Tale of a Hedonistic wizard-Chapter 440: Bande de serpents, all together
Felaern nodded, his jaw clenched with determination. Gently, he lifted Angelina into his arms, her body light and fragile against his chest. Together, he and Daratrine made their way back to their home, their steps hurried but careful, as if afraid that even the slightest jostle might cause her more pain.
As they entered the chamber where Jaegar still lay within the Verdant chamber, Daratrine immediately began to work, her hands glowing with a soft, golden light as she channelled her healing magic into Angelina’s broken body. Felaern watched in silence, his heart heavy with guilt and anger. He had failed to protect her, just as he had failed to protect so many others. But he swore to himself that he would not fail again.
Angelina’s breathing grew steadier, her wounds beginning to close under Daratrine’s skilled hands. Her eyes fluttered open, and though they were clouded with pain, they still held a spark of the fierce determination that had always defined her.
"Jaegar..." she murmured again, her voice stronger this time. "Is he...?"
"He’s safe," Daratrine assured her, her voice gentle but firm. "He’s here with us."
Angelina’s lips curved into a faint smile, her eyes closing as she allowed herself to rest. Felaern knelt beside her, his hand brushing a strand of bloodied hair from her face. "Sleep now," he whispered. "We’ll take care of the rest."
As Angelina drifted into unconsciousness, Daratrine and Felaern exchanged a glance.
***
Deep within the Gravarane Forest, where the sunlight barely pierced through the dense canopy of ancient, towering trees, lay a hidden sanctuary.
It was not a cave in the traditional sense, but an intricately carved hollow, worn and weathered by time. The walls bore markings that seemed older than memory itself, symbols and sigils etched in a language lost to the ages. Moss clung to the damp stone surfaces, and faint streams of light filtered through cracks in the earthen ceiling, casting an eerie, otherworldly glow. The air inside was heavy with the scent of damp earth and a faint trace of magic.
In the heart of this forgotten sanctuary stood a group of individuals, their presence commanding the ruined space. Each one bore an aura of power and mystery, their motives veiled even to one another.
Norimar, the half-orc, leaned casually against the crumbled remains of a stone pillar, his arms crossed over his massive chest. His rugged face bore scars of countless battles, and his sharp green eyes scanned the others with a wary yet calculating gaze. Despite his imposing size and brutish appearance, there was intelligence behind his eyes, revealing his mage abilities and cunning nature.
Beside him stood W’thas, a dark elf cloaked in shadow. His silver hair shimmered faintly under the dim light, and his piercing violet eyes seemed to absorb the very essence of the room.
Silent and observant, he watched the others with the detached calm of someone who had spent a lifetime in the shadows.
Elsbeth, the infamous Witch of Midnight, stood at the centre of the group. Her long, flowing black robes seemed to merge with the darkness itself, and her pale skin glowed faintly, almost as if the darkness sought to consume her but could not. Her eyes, a striking shade of icy blue, held a coldness that sent shivers through even the bravest souls. A gnarled staff of black wood adorned with a single, glowing sapphire rested in her hands, its faint hum resonating with untapped power.
Lodar, the Faesapien giant, sat cross-legged on the ground. His crimson skin, marked with intricate tattoos that seemed to shift and move, glowed faintly in the dim light. At over seven feet tall, even while seated, his presence was overwhelming. His deep-set golden eyes held a wisdom that contrasted with his fearsome appearance. Though he appeared relaxed, his sheer size and the massive axe resting by his side hinted at the devastating power he could unleash at a moment’s notice.
Rhedel, a dark wizard clad in tattered robes of black and crimson, stood with an air of impatience. His gaunt face was shadowed by the wide brim of his hat, and his fingers twitched occasionally, as though he were itching to unleash the dark magic that pulsed beneath his skin. His voice, when he spoke, was a rasp that echoed with the weight of forbidden knowledge.
Sagona, a sharp-featured woman with fiery red hair, carried an air of authority. Her armour, a mix of leather and enchanted steel, bore the marks of countless battles. Shaewyra, by contrast, had a more ethereal presence. Her long silver hair cascaded down her back, and her piercing green eyes glimmered with a faint, unearthly light. She held an intricately crafted bow, its string humming with latent energy.
And then there was Angus.
He stood apart from the others, a man of mystery and contradictions. His expression was calm, almost disinterested, but his piercing grey eyes betrayed an intensity that could not be ignored. Dressed in dark, travel-worn attire, he carried no visible weapons, yet his very presence was unsettling, as though he could read the thoughts of everyone present. His demeanour shifted subtly, from approachable to enigmatic, a chameleon-like quality that made it impossible to gauge his true intentions.
The group exchanged glances, each sizing up the others in the uneasy silence. The air was thick with tension, a mixture of mutual respect and mistrust.
Finally, it was Angus who broke the silence, his voice smooth and measured.
"Well, here we are," he said, his tone dripping with irony. "Finally. How about we start right away?"
Elsbeth’s icy gaze fixed on him, her voice as cold as her eyes. "But we haven’t got all of them?"
Norimar stepped forward; he said, "It would be hard to extract the chaos from all of them at once, so we do it slowly, and the chaos needs to settle in the shard. The process takes days to finish; patience is required, my dear fellow people."
Norimar turned to three figures in the group, and they stepped out. They were now going to extract the chaos from the young men and women.
