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[Fsh] Chapter 44: Betrayal
🕑 Added 2025-06-29 10:12:52 +0000 UTCTriol Revenant’s fingers raked at the doors that confined him. The same one Solastra Flora had assigned to his sister, for the duration of her stay in the Dreadwood.
The black skeleton’s hands were chipped, and he was missing a finger for his efforts in breaking it down. He had repeatedly slammed himself into the door, heedless to the damage he had been causing himself.
The deathstalker he raised similarly tore at the door, with long, sleek claws. Even despite the creature’s devastating talons, it was streamlined and light, and of little assistance to him.
That mattered little to Triol.
In his desperation, he had even raised dead mice he had sensed in the walls, recruiting them in his futile task.
After an eternity, he had finally broken through, the wooden door splintering as he barreled through it.
The skeleton sprinted forwards, weaving through the pillars across the training yard, in the direction of the infirmary. His hollow eyes betrayed not a single emotion as he paved a way to Vale.
Nothing would stop him.
“What in Insanity. Is that… undead, in Viridian? SOUND THE ALAR-“
A hand closed over the guard’s mouth, as his eyes widened.
---
The beautiful notes of the lyre washed over Vale, as she sat back. She glared at her mother, who simply smiled at her with practiced ease. The sight of it made Vale’s heart ache.
“Quietus. What do you think could be causing the coughs? Lord Quietus?”
Vale frowned, as her calls went unanswered.
“That’s strange… don’t tell me he’s ignoring me because he took my revulsion of spiders personally. My dear Lord Vingrave, I do not abhor rats such as yourself, you must understand…”
Only the calming notes of her mother’s lyre greeted her ears. Vale sighed.
I’m sure he’ll be back soon.
“Mother, our previous conversation was interrupted. When father awakened our Fears… did you know what he intended?”
Asale Revenant’s burgundy lips twisted in sadness. Her gaze fell, and her finger slipped on one of the notes on the lyre. The discordant note rang out between them.
Vale fought every instinct in her body which was telling to forgive her for acceding to Vetrian’s request. For bringing her children into Soulhaven, never to be freed from his grip.
But…
Could she really blame her? Asale was going up against the Deathbringer. Vale had only been appraised of the horrors of the Rampage after the illusion of her carefree life had been shattered, when her Fear of death had awakened. Drolth had been one of the few townships isolated from the effects of the Rampage, seeing as it fell within the Deathbringer’s own lands.
Could she blame her mother, for failing to stand up to Vetrian Revenant? Had there even been a choice to be made?
She hesitated, before she sat closer to her mother as she continued to wordlessly play her lyre.
“Triol… he passed away. Dawn is still with father. He’s awakened… a terrible Fear within her, and he’s using her as a pawn for his own ends.”
Vale smiled, her lips quivering from the effort.
“I wish you could talk to me, mother. Tell me what I should do.”
Her mother reached out a hand towards her, and caressed the side of her head.
Vale leaned inwards, as tears fell from her eyes.
---
[Wounds within my comprehension]
Lady Velra gritted her teeth, as she puzzled over the failure of her invocation to bring her insights into Vale’s condition.
The invocation, born of her Delirium, allowed her to experience the afflictions of other elves, by imposing them temporarily upon herself. If she wished to, another invocation could draw them to herself, relieving them of their wounds.
It was invaluable, for there was no better way to study an injury than to be afflicted with it yourself. It eliminated any inconsistency in the description of symptoms.
Why then, is it not working?
She worked through the different possibilities. She first resorted the invocation born of her Trepidation to rule out mundane injury.
[Healing touch of the Trippany]
Velra had watched, as the superficial wounds that covered Vale’s hands and body dissipated as her Fear was brought into reality.
The second possibility had been the effect of the girl’s Fear, due to her withdrawals from Tranquillity. Lady Velra had been appraised of the girl’s report to Highlady Solastra, citing the recent attack by one of her revenants. Her own brother, Triol Revenant.
The Revenant was nowhere to be seen. Neither had the girl been trapped in a nightmare when the coughs had began, when she had journeyed to the Gloamshores.
It brought Velra a degree of relief, when she saw the colour gradually returning to the girl’s lips.
Then, the door slammed open.
A black skeleton leapt into the room, and lunged for Vale, his hands positioned for her throat.
Triol Revenant met the full force of Velra Flora’s aura of wounds.
With every step he walked, black ivory tore away, and begun to be pockmarked with cuts, cracks and scars. Velra was unsure if undead could feel pain, but Triol was advancing as if it was impossible for him.
Then, familiar vines emerged from beneath the bricks of the infirmary, and curled languidly around her limbs. Vitriol entered Vela’s voice, as she sensed a plot.
“Niece. Explain yourself.”
“Watch.”
Solastra Flora’s voice emerged from behind her.
Velra’s eyes narrowed.
“You will have to do better than “watch” if you are trying to convince me to let that girl’s murderous brother anywhere near her.”
Her aura of Fear eviscerated the vines that held her in an instant.
“Aunt Velra, please. Look.”
Triol, having withstood the force of the Dreadwalker’s aura bearing down on her, was now scarred with a thousand cuts. He had lost one of his limbs, his right leg, which had been reduced to shards of black ivory.
It didn’t prevent him from throwing himself onto Vale, his hands encircling her throat once more.
[Myriad wounds of the everblad-
Before she could complete her invocation which would have torn Triol’s paltry form asunder, vines bearing thorn and roses encircled her body. A wall of slightly permeable shadow blinked into form around her. She watched impassively as the thorns tore across her skin, drawing blood. Then, her bleeding halted.
Wounds were her domain.
“Rathos, Clona. They are our guests. I care not that she is a Revenant, for you to murder her in cold blood... You know, most of all, that we share the sin of the Rampage. Solastra, I will not stand for i-“
“Aunt, please. I know you’ve taken a liking to the girl. I will not harm her.”
Clona flinched as she regarded her senior, the Dreadwalker of wounds, whose very gaze cut. In a moment, if Lady Velra wished, she could turn the Dreadwood armour they so depended upon, against them.
Leaving them as mere strings of flesh.
The Highlady gestured towards Vale.
“Look.”
---
Warmth enveloped Vale, as she coughed lightly.
“Mother, I met a friend. Her name is Shiver. Frankly, I know you would despise her. She’s nothing like the meek girls in Drolth. I’ve never met someone so… inexorable, frustrating and… inspiring. Within a week of meeting her, she roped me into a heist, threw me into a pit of crabs and made me an accessory to murder.”
Vale snorted, as she lay in her mother’s lap.
“Don’t get me started on the sheer number of the vulgarities coming out of her mouth, I’m sure you would have had her evicted from Drolth for fear that I would even catch a glance of her.”
Vale’s words came out in a whisper.
“My first true friend.”
How did you share what it felt like to finally have someone at your back?
Who would stride into Insanity with you, as you reached for impossible goals?
Who cared for you?
“Not to mention, my regal guide. You would have been in awe of his bearing mother, I know that you appreciate a man of manners. That he is, Lord Quietus Vingrave. A Gravelord.”
Then she smiled.
“The only positive thing to have come from my Fear. He puts up with my whining. Deals with all my frustrating moments of self-doubt as only you could. I wish he was here to meet you.”
“Finally, there is a lord that I met. As honourable as his father, and deeply scarred by our House. I think you would have liked Caledon Brimstone. He is… a good man, when there are so few in this world.”
Vale’s eyes passed over Asale Revenant’s deep lavender eyes, and burgundy lips, that had formed into a soft smile.
“Most of all… I wish I could speak to you. Hold on just a moment longer. I’m descending through Trepidation now, and perhaps… Highlady Solastra Flora will have a creature that will bestow the requisite invocation. I can see you, and feel… what you’re feeling to an extent, thanks to the creatures of her Dreadwood.”
Vale stood, and walked idly over to a gleaming pond that bordered the tree under which her mother strung the lyre’s strings.
“I-“
Her dark, lavender eyes widened as she caught a glance at her reflection.
Burgdany lips parted in horror.
Then, she fell to the ground, breaking out into wracking coughs, her blood mixed with spittle colouring the untarnished water.
---
Lady Velra cursed her incompetence, as she finally recognised the symptoms.
They were difficult to spot, unless you knew the nature of the Fearshaper’s Fear, and the object of their torment. It manifested in a myriad of different forms, and its presentation was rare. Especially given that Fearshapers of souls hardly popped up with the frequency of common weeds.
Vale broke out into bloody coughs, as her brother’s strangulation finally bore fruit.
She broke free of the pale arms encircling her throat, invisible to all of them but Vale herself. For a moment, her lips had turned a darker shade of red, bordering on burgundy. Her light lavender eyes had darkened, to the shade of her mother’s
Vale watched in horror, as her brother gently relinquished his grip on her neck.
Freeing her from Asale Revenant’s possession.
Vale’s eyes passed over the scars that Velra’s Fearshaping had wrought across Triol’s dark, ivory body. She glimpsed the missing finger on his left hand, and his right leg that had been shattered by the aura of the Dreadwalker of wounds.
“Triol… M-mother was…”
Solastra interjected.
“It looks like we weren’t prudent enough, with your Fear. The Tranquillity withdrawals made you more susceptible to the influence of souls. A soul was attempting to possess you. Your mother, from the sounds of it.”
She regarded Rathos, Severim and Clona.
“We will have to expedite our plans. Virgil and the rest are in the Thundervale. Kill the creature. Vale will follow shortly to absorb the Alarum.”
“Yes, Highlady.”
Solastra’s Dreadwalkers stood before her, nodding briskly before leaving the infirmary. Vale’s eyes lingered on their backs as they departed.
What creature requires the assistance of no less than three Dreadwalkers to kill?
[Bone reconstruction]
Lady Velra called her Fear into reality, and effortlessly restored the flaws in Triol’s ivory, coloured black. She let out a sigh, giving the black skeleton an apologetic nod.
Vale’s face, already devoid of colour and blood, paled further.
“N-no. Mother wouldn’t.”
Vale stared in horror at her brother, whom she had mistakenly characterised as her aggressor. She turned to Highlady Solastra with a shudder.
“W-what invocation do you intend for me to obtain?”
The Highlady’s lips stretched into a smile.
---
Highlady Solastra Flora’s gaze lingered on Vale, as she smiled down at the Fearshaper of death.
Vale’s torment presented her with an unmissable opportunity.
A sacrifice that she would only award to a Fearshaper as promising, and crucial to her plans as her.
“Why, my dear Reveanant. The opportunity to trivialise the threats posed by the very souls that you have a proclivity to attracting.”
At her signal, a tear in reality brought by Virgil’s Delirium appeared before her.
Leading to a place of Insanity, where Vale’s promised invocations lay.
Before Solastra could continue, she was interrupted by a loud, bold voice from behind her.
A voice whose origin was a Fearshaper that languished in Anhedonia, at the very beginning of their descent. A world away from where Solastra now stood, revelling in her Serenity.
“I think the girl should be appraised of what she’s getting into, eh?”
Marta and Poverty Trobid strode into the infirmary.
A small black orb thrown by Poverty flew into the tear, and it collapsed upon itself. The man had no invocations to call upon, so he had thrown his Phobia.
It rolled to a halt at their feet, before flashing back into his hands.
A reminder of the nature of his Fear.
The Fear of Destitution did not extend simply to coin. It encompassed an inability to provide for oneself, taken to an extreme. Provoking greed and thirst that was immeasurable.
A desire to consume. To inflict upon the world, the terrible desire that he was cursed with.
When a Fearshaper of destitution called his Fear…
Little remained in their wake.
The man faced his Fear admirably, reigning in temptation with immaculate discipline.
Marta Trobid deserved equal praise.
Solastra had seen few elves awaken a Fear with such determination and will, that her newly induced Fear of blood had struggled to take root given the woman’s sheer strength of character.
Even as Lady Velra had torn strips from the woman’s gargantuan forearms.
In the Highlady’s experience, the stage of a Fearshaper’s descension didn’t matter.
You could tell if a Fearshaper would grow to become a horror, the envy of others, all the way at the very beginning of their journey.
In their Anhedonia.
Marta Trobid met her smile Fearlessly.
---
The crack of thunder made Caledon flinch, as they gazed upon an unfamiliar section of the Highlady’s forest. At long last, they had left the Gloamshores behind them, proceeding to their next destination.
He watched as lightning spiralled down from a portion of the sky filled with storm clouds, even as the rest of the sky above remained clear. Caledon had only briefly glimpsed the forest shrouded in lightning from the border town of Eleric, that had been perched high above the Dreadwood on a bordering cliff.
Tall trees the colour of dark magenta invited the lightning, the sparks spreading across bark. His eyes widened in awe as he watched as the energy was funnelled into the canopy of the plant, which came alive with the touch of lightning.
Caledon tore his gaze away from the sight and spoke to Shiver.
“Do you think Vale’s alright? She’s all alone back there. We should-”
“No. She’s not alone.”
Shiver corrected him with a smile.
“You can trust them to take care of her. Just as our princess said, the Trobids are every bit as Insane as me. Let’s get this over with and reunite with her.”
Shiver stared at the blade of her Phobia.
The cracks were slowly, gradually receding to reveal a beautiful blade of frost, bearing the promise of her desolation.
They walked into their second Inheritance.
Birthed from lightning and thunder.
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