Asylum

AC 1017

The late Ambyrmont storm was raging. So loud and violent it was that neither dragon would fly below the clouds nor wolf howl at the moon. The rain came down so hard as if punishing the ground with heavy weights of water. Thunder and lightning struck together, sometimes consuming a tree in a field nearby. The wind penetrated the small window that was up next to the ceiling two stories high. Yes, it was a devilish night. A night in which no one in their right mind would want to go outside.

But than again she was not in her right mind. They told her she wasn't.

But it was they who made her so in the first place. Nights and nights of nightmares, first in this world and than in the other one. Seeing creatures no one should see and hearing the sounds no one should hear. Yes, she might have really gone insane. But they could not break her. No, no mere foreigner can break the soul of a true Flaem. Not even when they abducted her out of her beloved home. And not even when her own son allowed them to drag her away in a filthy carriage fit only for peasants and animals. Not even when she was brought before a council that is corrupted from within.

It has been a few months here, or was it more? The first days were the worst. The rage consumed her. Than he started coming. The damn Boldavian Prince was paying too much attention to his new inmate. Of course he wanted something from her—The Radiance. But none of his threats or puny magic were a match for her just strength of will and spirit. She told him nothing. After a few weeks he stopped arriving, probably cowering in his gloomy tower afraid of the light of day.

Of the regular staff, she had nothing to worry about. They were all terrified of her. And it served them right, treating the most esteemed noblewoman of the Flaems in a cell like a rabid dog! One of them used to keep notes on a tiny note pad. He came and asked her questions: How did she feel? What had she seen? Well, she answered the man. Her stories made him tremble, and she liked it. True that the Lovecraft Asylum was no place for the frail of heart, but the stories of the world of abominations was too much even for this "doctor". The next day, he stopped harassing her with his inquiry.

She passed her hands along the walls. The stone was cold as a vampire's heart and the stone was rugged and covered with moss. She forced her hand against the stone until droplets of blood dripped on the wall. They took everything. They took all of her spell components and she had no book and no scroll or parchment. All of her ancient relics of culture and magic were in her tower, probably forgotten by her treacherous son. But a spark was there.

She felt the spark a few nights ago. The lines she drew on the dusty floor were building themselves into letters. In her mind, the letters joined together and formed words, words that danced and glittered with power.

She bit her finger as hard she could. With her own blood she painted a symbol on the cold wall. If only the worst could come out, manifest themselves and alter the strings of reality.

"Fire! Fire in the cells!" screamed a young orderly. Two older men joined him carrying buckets of water and rushing down the corridor. They came to a chamber filled with smoke and nothing else. The opposite wall was engulfed with fire. The water splashed on the pyre with no effect. Even the raging storm outside did not put an end to the flames. The stone itself was burning.

An old noblewoman running in a raging storm finds shelter under a charred tree.

Now they will suffer. Now they will all suffer!