Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (essential reading .txt) 📗

magic. The staff was still hanging in the air in the farthest corner of the ice chambers. Anna’Bre, lying on the snow covers, once again indulged in carnal pleasures with one of her many servants. And this particular man was so endowed that his manhood could be used as a battering ram. No wonder that the witch was enjoying herself so loudly that her voice made the crystal windows shake. Ash couldn’t tell if she was moaning with pleasure or screaming in pain. It wasn’t that he was a voyeur and that he enjoyed these things, but that Anna’Bre had been doing nothing other than enjoying herself in front of him for the past few days. Apparently, in this way, she wanted to break his will, but all she did was make him even more disgusted.

With another moan, Anna’Bre straightened up like an arrow and froze. A few minutes later, her lover walked out of the room like a limp doll. The witch got up, put on a robe made of ice particles, and went to the cage. Her white fingers traced the bars, and a soft chime filled the huge room.

“Oh, my poor, miserable Ash...” she said as she circled the cage. With each step, the cold receded, making the air relatively warmer. Steam was still pouring out of Ash’s mouth, but his legs and arms tingled uncomfortably as blood returned to them. Unfortunately, the blood went to places other than his limbs. His pants suddenly felt tighter. “I see you enjoyed my little performance after all.”

Ash closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Exhaling, he cleared his head.

“Just one word, my dear mage,” she continued. “One word. I see you want it.”

“The first thing the monks taught me was to fight my desires.”

Anna’Bre laughed making ice flowers bloom on the windows. Even with her, there was an elusive, otherworldly beauty inherent to all fae.

“Silly boy.” She smiled. Ash flinched but didn’t argue. The fae called even the elven princes boys, rarely ever young men. “Why fight them? Wishes exist to be fulfilled.”

“Perhaps with your kin, but mortals have a slightly different opinion on that matter.”

And that was the end of the conversation. The witch waved her hand and disappeared, turning into a snowstorm. How many such conversations had they had? How many more would they have? Ash didn’t expect the Stumps to come rescue him. They weren’t his friends, and they wouldn’t risk their lives to save some worthless mage.

He couldn’t reach the staff. He couldn’t make Anna’Bre fall for any trick of his no matter how much he tried. Every time he had faced an immortal, he had magic and wit on his side. Now, deprived of the former, he couldn’t make proper use of the latter. All he could do was put on a brave face and pray for the best.

Ash shook his head and hugged his shoulders, trying to maintain the rapidly fading warmth. Anna’Bre would be back soon to start the same dance again. She’d tempt him, promising peace and eternal pleasure. Ash had never been prone to lust, but the last time he had been with a woman was back in the Aquel caravan, and two months had passed since then. Luckily, so far, meditation had been enough to resist.

Ash shivered and suddenly felt something hard and wooden touch his side. Red droplets of blood fell to the cold floor, hissing like hot oil. He carefully unclenched his bruised, numb fingers, and slipped his hands into his shirt. With slight puzzlement, he pulled out a black flute — a gift from Helmer.

“I could’ve sworn that you weren’t there yesterday...” he whispered, putting the flute to his lips.

The instrument replied with a slurping sound, as if it were trying to snort in response to the mage’s comment.

Ash would’ve liked to attribute the terrible sound that still lingers among the walls of Graven’Dor to his numb fingers and tired lips, but that would be a lie. He had never been a musician, and even the simplest shepherd’s son sounded like the yelps of a dying cat when he sang it. Fortunately, he had no audience, so he wasn’t ashamed of his lack of talent.

Having finished his performance, he watched as the flute crumbled in his hands. Only black dust on the blue palms was a reminder of its existence. For a good moment or two, Ash waited for any sign of Helmer. From his smirking face to the orderly march of hundreds of thousands of his nightmares. But as time passed, the mage became less and less hopeful of the demon’s arrival.

Sighing, Ash reassumed the meditation pose that’d make any normal person cry out that all of their muscles were aching. Ash, too, felt pain in everything that could possibly hurt in one’s body, but didn’t show it.

After all, he had to uphold the reputation of Mt. Mok-Pu and its monks. 

Chapter 55

B y the time Irmaril had already caressed the western edge of the sky, Anna’Bre returned to her chambers. She approached the cage with a determined by still captivating and elegant step.

“My neighbor will be here in a few hours,” she announced.

Ash remained silent. Helmer had never shown up, so all the mage could rely on was his own head. Alas, he had never been known to be smart.

“You still have a chance, mage,” Anna’Bre continued, her voice sweet and gentle, clouding the mind and making it difficult to think clearly. “One word and you’ll be saved.”

Ash looked into her deep, blue eyes.

“Will you grant me my last wish?” he whispered.

For a moment, the witch’s face lit up with triumphant pride, but she was quick to put her mask back on.

“I’ll grant you whatever wish you desire, my poor, little Ash.”

“You know what I want.”

“I need to hear it.”

“Let me out of the