An Arsonist and a Necromancer Walk into a Bar

Waterboy and Firegirl

Once, not too long ago, there existed a land to the distant north.

Across the Feverish Sea, beyond the edge of civilization, rested a collection of mystical islands untouched by mortal hands.

Supposed travelers to this land spoke in hushed whispers of alien lands and their magical inhabitants. A land without castles nor roads, but fortresses woven of Song and paths Painted upon the sky. Wordswoods which trapped the unprepared in lyrical knots and migrating mountains which hunted their lesser kin. Where seasons were not determined by the cycle of the months, but by wars waged by the Seasonal Courts, the Kings and Queens of Winter and Summer and Autumn and Spring fighting their endless, deathless wars.

It was a land of Plenty, where none knew hunger nor agony. It was a land of Sin, where Men were kept as cattle by their capricious overlords and sacrificed in horrific rituals to appease arrogant God-Kings. It was a land of magic and whimsy, a land which captured the imaginations of people the world over.

It was called Albion, the land of the Fey.

Was.

That land is no more.

Now, only the Drowned-Men remain. Their home sunk to the bottom of the sea by the Woman-Serpent, she had done what none before her could.

She had united the Fey.

And at the bottom of the Feverish Sea, the Drowned held Court, and in their Undeath agreed on one thing.

Revenge, with nothing less than the death and desecration of the Demon Edda.

Alas, if only things were ever so simple.

(The Fey were always a capricious lot)

--

​

Time slowed down as the Drowned-Man's hand descended. Even still, Palmira could do nothing more than widen her eyes as his claws drew nearer to her eyes.

But just before he could hit her, a hand grabbed the collar of her shirt and yanked her back, the Fey's claws just barely missing the tip of her nose.

Palmira yelped as she fell back on her butt, Morte and Malocchio clattering to the ground beside her.

And Tintinnia stepped defensively in front of her, a mixture of emotions writ across her face—a dangerous combination of desire and fear.

"Oh?" the Drowned-Man raised a scaly eyebrow. "You're defending her? Despite the fact that she's a rotten, filthy thief? Are you really going to defend someone like that?"

"What?" Palmira yelped as she fumbled to her feet, clutching Morte's staff in her trembling fingers. Smoke poured from her mouth as she spoke, and flames licked at her feet. "What are you talking about!?"

"Fuck off, fish-face!" Morte snapped at the same time, a sneer in his voice so pronounced she could hear it in her mind. "You sold me for pocket change on a street corner! You don't get to call the person I ended up with a thief!"

'Anger. For attempting to harm Our Lady, We shall smash your skull into paste.'

"That staff belongs to someone else," he continued, either not hearing or just flat out ignoring them. "Not her. This is your last warning—step out of the way, or I will make you."

Tintinnia licked her lips, hunger clear in her eyes. "Do I look like I give a shit? I was planning on taking you apart anyways—the fact that you just tried to kill my friend just gives me a reason to enjoy it."

With that she shoved her hand forward, her hand doing… something that made Palmira's eyes water just looking at it. It was like her fingers were digging halfway into something, and yet at the same time they were completely visible.

Then, she pulled.

Reality let out a scream as she tore from nothingness a Warhammer of Black Iron. Nearly thrice her size with a hammerhead several arm-lengths in width, it should have looked ridiculous on her small frame. And yet, as she lifted it with such casual ease, the air shuddering with its passing, Palmira subconsciously felt herself taking a step back as a primal fear grabbed at her heart.

Tintinnia swung her hammer forward, forcing the Drowned-Man back as she brought it to bear. An animalistic grin split her face as she stared him down.

"So, David the Salt-Tongue. Are you ready to die?"

Then, surprising them both, David smiled.

"I thought I recognized you," there was a hint of nostalgia in his voice as he spoke. "Did you create that weapon yourself? …Ah, your grandfather would be proud."

Tintinnia flinched, and then her face twisted even further.

"SHUT UP!" she screamed, swinging her hammer at the Drowned-Man with such force that the air around it shuddered. "MY GRANDFATHER IS DEAD!"

"I'm aware," he sighed, and with a roll of his eyes he caught the haft of the hammer mid-swing, stopping her attack in an instant. "That was not, however—"

Whatever he was going to say was then cut off as the head of the hammer tore open, revealing slavering jaws and jagged yellow teeth larger than his head. A barbed tongue shot from its depths, wrapping around the Drowned-Man's head, before the hammer twisted forward like an animal and chomped.

David had only a moment for his eyes to widen before his head and upper torso disappeared into the hammer's mouth.

"Damn," Morte whistled. "Now that's a weapon."

But before the hammer could finish the job it was suddenly launched into the air by an explosion of water. Tintinnia tried to curse as she was suddenly thrown off balance, only for her to be cut off by a fist being buried in her gut.

David, looking not harmed in the least, gave her a disappointed look as she bent nearly in half over his fist.

Then physics caught up to her, and Tintinnia was launched clear across the street, her hammer clattering out of her hands, snarling and barking from where it fell.

"As I was saying, that is quite the powerful weapon," he rolled his shoulders, wiping slobber from his face. Once he was clean, he began walking towards her. "But in the hands of someone who cannot use it properly, it is merely a powerful weapon. And I have long since mastered fighting off such weapons."

Tintinnia wheezed from where she'd been thrown, her face twisted with an almost inhuman level of hate. She struggled back to her feet, but David just continued walking towards her, uncaring.

At least until a whip of fire slammed down between them, forcing him to stop.

"STAY AWAY FROM HER!" Palmira screamed, her knees shaking. Regardless, she swung Morte in an arc, the flames tearing down the street and forcing David to take leaping steps back to not get consumed.

"I don't really know why you think Morte belongs to you," she took deep breaths, forcing herself to calm down. She threw out another wave of fire, forcing the Drowned-Man further back. "But I don't care! Morte is my staff, and Tintinnia is my friend, and I'll burn you to cinders before I let you touch either one of them!"

David rolled his eyes. "Girl, if you knew the real value of that staff, you'd understand."

"If he's really so valuable, you wouldn't have sold him in the first place!"

"Ha!" his smile didn't reach his eyes. "Fair enough. That was a mistake. I won't be making another."

Then he snapped his finger.

And Palmira was underwater.

She gasped, air bubbles escaping with the sudden shock. The whole street was suddenly flooded, like a small ocean had suddenly appeared in the middle of the city. She tried to move, to swim, to flail, but she could barely move the water, feeling more like she was encased in stone than water.

Salt water flooded her mouth, pouring down her throat and pushing against her lungs. It was not moving like water, but like a living thing, seeking to drown her as swiftly as possible. She could feel it within her body—spreading and expanding, trying to kill her from the inside out.

Palmira wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. Memories flooded her mind, and suddenly she was a child again, suffering the day everything went wrong.

She could not breathe. She could barely see. She was being pressed in on all sides, her body falling to the raw power of the elements—

And it was cold.

It was not supposed to be cold.

Palmira exploded.

The false sea was destroyed in an instant, as a ball of fire erupted from Palmira, launching the water that did not immediately evaporate high into the air. The street was filled with mist from the sudden change, and what little water remained only reached her ankles.

Palmira coughed, hacking up smoke and steam, her hands and feet burning even under the water.

"Well color me impressed!" David clapped from where he had been standing before, unmoved and unburned. "It seems I underestimated you—I was convinced that would've killed you!"

She glared at him with wild eyes, summoning more fire to herself until she was nearly covered head to toe—she never wanted that to ever happen again.

"…Shut…" she wheezed, "…up…"

"Come now," his—fake—smile widened. "I'm not lying, I'll have you know! I've fought men, demons, angels, and everything in between! Greater than you have died to that attack—you should be proud."

Palmira began to make her way forward, the salt water around her feet evaporating with each halting step.

"I thought," she rasped, raising Morte in front of her. "I told you. To shut up!"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," his smile didn't leave his face. Instead he waved a hand off to the side—off to where Tintinnia had fallen wait what happened to her was she okay—!? "After all, if you don't cooperate, your friend will—wait where did she go?"

Then the earth beneath his feet exploded, and Tintinnia's hammer erupted from the waterlogged street like a demented shark, its equally demented master following right behind. It chomped down on his waist, lifting him off the ground and shaking him like a dog before tossing him away, skipping the Drowned-Man down the street like a stone across a pond.

"I…" Tintinnia coughed, soaked and muddy and pissed. "Am going to tear your heart from your chest. I will pluck out your eyes and crush your bones into powder. And when I am done with your pathetic, putrid corpse, I will feed the remains to my hammer as a snack!"

With a roar she charged after him, her warhammer roaring with her, its oversized tongue flapping behind it.

Unfortunately, the water wasn't yet gone.

David didn't so much as rise to his feet as flowed, the remaining water in the street rolling over itself. It grew bigger and bigger, until a wave larger than the surrounding buildings was bearing down in Tintinnia, the small girl dwarfed even more by the wall of water.

Only for it to explode into steam, and Palmira launched another fire whip into the center of it, precision sacrificed in exchange for power.

The wave destroyed, Tintinnia leaped through the remaining smoke and steam, hammer raised above her head as she launched herself at the Drowned-Man.

Only for her eyes to widen in surprise when she saw he was no longer there.

Palmira had barely a moment to blink in shock before he was in front of her, a scaled fist heading for her face.

Palmira barely managed to get out of the way, more falling than dodging. Unfortunately, that only meant she got hit by the second fist, an echo of the first made of salt water that slammed into her shoulder and knocked her to the ground.

She wheezed, barely hearing Morte and Malocchio's frantic shouting in the back of her mind. She tried to push herself back to her feet, only for a second fist of water to slam into her back. It evaporated in an instant, but it still hit with enough force to keep her down.

She glared up at him, his form blurry and… shiny? Wait, was that…

There was the barest sheen rippling over his scales, and the smell of the sea grew even stronger.

It was water, she realized. It covered him head to toe, less than a millimeter, but it was enough to protect him even better than her own shell of fire.

They hadn't even landed a real hit on him yet, had they?

Unfortunately she couldn't capitalize on that, and instead she focused on keeping her shell of fire up, hoping it was enough to keep him from getting too close to—

A third fist of water hit her, and she let out another cry. How was he hitting her so hard, wasn't her fire doing anything!?

—Wait, where was her fire?

She wheezed as Tintinnia finally arrived, pushing him away with a scream of rage. With him away, she ignored the pain to push back to her feet and—

She was no longer holding Morte.

Palmira turned to the Drowned-Man, and with growing fear she realized he was holding her staff in her hands, wielding it like a sword as he kept Tintinnia at a distance.

"Oi, OI! Put me the hell down!" Morte shouted from David's hands. "Put me down, damnit! I'm a staff, not a sword—ouch! Girl, stop hitting me! That hurts, damn you!"

"Shit…" Palmira whispered, the word not enough to encompass the sinking feeling in her gut. She glanced down at her hands, only the barest of flames flickering across them.

Her catalyst was gone, and the amplification of her magic gone with it.

'Query. Shall Our Lady finally use Us?'

She licked her lips nervously, and with shaking hands, grabbed Malocchio from her belt. She had no idea how to use him, but…

Better this than nothing.

'Excitement. Shall We devour them?'

"You don't have a mouth?"

'Reassurance. That will not be an issue.'

That wasn't reassuring.

Palmira took a deep breath, getting into a poor excuse for a stance. She didn't know how to fight with a mace, but from what she knew it was supposed to be a brute's weapon, so maybe she'd be fine?

David knocked Tintinnia away with a smaller wave, and Palmira prepared herself to reenter the fight, this time without her magic.

And then—!

"What in the damn hells is going on here!?"

The three of them paused, as a new person entered the battleground.

No, not just any person. She recognized that dwarf.

"Svani?" she whispered, tensing. What—no, they weren't being all that subtle. It was only a matter of time before someone took notice and came to see what was going on.

But was he an ally? Or just another enemy?

"A guard?" David glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Oh, Ambrosi."

"You leave for five minutes, and suddenly explosions and waves taller than buildings are happening right outside the walls!" Svani snapped, throwing an arm into the air in anger. "So I come out to see what the hell's going on, and I find you beating up a couple of kids? What are you even doing!?"

"Nothing that concerns the Ambrosi," David waved the dwarf off. "Much less a simple guard. I'm just taking care of a simple thief."

"Thief my ass, you poor excuse for a fish! Hey, hey, beardless dwarf! This man has stolen me from my rightful owner! Use your judiciary right to arrest the fucker right now!"

Svani's confused eyes turned to the staff, before they widened in recognition. He glanced over at her, surprised. "What are you…?"

"Are you still here?" David turned to face him. "I assume that means you're going to help me, then?"

The dwarf's eyes lingered on her, before he steeled his expression, and brought up his crossbow.

"These are children, David," he spoke quietly, but his voice carried. "Whatever's going on here, drop it. Just… let them go. We have more important things to deal with."

An explosion of holy light suddenly erupted a block away, right in the heart of the Ambrosi's Villa.

"Very important things, apparently."

David let out a long sigh, rolling his eyes. "No, idiot. There's nothing more important than this."

And without a second's warning a spear of water launched itself from the flooded street, straight at the now wide-eyed dwarf.

Palmira blinked, and the spear had already crossed the distance between them.

She blinked again, and a wall of molten bronze erupted into existence to block it.

Svani flinched, before a small, somewhat hysterical grin spread on his face. "I'd say my ancestors disagree," he raised his crossbow. "And I've always been more partial to their advice over yours."

He flicked the trigger, and a bolt of red lightning lit up the street, slamming into David and launching him backwards.

Towards her.

The light had nearly blinded her, but with the practice she'd been getting in on her own flashbangs, Palmira recovered the quickest. She raised her mace and stepped in the way of the flying Fey, slamming the mace down on him as he passed, stopping him in his tracks with a CRACK.

David screamed, hurt for probably the first time in this fight. More water erupted around him, almost as if it was appearing out of midair, and her eyes widened as she realized she was too close—!

The water suddenly stopped, falling back to the street.

David, who'd stumbled back to his feet before she could grab Morte back, stared at it in confusion.

"What…?" he raised an arm and the water rose in the air, before shuddering and falling back down. "Why is my magic…?"

"HAH!" Morte crooned, sounding exceedingly proud of himself. "Suck it! I finally figured out how to get that to work!"

"What did you do!?" David stumbled back, sounding almost hysterical. "What did you do!?"

"I'm draining your magic!" Morte cackled, his empty eye sockets glowing with eldritch power. "So long as you hold me, I'll be doing everything in my power to stop you from using your magic!"

David's eyes widened, and Palmira—realizing she they were once more on even footing—charged forward with a shaky battle cry.

The Drowned-Man's head snapped up, something almost like fear in his eyes.

Then they hardened, and he dropped Morte.

Palmira grimaced, realizing that he was giving up the staff over his magic, but if that meant she could use hers again—!

But instead he raised his hand up high, and a wave of water erupted around him, forcing her to stop lest she get caught up in it.

She paused a moment, pushing as much fire as she could to cover her, preparing for the coming attack.

But then the water stopped flowing, and David was just… gone.

And also, she realized with dread, so was Morte.