Finding himself in the grip of a creature of fire, the Stirge faces the stark reality that his life may end right here. It was going to take a miracle for him to escape. He struggles and squirms, trying to throw the elemental off balance.
;
But it is for naught. With his last words, he reveals the truth. "Go! Get out while you still can! Live to avenge the Stirge . . . and Lord Varian." Bathed in the intense light of the fire elemental, the shadowy cloak that hid his identity for so long loses its effect, to reveal the struggling pale nobleman.
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Even though she is in mortal danger here, Elsie cannot help but pause and stare in astonishment as the Stirge's identity is finally revealed.
Varian is...the Stirge...Amazing, and yet...I think I have known all along...The fact he gave his life for us...we must not let it be in vain... She grabs Tella's arm to prevent her from doing anything foolish. "We must flee...tell those in the know what we have learned, and return to bring the hammer of justice down upon her!"
Tella quickly weaves her spell and casts it on Eliseera before she realizes what the Stirge is saying. Turning to see what was happening, her eyes widen in shock as she sees that the Stirge and Lord Varian are one in the same. She stumbles as Eliseera pulls her along while her eyes stay fixed on the scene in the windmill.
Eliseera and Tella are out of the windmill before the smoke truly starts to fill the burning building... so they don't see the Elemental turn towards the woman, see it dragging the Stirge from beneath the metal vessel... and stand high above the woman as she, with a sudden look of fear, fashions a globular orb of water from nothing.
Tella looks back, then turns to Eli.
"Get us away from this place," she says softly, barely audible above the roar of the flames. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes and her hands held tight to her friend's cloak.
Elsie wraps her arms tightly around the slight woman, supporting her gently and allowing the power of flight bestowed upon her to take hold. "Of course, Tella. I do need you to watch our backs...we know those gargoyles are still out there; they may wish revenge upon us."
Tella nods and hangs on tight, Looking to see if the gargoyles come to finish them off.
Despite the desperate situation, the Stirge refuses to give in. He still had some fight in him, and at the very least he could buy the others some time.
If that actually succeeds, he tries to fly far, far away from the Elemental.
Eliseera and Tella watch from the outside - in the dimming light of the evening, the orange glow of the growing fire can be seen through cracks in the brickwork and the half-open front door. Roaring sounds, either the fire or maybe the elemental itself, are to be heard over the crashing waves... but of the Stirge, there is no sign. As their thoughts turn to the gargoyles, their eyes move towards the upper part of the building... and there, skulking around in the gloom, are the two surviving creatures. For now at least, they seem to have little interest in either Eliseera or Tella...
In the heart of the inferno, the Stirge - still somehow alive - struggles to free himself... pulling, squeezing and stretching as he tries to release the elemental's powerful grip. But it is for naught, the living fire has him in a vice like grip... and is showing little sign of letting go.
The woman, still holding the bubble of water, screeches ecstatically, "That's right my beautiful creation.... feed!!! Feed and grow strong!!!" She is about to say something else when the elemental, still holding the Stirge, rakes at her with its fiery claw...
Shrieking in pain, the woman - her bubble of water evaporated to nothing - pleas with the creature, "No!!! I am your ally!!! Your friend!!!"
The flames have now spread across the entirety of the ground floor, and anyone inside the mill experiences extreme heat... smoke fills the room and obscures vision... it is now a matter of time before the building succumbs to the raging fire.
Outside the windmill and retreating along the pier, Eliseera and Tella wave at their boatman... he is not far from the island itself - far enough out to stop his boat being dragged onto the rocks yet close enough to see and hear the calls of the women as they rush from the burning building. Slowly, ever so slowly in the churning waters, he turns his boat back towards the isle... and pulling hard on his oars, rows towards the pier.
Silhouetted now by the fierce blaze pouring from the roof of the mill, the gargoyles take flight - they swoop low towards Tella and Eliseera yet it seems that this is nothing more than mischief making... they make no attempt to attack, instead they circle around the isle and use the super-heated thermals to quickly gain altitude before disappearing into the darkness as they head westwards... back along the Lyme and to Castorhage. Not a moment too soon either as the walls of the mill start to crack and bow from within...
The boatsman brings the boat close enough that Eliseera can take to the air and, with Tella clutching tight, flee the doomed rocks. It takes nothing more than a shake of the head to tell their transport that there is no need to wait for a third passenger... and so, with Eliseera also taking an oar, the burning isle starts to recede into the distance and the murk.
Meanwhile, back in the mill as it burns like the lower depths of hell, the Stirge cannot break loose from the grip of the growing elemental... tighter and tighter, the hungry fire grips him until - at the last and with the air itself seemingly aflame, he slips into unconsciousness... as he drifts away, with pain having been replaced by an otherworldly numbness, he is vaguely aware of the woman screaming in a rage, "I MADE YOU!!! I MADE YOU!!! WITHOUT ME YOU ARE NOTHING!!!" She too, is silenced within the blaze... and the Stirge is left with only the company of his own thoughts in the onrushing darkness...
There must be at least three hundred feet of water between the fleeing boat and the island when a metal clattering noise, not unlike the tolling of the largest of the Capitol's bells, announces the collapse of the metal vessel that had been suspended within the mill... and not a huge distance more before, with a pressure wave that washes out into the great estuary, the mill literally explodes!!! A ball of flame surges upwards into the night before fading to nothing...
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Tella leans on Eliseera, as much for support as to help support her. Tears stream down her cheeks though she doesn't sob.
"I hate this city," she whispers to Eli.
Elsie hugs the smaller woman tightly. "I do as well, Tella...This city is indeed a Blight upon the world. It has devoured all the good folk that stand for it...like the Stirge. And yet...I find it...difficult to comprehend leaving this city. Perhaps this place does indeed...infect you..."
"But he's gone, him and all the others, and for what," she asks, "no, I'll not stay here. I'll not let it have me too. The gods damn this city. I'm leaving it to collapse under its own festering weight."
Her voice was harsh now. The anger burned in it, but it was an anger dulled by the ache in her soul. Eli was right. The Blight did infect a person, infected their very soul, and Tella doubted she'd ever be free of the taint.
But she intended to try.
Elsie clings even tighter to the small woman, her thoughts awhirl. Perhaps she is right...Many times I have felt the oppressive weight of the Blight pressing upon me...I have always thought I could resist, and yet...perhaps I have already succumbed...
Lightly stroking Tella's hair she murmurs, "Perhaps...yes you are right. Staying here is folly...regardless of where our path leads. I am sure I can convince Darc to join us...he loves his home, yet I also know he loves me in his own way. Still even if it is just the two of us...we will be together."
"I hear Magnimar's nice. Maybe we can find a home there," Tella replies before the shock of what had happened wears off and she buries her head into Eliseera's shoulder to stifle her sobs.
"The gods damn this city," she whispers as she fights her emotions back under control.
Eliseera and Tella leave the nightmare behind them to burn itself out… their journey across Castorhage had extracted a bloody toll upon them - Ruby going missing as the group had pursued Mahaas across the rooftops of Festival, Darc succumbing to the poison that he was exposed to when he was bitten in the Organ Grinder’s vile lair… and now, worse still, the Stirge slain by the conjuration of flame and hate created in the Windmill. Of the five that had optimistically set out to solve the mystery of the ‘risen’ Lenice Quarn, only two - both bruised and soot covered - are in the boat heading upstream along the Lyme and to the debatable safety of the city.
Resolved to find a better life for themselves, the women have already secured transport westwards a little before noon the following day - a moderately sized cart ponderously making its way through the tide of folk making their way into the city and slumped within the back of the wagon, Tella, Eliseera and a recovered Darc, each with their entire lives packed up in unassumingly small bags. As the lean-to houses start to thin and the Canker, particularly thick from the Lyme this morning, becomes naught more than wisps of fog, the trio finally breathe a sigh of relief… and start to plan for a new life… somewhere far from Castorhage.
So determined are they in their plan to leave, that neither Tella and Eliseera see the local newsprint decrying the explosion at the Great Windmill as a foiled attack upon the Royal Family by foreign seditionists - several high-ranking Officers of the Watch are recognised as having been crucial in stopping the plot before it came to fruition… and, if there were no survivors, then who is to say anything different. And, had Tella and Eliseera left Castorhage by boat, they would have seen a small flotilla of boats moored alongside the scorched rocks where the Windmill once stood… and the tents hastily erected over the rubble of the old building. Flags of the Office of the Watch hang limply from the thickly woven marquees… and every so often a dust covered individual comes out of the tents - carrying a small crate out to the jetty each time that they emerge. If anyone were able to look within, they would find burnt fragments of parchment alongside bent and torn metal components… and, some time into the evening, four men - garbed with leather coats and with their faces obscured - carry the broken body of a woman out and into an awaiting boat. Whilst the crates being brought from the scene are allowed to accumulate, the corpse is very quickly loaded into a dark and unmarked boat… and taken upriver.
The examinations, excavation and investigations at the scene carry on for days… long after any interest from the cowed populace of Castorhage has waned… and, in all that time, no more bodies are recovered from the island. It is a full four days hence, when Tella, Eliseera and Darc are many leagues to the west, that a low moon catches the ripples in the river near the southern tip of Festival… and, breaking the surface of the water - unseen and unheard - a shadowy figure, his clothes dreadfully burnt, pulls himself clear of the clinging waters of the Lyme… and, once more, the Stirge stalks the streets of Castorhage…
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The rain from the cold autumn storm blotted out the Irespan and most of the rest of the city of Magnimar. Winter was close at hand and none who could help it waked the streets. It reminded Tella of the day she'd been asked to help with an investigation into burning corpses throwing themselves into the River Lyme. The rain here was different, though. It was clean, pure, without the filth of the Canker or the taint of the air in it.
She watched from the small office the apartment she shared with Eliseera and Darc was over. They sold their services as private investigators in the city, and Tella had to admit that she was shocked that the guard of the city was relatively honest, though the payment they gave her for her services was just as welcome as that turn of events. Life was going well for the three of them.
But today, Tella's thoughts were back in the Blight. Eli had been right. The place had infected her and she constantly found herself drifting into the hopeless cynicism that marked so many other denizens of that hateful place. She shivered and wrapped her hands around the warm mug of cider as she felt the cloying touch of the Canker on her skin, too real, too substantial to be forgotten.
"Perhaps I should play," she mused aloud. Thought became action and after a sip of the cider, she went upstairs and found her violin, one of the few possessions she'd not sold when she had resolved to leave Castorhage and never return.
Slowly at first, the notes came. Slowly, agonizingly patient in their progress, but as Tella fell into the song, her fingers and bow danced as she played at an ever more frenetic tempo. She lost herself in the music, letting it soothe her mind and cleanse it from the taint of the Blight.
She played to forget. She played in hope. She played to remember.
All that mattered then was that she played.
Elsie slips inside the office after yet another meeting with the Watch officer. Since it had gone surprisingly well she was in a good mood. As she headed up to the small room where she knew Tella was waiting, the haunting strains of the melody wafting from inside the room reached her ears.
Hearing the melody brought her back to a place she desperately wished, but also knew she would never be completely free from. She paused just outside the doorway and simply let the sound carry her away...back to that hated place, and the last hours spent there. A tear trickled down her cheek as she remembered the fate of the vigilante who gave his life to save theirs.
Once the playing has ceased, she let the memories flood her mind for another moment before banishing them away...for now. Taking out the bottle of wine she had grabbed earlier, she knocks softly before entering the room. Closing the door behind her she proceeded to take another step...a small step on the path...away from the Blight.
The Stirge knew he was at an end. The Artificer had failed to contain her creation, leaving the ragefire elemental to recklessly destroy all that was near. The Stirge smelled his own flesh burning in its grasp. And the pain, the excruciating pain he felt piercing through as he tried to struggle free, only to feel the creature's grip tighten. There was no hope any longer as he let himself slip away into unconsciousness.
* * *
The Stirge opened his eyes, and as he did so, came to a stark realization. He was lying at the bottom of the Lyme, and yet he lived. He took in a breath fearfully . . . and realized he felt no need to breathe. The living, breathing part of him--the part that was human--had been cleansed away by fire. What remained was unlife, relentless, and filled with the desire to consume. The Stirge had died. The Stirge had returned. And the Stirge was more fearsome than ever.