Adventure of Sorsha 1

The bog shrine goes glass-cold. Mist coils low over the peat, and the runes along the circle shiver like struck bells.

Sorsha keeps her stance at the seal, sword ready, while the black water at the center ripples inward as if something beneath it is listening.

A shape rises from the muck, pale as drowned moonlight, moss trailing from a helm of antlered bone. The air around it tastes old and bitter.

The runes flare, then stutter, as the guardian’s presence presses against the ward from one side and the Bound Presence heaves from the other.

Sorsha drives her sword down into the frost-rimed mud beside the rune circle. The blade bites deep, and the seal answers with a hard blue pulse.

The guardian recoils a step, its pale shape wavering. The black water at the center flattens for a breath, then swells again under the strain.

A crack of cold magic snaps up Sorsha's arm, and her smoked hand flares with pain. Her grip holds, but the hilt shivers in her palm.

The runes steady for a heartbeat, but the pressure from below grows teeth-sharp. Pebbles rattle off the altar as the seal-light starts to thin.

The Bog Witch throws both hands toward the circle, eyes wide, waiting on Sorsha's next move as the water bulges again.

Sorsha answers the pressure with a fresh surge of power. Blue light knits tighter around the blade, and the rune circle bites down on the mire.

Her smoking hand trembles as the spell takes root, and a thin crackle of heat crawls across her palm. The black water stops bulging for a beat, then shudders beneath the ward.

The guardian leans closer through the mist, its outline sharpening with anger. Pebbles jump on the altar, and the seal-light flickers, then steadies again.

The Bog Witch stares at Sorsha's hand, then at the ward, her jaw set hard. The water at the shrine's center swells once more, waiting for Sorsha's next choice.