B3 – Chapter 39: Zeltana’s Guidance

Tristan deflected the first strike with the flat of his blade; the impact of the wooden mallet that seemed as hard as a steel rod resounding with a mighty clang against his alloyed sword. Zeltana followed up with a sweeping, horizontal swing that Tristan was familiar with – a move The Matriarch had pulled to get distance.

Balling his left hand into a fist, he raised it in a diagonal across his torso, chin above the forearm, extending the hand to his cheek, and elbow down to the stomach. As his Essence surged through his body, he directed it to his forearm. “Frost védj meg most.” (Frost protect me now). A screen of crystalline, pure-silver sprung up and intercepted the blow of the maul, giving him an opportunity to swing with his blade – turning it at the last second to deliver a blow with the flat of it.

Zeltana dropped the maul after the failed strike and turned into his blow, stepping into his chest and shifting her hand up his sword-hand forearm. He brought his fist down in a backhand, and the blow caught her on the shoulder – but she muscled through the gauntlet smacking her face with a wild look of glee. Using the momentum of her spin, she tried to throw him.

But Tristan had undergone the Trial of the Sap. He was strong – the strongest he would ever be. He simply stood there, dropping his own sword, and bear-hugged her as he squeezed. Zeltana spun in his grip and tried to wriggle out, but he kept squeezing until he heard her back pop. “Ready to give up?” he growled out in triumph.

Her eyes practically bulging, that wild look of a blood-frenzied berserker on her face, she bit him. Right on the forehead. The hardened skin from his dragonslayer bloodline being brought to its peak physical potential helped with the pain a bit – but Tristan still dropped her and stepped back. She let out a whoop and bull-rushed him with a charge.

Okay, fuck this. Tristan surged his essence into his armor, the full suit forming around him as the coif rose up and covered his head as a plated helm formed just in time to intercept another fist that cracked into it. But Zeltana seemed to not feel it in the slightest as she quickly drew his knife from his belt and stabbed it deep into the shoulder joint of his right arm with one swift motion.

Hissing in pain, Tristan poured essence into the rods inside of his gauntlets; blasting Zeltana with a Fireball that exploded into gold, crimson, black, and silver fire. At the same time, Inferno Trigger afflicted her with a searing, crimson and gold blaze that surged into her skin eliciting a grunt of pain from her. Then, the Fiery Burst exploded, detonating both of the ignited conditions placed upon her; sending her sailing back.

A split-second after, the crackling yellow lightning of Bolt, Split Bolt, and Chain Bolt all slammed into her – sending her sprawling and twitching as she let out a cry of pain.

Tristan kept his posture despite the massive essence expenditure. He could see the edges of his essence crucible from his place here in his inner world, and about a third had been spent in the barrage of spells. Rushing forward, he kicked the knife out of her hand and then looked at his sword lying on the ground a few feet away. Wait. This is my inner world. Sword, come here, he thought as he raised a hand.

Zeltana managed to get up as the sword appeared in his grip, and she brought her fists up into a pugilist’s stance. “Oh, we’re using spells now?” She jabbed forward with a fist, and to Tristan’s complete and utter shock, a lance of ice surged out from her fist and slammed into his torso – sending him flying backward as it pinned him to the ground twenty feet away – the ice under him perfectly smooth and undisturbed despite the violent impact. His breath was knocked out of him, and he was barely able to get his forearm up to smash through the ice spear to give himself the lung room to breathe.

She let out a barking laugh, “Benefit of being a consciousness. I don’t need spell gestures or phrases!” She raised both hands and a massive shard of ice manifested in front of her. “Recognize this?”

Tristan did as he sat up. Frost Flurry – but a huge one. He reached back for the Queen’s Wood Staff, holding it in one hand as he held his sword in the other. Running forward, he poured essence into the staff, ready to use the spell stored within for Control Ice.

Zeltana let the house-sized shard of ice fly, and Tristan just waved the staff in front of it as he activated the spell artificed within; the huge spear turning to nothing but water that splashed onto the ice. She looked very confused as Tristan reached her and brought the sword up to her neck; she made no move to avoid the blade or fight back. Just puzzled as she spoke, “How did you do that? That was not Melt Ice.”

Tristan pulled the sword back and sheathed it despite not really needing to. Glancing at his knife on the ground nearby, he willed that to return to its sheath as he could control his inner world. “It isn’t. I made a blended spell called Control Ice. It’s stored in the staff.”

She laughed, sitting down and holding her sides. “How come I never thought of that? Let me guess, ice blended with ice?”

“Yeah,” Tristan said as he squatted to her level. “Are you satisfied?”

She calmed and nodded enthusiastically, holding out a hand for him to help her up. He did so, and she spoke. “I could tell your strength from the few strikes alone. And you’ve got that fancy armor you’ve really thought ahead about augmenting with artificed items…” She clasped her hands behind her back and walked around him in a circle, “I am slightly less upset at your mongrel nature, given your prowess.” She walked to the tree and placed her hand upon it, “I have watched your actions the entire time you have been in the Fey Realm.”

Tristan crossed his arms, “I have shown you some of my combat prowess. What do you offer me? Knowledge? Power?”

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“Guidance,” Zeltana replied curtly, turning around and climbing up the tree until she was perched on one of the limbs. Laying down, hands crossed under her cheek as she looked sideways at him in a fashion not unlike the fairy dragon’s watching from the treetops. “I will be here, when you meditate in the Fey Realm, to help you in any way I can. Mostly advice, I imagine. You have been leaving the Realm to go to the Citadel of Essence – which, from what I’ve gathered, is the premiere essence-weaving school.” She sighed and kicked her legs back up and down, “When it comes to martial prowess…there is improvement to be made.”

Tristan walked to the base of the tree to look up at her. I should take advantage of this, he thought. She is one of the oldest entities I’ve ever heard of. Clearing his throat, he replied, “I appreciate your offer. Mind me showing you something?” he visualized the to-do list he had written down and felt it manifest in his hand. Holding it up for her to read, he was silent while her eyes tracked across the page.

“So happy that I know what you know while you’re in here,” she said. “Couldn’t read this Standard Tongue otherwise…I would say hold off going to fight the Demon Realm. As for realmwalking? Probably a good idea to learn more about that. Maybe use that artifice to get some item to let you breach Realms at will.” She tapped her chin with a finger, “Mmm…I would also say that you should prioritize unsealing the rest of the Fey Realm.”

“I know the Fallthorn Forest still needs to be dealt with to release the Spriggan,” Tristan replied. “What about the rest?”

“The sub-seals!” She waved her hand, and a spiral of essence that was a deep, white, cream color flowed out of her palm and formed a series of words below her hanging in the air in Elvish script. “Pyro Falls, which is where the Pixies are sealed away. You dealt with the Undermount and the Gnomes there. There is the Burrows, which is home to the Barghests. Skyhold for the Sprites, and then the Daylight Dell where the Dryads still linger. Last would be the Shard Dale, where Satyrs are sealed.”

Tristan pondered and reflected on what she said. That is another six species in total. The Realm is going to diversify fast. He looked up to her now-placid expression. “What would you advise?”

“Fallthorn Forest first,” she said with confidence. “The Spriggan are the forest shepherds; they must be released before the Dryads.”