Almarra - Icistila - 1

She awoke to the rumbling of the caverns, as bats flew above her in an attempt to escape to safer nests. Loose stones, knocked free by unfortunate creatures, fell near her pillows, sending out a cacophony that shook her awake completely. One stone even smacked into her nearby suit. Sitting up in her straw bed, Icistila stretched her arms and back, feeling relief at every pop and snap. Taking a minute to look over her skin, as discolored from mana as it was, she rose from her bed and began her day.

Of course, she began by bathing in the underground spring, spending what felt like an hour scrubbing and rinsing and washing in the eternally warm water. Then came the armor polishing – oiling down the pauldrons, re-stitching the latches, hammering out dents, and every little thing in between. Weapon sharpening and re-forging, arrow fastening, wrapping torches, all sorts of menial tasks that were important, but had long lost any real sense of urgency for her. She had time to think, but all the thoughts had been thought of long ago, when she had first adopted the routine. Icistila has had time to think, to think of things she had thought of, to forget, to think of what she's forgotten, and everything in between.

She spoke to herself. Constantly. Soon enough, she found she was not very good at starting or continuing conversations, but it was alright, as her conversations never went too long and tended to stay within her intellectual range. If anyone else had heard her during these moments, they'd have thought her mad – and they would be quite correct and incorrect. Icistila had gone mad ages ago, then contemplated sanity and found the whole thing quite ridiculous. So now, she just never thinks anymore. To hear herself say it, “it solves so many problems”. Of course, no one ever heard her say it.

Finally, as the first part of her day finished in record time – she made sure to keep track of that – Icistila suited herself up, took hold of her crossbow and dagger, and made for the mouth of the cave she called home. The craggy steps had long ago been worn to a smooth finish by her constant movement, allowing her easy purchase as she moved.

The light of the sun barely penetrated this deeply into the unnamed and unknown forest that Icistila knew. Shadows of leaves created a canopy of dark that she had long ago learned to navigate cleanly. In this dark, small creatures fluttered about, ignorant of a woman who long ago had become a part of the forest. The leaves cracked underneath her boot, and soon, the rustling of the forest floor began as Icistila began her hunt.

A doe here, a squirrel there, and soon, Icistila had collected herself a week's worth of rations – two, if it was salted and dried correctly. Once the carcasses were skinned and the meat properly prepared, she began eating in silence, as she has done so for centuries before.

The meal finally finished, she washed up again. She gathered more of her bolts and adjusted her gauntlets, as now the second part of her day began – the more important bit, she felt, since it was the only thing she kept getting up for anymore. Deep in her cavern, below the area she reserved for bathing, lay a stone door, carved long ago by a person she doesn't remember anymore. Moving through the door, she was now in a passage that continued deep into the earth, almost as if it was a dungeon that was built into the land's crust. Originally, she would take a torch along for this, but after treading this path for countless years, the dark held no more dangers for her. Honestly, the dark felt more inviting, as she could always imagine tiling or other such furnishing along the walls, instead of the same boring bedrock that has always been there.

The passage emptied into another cavern, this one lit with an ominous cyan glow via the shards of concentrated mana that had jutted from the bedrock long ago. Here and there, an infused insect would slither or scurry, crossing the rocks with ease in-between Icistila's steps. A larger door, one fit for some ancient evil or a mystic tomb, lay at the bottom of this chamber, with many symbols written across it. Icistila forgot what the language was, but she did remember that every single symbol meant something to the effect of “bind”, “banish”, “seal”, and everything to that effect. Next to the nearly twenty-foot tall door was a smaller door frame that Icistila had accommodated for her own personal use, complete with a rope pull and the door and frame cleanly carved out of each other.

Behind both these doors was Icistila's reason for a legacy of solitiude: a massive chamber, reaching into an endless abyss that even Icistila had never found the end of – not for lack of trying, either. In this abyss, however, was something more important: a terrible dragon, of enormous size and stature. It's scales were a violent red and purple, it's eyes hummed with an orange glow that bespoke terrible strength, and it commanded jaws and claws that were possibly sharper than even steel.

This dragon, great as it was, turned it's eyes to her. Long ago, she was afraid, almost hesitant to even enter the room. Today, however, the dragon's claw had swollen slightly from a lodged stone, and she was the only living being within miles that could sort out this sordid business.

With a dagger in her hand, she waved at the dragon, who growled in acknowledgment as it placed it's swollen claw on the ground. A shudder echoed through the room, but Icistila ignored it, as she began scanning the hand. Finding the growth, she felt around the scales of the beast, before her hand came across a stalagmite that had lodged itself into the creature's hand one day. With great strength, she thrust the dagger in the claw, holding on as the dragon groaned with pain before steeling itself for the next part. She cut deeply, slowly pushing the stone out as she sliced the rim of the wound open. 

Finally, the stone slipped out of her grasp and out of the dragon's arm, crashing into pebbles upon the chamber floor. Blood trailed past it, leaking out of the sordid wound.

The dragon let out a sigh of relief, before caressing the wound with it's free hand. Icistila dropped to the floor, composing herself and cleaning the blood of her dagger. She barely had time to react before the dragon nuzzled it's snout into her back, leaving snot and vapor on her.

Icistila sighed. “You need to stop stretching your arm in that direction, Siuma.” She wiped the snot off her reddish hair. “There's too many sharp ones in that area.”

Siuma growled, before it roared in agreement – or what Icistila had thought was agreement, as she had long ago given up trying to read it's expressions. It held it's injured hand out for Icistila, as the girl took a small balm out of her pouch and tended to the bleeding area.

An hour of treatment had passed in silence. No more words were said, as Icistila had long ran out of things to say and Siuma could not speak. Soon, she left the chamber, traveling back through the corridors, until she finally arrived in the bathing center of her cavern.

Another bath later, Icistila searched beneath a small pile of leather and hide clothing for something, before giving up and tearing a piece of paper from a book that someone long ago had given her. With a quill, she began writing another entry of a journal that she had no idea how many volumes she lost. The writing continued, even though she barely wrote much other than the events of the day. Finally, she threw the implements aside, and laid on the hide covering of her straw bed, waiting for sleep to take her away again. Soon enough, yet another day of guarding the accursed dragon came to an end.