There is something else said the chief, a short man without his snorting range pony, and yet he seemed to stare right at Ullara as though her long bow-like limbs didn’t dwarf his own. Among the dark meadow grasses sliding against the stunted branches of the meadow beneath vast depths above and yet he thought he heard a soft noise of horses’ accoutremonts brushing together with a cold metallic sound in the dark of that meadow. His eyes held hers not ungentle in his barbaric finery. We want you to take this elixir to the monks of Ebershir , who can bless it for our use.
She rose from the dark floor with an inrush of breath that felt like the fabled stone hermit perched across her chest in the night—- The air wavered with the glint of drifting spirits above the immense pillars– She heard the voice before she saw the green light– it rose and flitted above her and she felt for her cutlass and crushed the steel into the ring of the burning figure’s wavering skull — The glint changed to a dancing sheen of figures ferns above rills and deep mountains with proud figures clad in bright ornament standing distant a pagan riot in her head she turned from the brief vision. The light returned to poisonous green and now she saw a figure moving toward her walking it seemed with that cape of flame — then the figure spoke in a voice that poured out the breath of tombs and some shore outside human grasp–
You are weary why don’t you lie back down?
You despise me do you not?
Like a rampant eel
Will you not bend to my desire? I can deliver you to the height of pleasures!
Then savoire this, and she flicked back the catch on the blade’s hilt and snapped the flint and a charge roared in the mountain hollow wall fell in with a crash not 5 yards behind the figure as the granite shot she’d filled in the water scoured halls above charged through the form that crouched before her. its green fire racing along into its eyes and changing to a fulgent glow to a dolden sheet of flames that capered and staggered toward the plunging stairs behind the vast pillars like a sot fresh thrown from the ale house landing. Mazes and towering wheels of fire turning over souls an iron maze of grinning faces trapped within the pitch like volcanic metal. And such an artist she quoth. With her hair trailing her enormous blonde mane she returned her weapon to its hold and strode up the opposite stair to the escape taken by the storm ghoul.
The mocking screams from the wavering fire over the raw floor capered in her mind’s ear long after she left the abandoned hall. Then the flash of places outside faded like the lights of a far city over a dwindling pass left by the regulator gazing with disgust through stone troughs stained with the ruin of pilgrims in lonesome canyons.