was because of their constitution. The faces of many others were pale skin and slick with sweat and their eyes filled with exhaustion, which told a grim story. Some would be out of the fight for days. Others might never get up again.

However, they also found plenty of people that would be able to take the fight to the druids. Over thirty warriors were combat-ready now, up from the dozen they had started with, but Bjorn wasn’t sure it was going to be enough. The recon teams would be returning soon and then they could begin their real counter assault. The recon teams were their only hope—if they returned with more survivors or if they could take out a key druid commander, it might shift the balance.

Another tremor shook the ground, and Bjorn’s muscles tensed instinctively, his sharp gaze turning toward one of the walls of the ward. Cracks that were once insignificant now looked as if the wall might buckle. Luckily the wendigo forces had geokinetics mages of their own that quickly sprung into action to the damage. It was a patch job of course no one wanted to waste mana when they could be attacked at any moment and their mana reserves could be the difference between life and death.

“You don’t think they are trying to collapse the fort, do you?” Bjorn asked Failsafe.

“What, no they definitely are. I thought it was obvious,” Failsafe said. “Hundreds of millions of tons of mountain above the fort, why fight when you can just drop the enemies’ own base on their heads?”

“Well, yeah, but they're here too,” Bjorn said.

“They also have exit tunnels and three thousand years of pent up anger against the wendigo,” Failsafe said right as another tremor shook the ward. “I am pretty sure everyone else has already figured that out.”

The sound of battle shook Bjorn from his conversation. Ahead of them in the corridor spells flew at an escaping wendigo part. At least twenty guards and fifteen knights all retreated down the hall, Koll and Sigvard alone defended the retreating party. Some of them are not able to walk on their own while having to rely on their fellow partners to retreat. At the same time another explosion rocked one of the other entrances to the medical ward and battle quickly ensued as druid spells went flying. Everyone was quick to react, Joha first amongst the counter assault; the ward was under siege and the druids had come in force.

***

Each step Signe took only filled her with more rage as she saw the bodies of comrades and friends slain in the halls of the fortress. Lillevenn had returned leading Signe, Fuyumi and Birger, the dungeon warden, to the source of the poison and hopefully the leadership of the druids. The air inside the fortress was thick with the scent of blood and burning ozone. Druid magic coursed through the stone walls, sending tremors through the mountain. 

Lillevenn stopped at the entrance to the food court where flickering flare crystals cast deep shadows across the stone. Amidst the bedlam chanting could be heard echoing through the halls. They had found them, the druid poison caster. Signe didn’t need to inspect the room before she entered, she already knew how many were present and where they were thanks to her bond with Lillevenn.

She stepped through the doorway Fuyumi on one side of her, ethereal and pale, her ghost-born features eerily calm, while the dungeon warden, clad in black metal armor and gripping his man-catcher polearm, stomped through heavily on her other side, his eyes piercings beneath his helmet. The chanting stopped as soon as they entered the destroyed space.

“It is about time you showed yourself,” a druid man said, he looked to be in charge. “It looks like the poison had no effect on you. Shame, but with you here we can go ahead and cut the head off this little battle. Frode, report to Kara we found the Hand.”

“Sir,” a man said and disappeared into one of the many new tunnels through the mountain.

“As for the rest of you, kill them,” the man said as he picked up a map of the fortress from the table. “I have work to do.”

The druid lieutenant wore a stern expression that read no nonsense as he pushed his glasses up on his nose. He was thin and definitely not the warrior type; he looked more like a tactician than a fighter. He walked casually into another tunnel with several of the druid soldiers trailing him and collapsing the tunnel after them. Signe didn’t care, she looked around the room seeing the headless bodies of the fort guardsman and knights, some of them looked to have fallen in battle while others succumbed to the position and their bodies were mutilated.

“Lillevenn, find out where that man went and bring me his head,” Signe said with a detached coldness.

Her familiar slipped into her shadow vanishing as if he jumped into a black pool of ink. 

From the dark tunnels ahead, the druids emerged, their forms cloaked in earthy greens and browns, their weapons drawn. There were six of them at first, moving with the predatory grace of hunters who had found their quarry. More figures loomed behind, reinforcements waiting in the wings. Their eyes gleamed with an arrogant confidence, and one among them, a tall druid with tattoos spiraling across his face, smirked as he stepped forward.

“Well, well, you guys heard Lieutenant Seffan,” the tall man drawled, his voice oozing contempt. “The leader of this fortress, hiding like a frightened little loyi chick. A Royal Hand, of these cannibal savages no less,” he spat the title with venom, his companions chuckling darkly. “Today we make history, boys. We kill a Hand."

As the man spoke more druids poured through the breach like a swarm of insects. The druids, charged with an animalistic roar. The first two darted forward, a mix of physical speed and Flash Step. They had spears in hand, their weapons gleaming with the sickly green light of druidic poison. Signe's eyes narrowed slightly beneath her veil. She made no move to defend herself. The dungeon warden tensed, ready to intervene, but Fuyumi touched his arm.

“Watch,” Fuyumi said softly, her voice like a whisper carried by a cold wind.

There was no threat here for Signe, they might as well have been ants crawling into a lit blacksmith forge trying to extinguish a flame that melts steel with their bodies. She was a spellcraft mage with a specialty in enchanting and was in fact Yuhia’s foremost leading expert reaching the highly respected Seventh Circle making her one of two wendigo grandmaster enchanters. While most believed that enchanters were not combat capable as their craft required specialized tools and material Signe refused that notion and challenged the very limits of what an enchanter could accomplish. She is the only wendigo in history to gain to become a War Enchantress. A feat that gained her just as many accolades on the battlefield as she had in academia.

Suddenly, with a sound like a thousand clock gears grinding to life, the air around Signe shimmered. Golden glyphs ignited across the surface of her black and gold robes, the intricate enchantments springing to life with a pulse of energy. Tiny clockwork devices—her enchanted constructs—appeared, floating and spinning in the air around her. Some resembled mechanical orbs with whirring gears, others like delicate wings, shimmering with magic. The constructs hummed, orbiting her in a precise, methodical dance.

The first druid was upon her. He thrust his spear forward, aiming for her heart. In a blur of movement, one of Signe’s clockwork constructs shot out, deflecting the spear with a high-pitched clang. Another spun forward, cutting off both hands at the wrist effortlessly as the spear clattered to the floor. The druid barely had time to register his surprise before a third construct slammed into his chest, sending him flying back against the stone wall with a sickening crunch.

The second druid tried to flank her, moving fast with a Blink, his blade aimed at her side. Signe didn’t even glance in his direction. She lifted a single finger, and with a flick, sent a ripple her aura through the air. The druid froze mid-strike, suspended by barely visible invisible threads of energy. He struggled, his eyes wide with panic, but the magic held him in place. With a simple twist of her wrist, Signe shattered his body like glass sending bloody chunks to the floor.

Signe’s voice was low, but it cut through the air like a blade. “You are trespassers in the domain of the First Princess of Yuhia, rightful heir to the throne. Your lives were forfeit the moment you stepped foot in Yuhia. I, Hand Signe Jet of the Seventh Circle, enact your judgment. Now come, all of you. I will send you to where all of your kind belongs.”

Her voice was calm, too calm, the controlled anger of someone who was far beyond rage. She took a slow, deliberate step forward, the light catching on the gold accents of her black robes. The talismans hanging from her antlers jingled softly, as if responding to the crackling mana in the air. Her constructs, invisible for the moment, whirred softly around her, awaiting her command.

They rushed her all at once, six bodies moving in unison, weapons aimed at her heart, their druidic magic flaring to life as they attempted to overwhelm her. But Signe didn’t retreat. She didn’t need to. The first druid lunged with a blade coated in poison, aiming for her throat.

One of her constructs, no larger than a fist, zipped forward with blinding speed, intercepting the attack with a loud clang, deflecting the poisoned blade. Before the druid could react, another construct shot out and smashed into his head popping it like an egg with the sheer force of the blow.

Two more druids came at her from the sides, one wielding a curved sickle, the other chanting a spell to bind her. Signe's hand moved faster than the eye could follow, fingers tracing a quick, complex pattern in the air. Enchanting the very space between her and  her enemies using a technique she had coined long ago called Combat Enchanting. A glowing blue shield materialized before her, absorbing the sickle’s strike with a flash of light. At the same time, her other hand flicked towards the spell-caster, a sharp, dismissive gesture that shattered his spell mid-cast, sending him stumbling backward in shock as the mana he was conjuring detonated in his face.

Her movement was fluid, graceful, and impossibly fast. She glided across the floor, evading every strike with the precision of a master. Her constructs darted in and out of the fray, disarming, deflecting, incapacitating with ruthless efficiency. The tall druid watched in growing disbelief as his comrades fell one by one. His sneer faltered as Signe dispatched them without so much as a bead of sweat. She moved like a wraith, untouchable, her black robes swirling around her as her constructs dealt death with cold precision.

One druid, braver or perhaps more foolish than the others, tried to cast a spell, drawing power from the earth beneath his feet. The ground rumbled, cracks forming as he attempted to summon a boulder to crush her. But Signe’s hand moved faster. With a quick gesture, she drew a series of intricate symbols in the air, and a glowing blue magic circle appeared before her. The ground beneath the druid quivered, and in an instant, his own spell backfired, the stone he had summoned not only collapsing but exploding into him leaving him as little more than a grisly mess.

As the battle raged on, Signe’s presence on the field became an unstoppable force. Her movements were a seamless blur of agility, dodging and weaving through spells and weapons with unnatural grace. Any attack that wasn’t deflected or blocked by her constructs missed her by mere inches as she danced through the chaos. Her clockwork creations, spinning and slicing, cut deep into the druid ranks, sending splatters of green and crimson flying across the stone floors.

The edges of her veil, woven from black and gold silk, began to fray under the sheer pressure of the magic that coursed through her. It started with just a few threads—small, almost insignificant. Then, in a burst of energy, entire sections of her robes tore away, scorched by the raw power surging through her body. The aura that had once been contained within her enchantments now flared wildly around her, bright and terrifying, bursting forth like a blazing inferno. It burned blue, the telltale sign of her concentrated mana, hot as the flames of a forge.

The enchantments on her robes, painstakingly designed to hold back her immense power, buckled under the strain. Signe could feel them failing as her fury rose, no longer able to restrain the torrent of energy she unleashed upon the battlefield.

What remained beneath her torn garments was not her bare form but something far more magnificent—and far more frightening. Gleaming beneath the remnants of her robes was a masterpiece of magical artifice. Enchanted armor, etched with complex runes and sigils, covered her body like a second skin. It wasn’t simply worn over her flesh; it was fused into it, seamlessly embedded into her very being. The armor, forged from dark metal and gleaming with the same gold accents that had once adorned her elegant robes, hummed with power.

Runes inscribed on her armored arms and chest pulsed softly, feeding into the magic swirling around her. Her body was no longer just flesh and blood—it was a living enchantment, a weapon designed for absolute destruction. Where once had stood the refined and composed Royal Hand, a figure of diplomacy and grace, there was now something far more terrifying. This was not just a mage. This was the true face of a Royal Hand, an enchanter of immense and devastating power.

Signe turned slowly to face them, her calm, regal bearing unchanged as if this were just another day in the royal court. As the last piece of her veil burned away, her face was revealed—a vision of angular maturity, her features elegant yet cold, as if carved from stone. Silver-streaked black hair cascaded around her face, framing her fierce, pupil-less eyes, which gleamed like pools of obsidian against her dark skin.

The remaining druids had terror in their eyes. They hesitated as they finally realized what they were up against. They saw a monster beyond any savage they had ever encountered before. Signe turned slowly to face them, her form highlighted by the soft glow of her enchantments. 

The remaining druids scrambled to regroup. “We can still take her!” one of them barked, desperation creeping into his voice. “She's just one woman!”

The tall druid, still clutching his staff, nodded grimly. “Together!” he ordered, rallying his remaining comrades. “We overwhelm her with magic—she can't stop us all!”

They raised their hands in unison, chanting in a way that had their voices merging into a single, harmonious incantation. The earth beneath their feet trembled, and jagged tendrils of stone white hot stone and poisonous vines erupted from the ground.

Her hand flicked through the air, tracing intricate patterns faster than any of the druids could follow. Blue magic flared to life around her, a shimmering shield that effortlessly deflected the oncoming assault. The constructs with spinning blades shot forward, slicing through the tendrils with ease, their movements precise and deadly.

The druids’ magic, powerful as it was, couldn’t touch her. Their spells shattered against her defenses like waves crashing against an unyielding cliff. One of her constructs darted forward, spinning rapidly before launching itself toward the closest druid. It struck him square in the chest with a few Blinks she wasn’t far behind. She struck a second man with a knife hand that tore through his armor and through his chest until her bloody arm reached through the other side. She threw the corpse to the ground.

One of them lunged at her, desperate, swinging his sword with all his might. She sidestepped effortlessly, her body moving faster than his eyes could follow. Another swung from the side, but Signe deflected the attack with a simple motion; she smacked the blade with her armored forearm sending his blade spiraling out of his hands she spun out of the way of a spear and kicked the disarmed druid in the face at the same time sending him to the ground. 

As she landed she had drawn a new glowing enchantment and pressed the magical circle against the chest of one another druid, this one a female. Her body convulsed as the magic surged through her. She gasped as her vitality was rapidly drained in a matter of seconds. She was dead before her head hit the floor.

The final two druids faltered, fear overtaking them, but it was too late. The tall druid that so casually insulted her earlier turned to run. He wasn’t fast enough and with a flick of her finger, the remaining constructs sliced through them, clean, surgical, precise.

Signe stood in the center of the corridor, her once-pristine robes now in tatters, revealing the full extent of her enchanted armored body and the glyphs etched into her skin. The air around her crackled with the residual power of her enchantments, and the stillness that followed was deafening.

“That was… I-I am at a loss for words.” Birger stuttered as he bowed in reverence. “Royal Hand Jet, I feel unworthy to have even seen you fight. I beg you in our next engagement let me show you my capabilities.”

In a second a fresh set of Royal Hand Robes covered Signs body from one of the many she had in her personal magic storage inventory.

“I would ask the same,” Fuyumi said with a monotone chill.

“Yes, it would be for the best.” Signe agreed. “I can not use up all of my mana before securing the border. Currently we do not know how many of these creatures have invaded. I acted out of anger. From here on I will be relying on both of you to prove yourselves.”

There was a large tremor that rocked the fortress as the sound of collapsing tunnel reverberated throughout every corridor. The quake was a bad sign that part of the fortress was collapsing. Signe remembered the druid lieutenant with the map of the fort. She then looked at the tunnels the druids had carved into this one room alone. It was certainly more than they needed. A realization hit her. They were going to collapse the fort. Without the enchantment that once strengthened the mountain it wouldn’t take long to bury everyone alive.

“It looks like you all are going to have to defend  me.” Signe said as she looked around at the now many cracks running throughout the floors, walls and ceiling. “I have to remake the enchantment holding this place together or no one is getting out of here.”

“Can you do that?” Birger asked out of admiration, not doubt.

“Yes, but I will take time and I cannot be interrupted.” She turned to the two of them. “Birger, Tsukihana Fuyumi prepare yourselves. We will have more company soon.”

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