Shaker

"Crowd pleasing gladiator who loves playing the heel." - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2024

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Ferris waited patiently in her cell, arms resting on knees tucked to her chest as she listened to the roaring crowd above calling for her blood.

She was impressed - one didn't usually think of elves as the "roar with bloodlust" type. Evidently she'd really kicked the hornet's nest when she had fought her way into the king's palace. Maybe they didn't call him "king" but "Highest Star of Heaven's Light," blah blah blah, a king is a king. And maybe her shout of "Death approaches, fools! The time has come to face your destiny and fight!" had struck them as a little bit... Assassin-y. That was reasonable. It was a reasonable misunderstanding. And throwing her into a dungeon was a reasonable reaction. She hadn't helped her case by adding, "I WILL FACE YOUR STRONGEST CHAMPION BARE HANDED AND WIN, AND WHEN I BEST THEM I WILL HAVE YOU SPEAK TO ME, COWARD! YOU WILL HEAR ME OUT OR YOUR PEOPLE WILL ALL BE SLAIN! TO THE VERY LAST!"

Yes, she had handled it poorly, all things considered. Not her finest moment as a diplomat. It had seemed appropriate at the time, though, after spending over three weeks patiently entreating the court to grant her an audience, only to be constantly turned away with that oh-so-elvish smirk of superiority. As if she weren't here on a mission to save THEIR people. As if time wasn't DESPERATELY short already. The tide of darkness which had begun to roll across the lands from the north would be here soon. The elves would die if they didn't evacuate and join with the other nations marshaling in the south.

She shivered as she wrapped the ragged cloak they had left her with a little tighter around herself. They'd torn away all of her weapons, and armor, and a lot more besides, and left her in nothing but a breastband and loincloth before clapping the irons around her neck, wrists and ankles and beating her half senseless. The chains binding her to the wall were heavy and thick - she was flattered. She'd had several days to admire them so far, and had begun to think they'd thrown her into the dungeon to simply die and be forgotten when she'd abruptly been hauled, staggering, into a different cell, dragged and pushed at spear point with a sack over her head. The sounds of the crowd had begun a short while later, and Ferris allowed herself some optimism - maybe they were going to take her up on her challenge after all. She knew kings hated to appear weak when dramatically publicly insulted.

She carefully climbed to her feat and began to warm up her stiff, bruised muscles. If she was right, it was almost time to get to work.

---

The crowd, which had seemed to roar from deep in the pit, was all but deafening as Ferris was led, still chained and wearing nothing but her undergarments and a rough cloak, into the sands of the arena. The arena was a surprise - the sands were clean and new, and the witchwood trees forming the massive structure were still green and new. They must have had their wildermages shaping the trees from dawn till dusk growing it, and all for her benefit. She was deeply flattered. All of this, for what was surely meant to be her dramatic execution! She had made a deep impression on these elves. What must have been an entire city's worth of people filled the stands, shouting hatred at her, some even lowering themselves to hurl stones that struck the sand alarmingly close to her feet, only for the guards surrounding her on all sides to shout them down.

'Oh, they're angry angry,' she thought, and grinned fiercely. 'Good. You should be.' And to add a little fuel to the fire, she spat, ignoring the spear butted into her ribs. The outraged boos and jeers were just what she wanted. 'Just like that. Great energy.' She was considering egging them on a little more when she noticed a commotion, realizing that things were about to get moving, and quickly.

The star- the heaven's whatever- the king was one of your classic willowy wizard types. He had put on an air of disdain when she'd smashed her way into his court, and wore it still as he climbed to a viewing platform and stepped forward to address her. His voice was sweet and melodic - what a pleasure to be sneered at by such a pretty man, haha! - and it boomed forth with magical energy, filling her arena.

"While I knew your kind were crude, even childish, I never expected you to be so insultingly stupid as this. I don't know what you thought you would accomplish, to attempt to take my life in the seat of my very power. But it would be a waste of my time to speak reasonably with you. We will speak to you in a way your simple people can understand. With force. Come forward, Aurelio!" He made a gesture, and the crowd cheered as a gleaming figure stepped forth and into the sands. An elf like no other, truly splendid - more than six and a half feet tall, well built, beautiful, graceful. He wasn't armored, but his bearing suggested he might be one of the magical knights this kingdom trained. Perfect - they'd need him, and many more like him in the coming days. The crowd was exultant - they knew him, they loved him - she couldn't have asked for better. They'd sent her a hero!

The chains were struck, and Ferris rolled her muscular shoulders, shrugging off the cloak and inciting a gasp from the crowd. It might have been from the multitude of bruises on her pale northern skin, but she hoped it was from her scars, and her heavy, muscular build. She was a good half foot shorter than the elven champion facing her, but she was easily heavier - a gift from her dwarven mother, but with the height of her human father. She knew she was an imposing sight to see. To her opponent's credit, he made no sign of shock at either her physique or her condition, merely shedding his robes and approaching the center of the arena.

"I am Aurelio Swaying Leaf's Graceful Fall," he proclaimed in a bold voice clearly meant for the crowd, "And today I answer your challenge. Prepare yourself." In a softer voice, intended for her alone, he added, "I don't know what fool sent you to our lands, but you have been sent to your death. I hope you have no regrets." He extended his hand, courteously using the human fashion.

Ferris smiled inwardly, feeling her heart beginning to pound. Showtime. She regarded his hand coolly, and then slapped it aside, to the crowd's scandalized gasp. She gave them just long enough to really take it in, and then attacked, sending her heavy fist for his handsome jaw, which he neatly parried with a practiced hand. The expected counter came a moment later - an elegant but incredibly forceful kick to her midsection, in the beautiful style of the elven fighting arts. If she hadn't known something like that would be coming, it would have ended her battle almost as soon as it had begun.

She grunted as his shin hit her abdomen, folding and springing back just so, taking off just enough of the edge of the blow that she didn't crumple - thank goodness she hadn't eaten. Leaving her no time to think of a next move, the traditional followup came, two lighter kicks from the knee that rattled her skull. They were 'lighter' in the way that two blows from a carpenter's hammer were lighter when following a sledge, and only her long experience kept her on her feet. She staggered back a few steps as the crowd roared, and shook her head to clear it. The hero still had his foot poised, and resumed a fighting stance gracefully, his cool expression belied by his blazing eyes. She grinned, a feral baring of teeth, and rushed back to him, swinging blows that kept him moving, kept the energy high, as he deflected, struck back, danced through. Each retaliation rattled her, adding to her gallery of bruises and bloody welts.

The cheering grew louder over the passing minutes, and Ferris could feel the knight's edge dull ever so slightly as he tired from her wild attacks, at last, curse his stamina. Time to make her play. She feinted high, and Aurelio, who at this point had only been dealing with a brute, went for it. As he extended his hand to parry, she sank low with a more fluid motion than could be believed from her bulky frame, planted her feet solidly (as solid as the roots of the mountains, the dwarven battlemasters used to say, drilling it into her), and delivered a sharp, precise blow to the ribs, seeing his eyes widen in shocked pain. She pivoted at the waist and gave him a blow to the sternum with her left, and then finished with a right to the jaw, sending him sprawling in the sand, the crowd shouting in dismay.

She wiped her bloody mouth and waited patiently as he climbed back to his feet, seeing a new respect in his eyes. She nodded to him, and assumed a proper stance for the first time, ready. Now the battle began in earnest, and as he attacked Ferris made no pretense of taking the blow, blocking and striking in kind. This part of the show was the most critical. It wasn't enough to beat her opponent - the people of the land had to understand just how strong he was - how very strong they themselves were. But they also had to know that despite that strength, they weren't unbeatable.

She fought as hard as she could, and the pitch of the crowd's roar seemed to change, less hatred for her, just... Exhilaration. It took everything she had to keep up with Aurelio, who fought with a ferocity she didn't know elves possessed. "Who are you?" He gritted through gritted teeth as they locked arms, straining to hurl each other down. "Ferris," she grunted. "Of the northern realm." Instant recognition lit up his eyes, and she took that moment to kick the back of his knee, staggering him.

She slipped his grasp and wrapped a powerful arm around his neck from behind and squeezed, pulling her wrist with her free hand to clench it and hanging on for dear life. The elf's thick neck bulged and he strained against her, and she growled as she strained to hold him. "Please don't make me kill you, hero. I beg you." The shrieks of the people reached a fever pitch, and then a horrified silence fell as the knight's eyes rolled back, and he finally slumped in her grip, Ferris lowering him gently to the sand. He was still breathing. She offered a prayer of thanks for that, before straightening and bowing deeply to her fallen opponent, her arms crossing her chest in the way of the north.

In the silence that had fallen, she turned and walked as proudly as she was able towards the king, bowing with respect equal to what she had shown her opponent. As she straightened, she saw his face - taken back, perhaps even afraid, though he was disciplined enough to control it. He must have never imagined his champion could lose. This was the moment, now - before he could think of an excuse to not listen. Her voice boomed out, powerful if still hoarse from her struggle.

"I came to your lands to beg an audience with you, Highest Star. Not because you are weak. But because you are mighty. You are mighty! Strong in arms, powerful in magic, brilliant in war. Few lands would dream of challenging you. They would be fools to try. But something is coming. A dark tide rolls over the land, filled with devils beyond number, with monstrous beasts, giants like none that have ever been seen. Your people are powerful like few others. And that power will not be enough. You will all die."

The Highest Star of Heaven's Light, to his credit, did seem to be listening, though he didn't appear won over. "We need only raise our wards. This so-called dark tide will wash past us like a stone in the waves, and then recede. We need only wait."

"There is no waiting out this storm, Highest. The dark will remain till it finds a weakness, and crack your wards like an egg. You must bring your people south, join the people of the southern lands. Join your strength with theirs!

"You tell me to lend our strength to this battle? Let your own people do it themselves!"

"It's too late for that." Aurelio spoke from just behind Ferris, who all but jumped out of her skin with genuine surprise.

"Gods! You're already up?!"

"Highest, it is too late for her people to join. She's Ferris Iron-wrought, the last knight of the northern realms. Her comrades were slaughtered to the very last when the Ironheart fell."

"Impossible! The Ironheart?? That fortress was impregnable! I was there myself when the walls were charmed!" The king was aghast, eyes wide in disbelief. He glanced furiously at a few nearby elves who must have been his advisors, who looked ashen - evidently this news from the human realms hadn't been considered important enough to deliver to the king.

"The charms were strong, Highest, but they failed in the end. The stones were thick, but they crumbled before the tide. Our warriors were noble and strong and brave, and they died. Our families. Everything. It's all been taken from us. And only I was sent away," It was impossible to keep the pain from her voice. "Sent to give warning. So that the other lands might have a chance to survive. Please. Please grant me an audience."

"It is granted. I will speak to you within the hour." He whirled from the platform and strode off, surrounded by his retainers and clamoring advisors, leaving the crowd buzzing fearfully in his wake. Ferris turned to Aurelio, who was massaging his bruised throat with one hand and eyeing her cautiously.

"The elves of this land are powerful indeed!" She said, her voice booming theatrically to catch the crowds attention. "I thank you for allowing me to win that spar, brave Aurelio Swaying Leaf's Graceful Fall, so that I could plead my case with the king! Your kindness is eclipsed only by your strength!"

The knight covered his confusion with an elegant bow, the grace of it only slightly spoiled by his disheveled hair. "You're an opponent like no other, noble Ferris Iron-wrought! I am forever grateful to you, for coming to the aid of my people, despite our poor welcome. I'm certain that with you at our side, we shall overcome this darkness!" The crowd's answering cheer was even louder than their calls for Ferris's death had been, making the mighty witchwood boughs of the arena tremble.

She reached out her hand in the elven fashion, and as he took it, he murmured, "I was pulling my punches," startling a laugh out of Ferris. "Were those punches? I thought it was one of those lovely elvish dances." His elvish mask of serenity slipped momentarily into a grin, and they faced the crowd together, and bowed hand in hand, bringing another cheer from the people. Then she walked proudly into the tunnel leaving the arena, only allowing herself to collapse once they were fully out of sight.

"I suppose I should be honored by a visit from the kingdom's very own war devil. Come in, bloody one." The old woman didn't sound the least bit surprised to see Armes' massive frame filling her doorway, nor the least bit intimidated. "Get in before you let out all of the warm." The knight ducked into the cottage, shutting the door behind herself, and looked about warily as she drew back her hood.

The hovel was a single room, built around a rough stone chimney and hearth where a fire burned brightly, casting dancing shadows throughout. Wind whistled through gaps in the shutters, bringing the night's chill and the sound of rattling leaves and branches, the groan of he forest's trees swaying. The old woman was busying herself, hanging a black scorched kettle above the fire, picking through dozens of jars before settling on one with a nod, casting a few leaves into a earthenware cup. "Though I don't know what you expect a simple old woman like me to do for you," she added, watching Armes with sharp eyes. "Have you come to take taxes?"

"You are the witch Loemma." It was not a question. "You are a fugitive from the King's justice, for crimes against the crown and it's citizens. For the murder of children." The knight's voice was hard, but she didn't draw her blade, instead kneeling down and opening her pack. "But that isn't why I've come. The King's very own Magister spoke highly of your knowledge in arcane subjects."

The old woman's expression of indignant protest melted at the praise, and she grinned, revealing sharp teeth that gleamed in the light. "Ah, did he now? A miserable fool, but wise enough to know his betters!" she crowed, laughing like a rusty hinge. "So then! You come in need of my knowledge, my power, Armes Albrecht? To chase away the ghosts that haunt you at night? Something to quiet all of the screams of the dying?"

"I sleep well enough. You'll see why we've come momentarily. Myself, and the Princess." And she gently withdrew the Princess's small form from the bag, setting her on the table to face the witch. The bear gazed about the cottage for a moment, taking in her surroundings, and dusted her little toy paws off on her gown before dipping her head in courteous acknowledgement.

"Throw me in the Rot! What have you brought me?"

"Magister Orfeo was of the opinion that one who placed curses so deftly would surely have vast knowledge of their breaking as well," Alysia said in her small voice, the wide eyed witch drawing nearer in gleeful wonder. "If you know a means to undo the curse placed on me, I, Alysia Goldenseal, am empowered to offer a pardon for your... *previous acts*." The toy face was marvelously expressive, twisting as though she had a foul taste in her mouth as she spoke those words. "On the condition that if you commit any further crimes, you would face the immediate justice of the Crown." She spoke with the formal tone and cadence she would have used in her father's court, mustering as much dignity as her current state would allow. Being a plush toy only a foot or so tall didn't allow much.

Loemma snatched Alysia from the tabletop, making a contorted gesture at the same time with her free hand - as quick as Armes was, the witch was quicker. From the knight's perspective, the world seemed to swim and turn around her, and now "down" didn't go towards the earth - instead she fell backwards, her back crashing into the stone wall of the hovel, each of her limbs seeming to weigh dozens of stones. Her vision sparkled and she reeled with the impact. "Be still," Loemma scolded, sniffing as she turned the princess around, upside down. Alysia fussed and struggled, but the old woman's grip was harder than iron. "By the Pit, you truly are her, aren't you? There's a spirit in there, a shiny little soul. Bound tight. Fairy work." She held the bear up to her face, ignoring the way Alysia recoiled. No, not ignoring - she clearly enjoyed it, smirking. "Insulted some queen bitch of the realm Fae, did you? Needed to be taught a lesson, toy?"

"Y- That is correct. I was... not courteous." Alysia squirmed, and gasped as she saw Armes, who was struggling to breath under the magical weight crushing her in place. "Release my retainer! She will die!"

"Oh, that she will. I'll release her, by the Pit." Loemma sneered, and her hand twisted unnaturally in another painful gesture, which made Armes roar in agony, struggling briefly before sagging and falling to the ground in a heap. Her eye stared sightlessly at nothing. Alysia shrieked and flailed in the witch's iron grasp. "The only release that suits one of her sort. Now, as for you. Let's get you sorted." She hummed a cheerful tune, crowing to herself with laughter every now and then when one of the princess's sobs was particularly amusing. She spat onto a roughly human shaped doll made of knoted straw, and then breathed into it's featureless face for a moment, before carelessly throwing the bundle into a glass jar, which was in turn placed in a cage of sticks and wire. "I bet that halfwit Orfeo thought this was a transformation, and thought it might be unraveled. It's simpler than that," she murmured, absorbed as she drew a precise diagram around the cage with a lump of red chalk. A series of nested shapes, wormed throughout with writing that Alysia couldn't read, but felt as though she should understand - like a half-recognized form seen in an unlit room. "The faefilth drew your spirit out, and... pop. Threw it into another shell. I bet your body is decorating some fairylord's bedchamber now, or they stuffed an imp into your skin and are using it for a housemaid." Her musings were lost on the weeping princess, who was uselessly reaching for Armes.

"In any case. It's simple enough. I simply- " Alysia screamed briefly as she felt herself suddenly ripped from her form, the the pain was replaced with a cold non-sensation. A void. And then, suddenly... she was in a chamber made of dirty glass, resting on.. a straw mattress. No, not a mattress - a mannequin made of straw, as big as a person. She couldn't feel, but she could see and perceive. She was in the jar. The witch towered above her, laughing and tossing the little toy bear that used to house Alysia about before discarding it. She seemed woven all throughout with strings of light. "All better, Alysia Goldenseal?! Everything you could have asked for?!" Her massive face drew near, steaming the glass with her breath. "I'm sure I can find *some manner* of use for a shiny little royal soul... Or sell it to some prince of the Pit to dine on, perhaps!"

Alysia wailed, the sound making the glass reverberate around her shapeless form - she seemed to be nothing but a willow-wisp, a light in the glass. The world around her looked wrong, and strange - tangles of luminous threads connecting everything, both present and not present at the same time. Some even connected to her. She followed one with her "gaze", and saw it ran directly the stuffed bear she had inhabited. She felt a sudden urge to tug, and reached out with... with what, she had no idea - reached out and tugged the thread. The bear jerked slightly on the dirt floor, unnnoticed. The princess experienced a sense of vertigo, of being in two places at once - simultaneously in the jar and in the bear again. She released the thread and instantly was alone in her glass prison. She tugged the threads running to the straw doll, and similarly found herself within and without it. Alysia went silent. She would have held her breath, if she could breath at all. She looked in the direction of Armes, and saw that even in death, the threads of light still wove throughout her knight. They were fading, however. She reached across the distance - still not entirely sure what she reached with, or how - and grasped the thickest bundle. She held lightly, and understanding dawned. This rope, seeming to her tiny form as thick as a treetrunk. Strumming a chord on the bundle, the knight's stilled heart twitched and jolted. Alysia quickly began to work.

Loemma ignored the corpse and the foolish soul in the jar as she danced around her home, making plans, making great plans. With the power this could potentially grant her, why, she could topple the kingdom - she could topple it in an afternoon, for a lark! Ah, she could laugh, she could sing! What a day, for this opportunity to come walking into her very own front door. She was beginning to pour quicksilver into her scrying dish when the sound of breaking glass caused her to whirl around. The cage had toppled, and rolled to the floor, the jar broken. She snarled a curse, rushing over to catch the spirit before it could dissipate, but it was already gone. "Fucking hells and-" She stopped as the wood near her fireplace clattered to the floor, and looking around, realized the bear was gone. "You clever little *beast*!" she cried. "Too clever by half! I should have put you in a cold iron box, instead." She followed the little scuffed prints through the dust and ash, past the fireplace, and snatched with hands as quick as whip, pulling the filth-streaked bear out from the cabinet she'd hidden beneath. "Did you think you could hide, fool?"

"No, please! I - I promise! All will be forgiven, if you simply release me! Please! Un-unless... you refuse...?" The witch relished her pleading, and grinned her evil grin, sharp teeth seeming ready to bite.

"I refuse your *gracious* offer." Loemma answered, sneering gleefully.

"Then in the name of the King, die," answered the hoarse voice of the knight. Her massive blade, broader than a hand, erupted from Loemma's chest, the thick arm of Armes Albrecht wrapping around the woman's shoulders from behind for leverage as she drove it deeper, till it projected a full arm's length directly from her breastbone. She coughed and gurgled blood, wide eyed with disbelief, but no last curse or insult followed. She simply collapsed bonelessly to the floor, rattling a final breath. Armes let her down, but carefully caught the princess into her arms as she did, stepping away from the corpse without a backwards glance, gathering their belongings and carrying Alysia out of the accursed place, out into the wind and the night.

-------

Months later found Armes traveling in a loose caravan of pilgrims journeying to the temples of the capital, who kept their distance from the warrior - the ones who knew her reputation especially. Armes rode a nameless horse, traveling in silence, eyes vigilant and hand resting on her belted sword's pommel while the other held the reins. The dark skinned young woman riding beside her sat stiffly in the saddle, dressed in traveling clothes of fine quality, carrying a stuffed bear dressed as her twin in her lap. Her expression was a tranquil mask, never changing, though her eyes were active and keen. Her joints creaked in a strangely wooden way as she held up a hand and indicated something to the knight, who leaned close to speak. None of the pilgrims had ever seen the young lady part from the bear - some spoiled nobleman's daughter, for certain. Likewise none had seen her eat out of the privacy of her tent, and she only spoke from behind her raised hand or a fan - "The young Lady is shy," was the only explanation Armes would offer the procession's leader.

"She so resembles her Majesty the Princess."