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[Arcana]

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Part 1 - Memories

(Author's Note - This section of storyline leads up to Arcana's first appearance in Britannia at age 13)

“Hide in here,” Mother whispered quickly as she pushed the little girl into a cubby behind a heavy drape. Her mother smiled and held a slender finger to her lips. “Be quiet for Mommy – just like a mouse! No matter what happens, all right sweetie?” The little blonde toddler nodded and a tear slipped down her soot-stained cheek. Her mother wiped it away and kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, sweetie.” Her mother closed tight the drape.

A far older Arcana remembered the roar of fire and the acrid smell of smoke with perfect clarity… the harsh battle cries of the orcs and frost trolls… the desperate sound of her mother’s chanting as the Lady Iselle Arryn hurled spell after spell. She remembered the enormous explosion that had knocked her off her feet and set the wall-hangings burning. Then the awful silence.

The child crawled out from behind the curtain. Her ears hurt. Her mother was slumped against the wall nearby. Arcana wanted to call out, but Mother had said that she must be quiet. She tugged on Mother’s robe. Mother wasn’t moving. Arcana stood on tiptoe and whispered in her mother’s ear, “Mommy?” Mother didn’t answer.

Arcana wanted to cry, scream, anything – but Mother had said that she must be quiet! Arcana heard voices and footsteps drawing closer. Monsters were coming! She had to hide! But she felt rooted to the spot, staring at her very still mother. Booted footsteps, sounding strangely muffled to the girl’s ears, were right around the corner. Arcana tore herself away and hid in the smoldering cubby. She held her breath.

The running footsteps stopped abruptly in front of the curtain, and a main cried out and fell heavily to the floor. “Papa…?” Arcana whispered. There were many footsteps and strangely muffled voices, colored with urgency. Arcana sucked in a breath as the shrieks of approaching monsters sounded. The human footsteps were drawing away now. There was the sound of a scuffle as the collapsed man was hauled to his feet. They were leaving! Frantically, Arcana pushed her way clear of the curtain and ran into the corridor.

“Papa!” she shrieked.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with black hair and ice-blue eyes jolted as if stabbed and spun around. He was shouting something at her, but Arcana could not hear properly. She felt like cotton was stuffed in her ears. Papa was running all-out towards her. One of father’s men frantically launched his spear. It flew over Arcana’s head. A split second later, an orc fell dead at her feet and her father scooped her into his arms.

They were running, Arcana held tightly by her father, out into the frozen night and over the rubble of the stone walls. Everything was burning. Her father’s magnificent sword, previously admired for its glittering blue and delicate etching, was now terrible and black with blood. They were running for the sea. Men and women in the ship were already shoving off as they ran up. Her father leaped, with her in his arms, over the widening gap of water and onto the deck.

Papa held her very tight. Arcana could see the rapidly dwindling coastline over his big shoulder. There were hundreds upon hundreds of frost trolls, silhouetted starkly by the flames as her home burned behind them. The wails of wraiths, scavenging creatures attracted by the scent of death, carried on the wind, pursuing the ship and the survivors of Winterfell long after land had been lost from sight.

***

Six years later

The nine year old girl faced off against the graying armsman. Tall for her age and lanky, she clenched her blunt-edged practice sword tightly and her face was set with concentration… and anger. The armsman feinted left, dropping his guard and deliberately leaving himself open to attack. Ever quick to take the offensive, the girl rushed in to attack, completely fooled by the ruse in her eagerness. Moments later, a scowling Arcana was sitting on her backside in the dirt, weaponless and rubbing a bruised hand.

“You must learn patience,” Vlad scolded his lord’s impetuous daughter. “Tactics are more important to the fight than brute strength and sheer quickness. One day you will learn to be very fast, certainly faster than an old man like me, but there will always be someone or something bigger, stronger, or faster. You must learn to use what’s up here.” He tapped his forehead as he said the last. So much anger in one so young, he thought sadly. It was not her fault. Lord Arryn had become a shell of his former self in the years since his wife’s death and the fall of his House.

Arcana stood up and grabbed her practice sword, not even bothering to brush herself off. Arcana’s frown deepened and her brow furrowed. “Again,” she commanded. Vlad sighed inwardly and resumed the sparring, giving instructions all the while. Her attacks were over-eager, angry, and too aggressive for her skill. Yet, Vlad noted with some hope, the girl did not fall for the same ruse again.

***

Ten years after the fall of Winterfell

Her father was dead. He had been by no means an old man, and at any rate the Arryns were, barring accident, astonishingly long-lived. Yet at his death, Ivan Arryn had appeared ancient indeed, his once thick black hair turned sparse and white, his once piercing ice-blue eyes gone rheumy, and his once deep rich voice faded to hardly more than a whisper. How Arcana hated what the years had done to him. If only her mother had survived the attack on the castle… Arcana pushed the thought away with a burst of rage. No, the past could not be changed. It was what is was. Her mother had died, killed by the hundred times damned frost trolls – may their entire race rot in the depths of the Abyss for eternity – and now her father was dead too. Also slain by the trolls, for it was grief for her mother’s murder that had ultimately killed him. Arcana was glad of the stinging chill of the mountain wind that dried her eyes before the tears could fall.

The girl, all of thirteen years old, surveyed the valley below her. Herds of some of the finest horses alive roamed the grasslands of the Northern Steppes below. Columns of wood smoke rose from the chimneys of the log cabins clustered about the main compound of the ranch. All of it was hers now; the last remnants of House Arryn. It was a peaceful place to grow up, far enough north to be away from the cities and wars of the south, yet too far south to attract the fearsome monsters of the polar regions. She knew she should have been content here, but Arcana needed something more. Vlad and the others would take good care of this place for her. She hoisted her pack and set off at a brisk pace down the trail, looking back over her shoulder just once before the ranch disappeared from sight.

***

(Author's Note - The sections that follow correspond to actual events in UO, though I have taken some creative license for the sake of storytelling.)

Part 2 - Yew

Several weeks later

Arcana wove her way through the crowd at the West Bank of Britain. Despite her unusual height and hodge-podge of armor, the lanky girl didn’t look at all out of place. Every manner of person imaginable gathered at the bank, from impoverished novice warriors like herself to puffed up lords and ladies in their finery. She took it all in, more than a bit wide-eyed. Later she would come to be more cynical about those in their finery and where they had obtained it, but at the time she thought them most worthy of respect and honor.

She’d made some progress as a warrior and no doubt mongbats everywhere feared her name. And sewer rats; she could handle those as well. Arcana sighed in disgust. Earlier in the day, she’s traveled to the dungeon Covetous with a group of warriors. They’d tried to tell her she wasn’t ready, but she’d insisted on coming along. She had pitted her meager skills against a stone harpy with predictable results. For some reason, the healers had taken her to Yew for resurrection and on the long walk back to Britain she’d run afoul of a lich. She’d had no idea what it was capable of doing, and she’d not liked the evil way it laughed at her, so she’d attacked the monster, expecting that a beast walking outside a dungeon couldn’t really be that dangerous. The wandering healer who resurrected her had kindly explained the nature of liches. Feeling rather put out, Arcana had taken an irritable swipe at a passing wisp and discovered that wisps do not have a sense of humor about such antics. Fortunately, the wandering healer was happy to practice his art again. On the road once more, Arcana had seen a warrior battling a troll and offered her help. In between swings of his sword, the warrior had laughed and waved her away, saying it was ‘only’ a troll. “Oh, to have such skill!” she had thought enviously.

Arcana entered the bank proper and sorted through her meager possessions in her bank vault.

“Hail,” a woman’s voice said.

Somewhat startled that anyone would take notice of her, Arcana turned and regarded the woman who introduced herself as Dinas Emry. She was a young woman, scarecely older than Arcana herself. She wore a deer mask and somewhat revealing, brightly colored leather armor. A pouch of reagents rested at her hip, marking the woman as a mage. From the antlers she wore on her head, Arcana suspected she was a druid. Though she had never seen one of the conservative, reclusive order dressed in such a strange fashion. The young mage smiled and motioned Arcana to join her, away from the crowd.

“You are new here,” Dinas said. It was not a question. Arcana nodded. Dinas looked her over in a somewhat motherly fashion. Arcana felt her face heat with embarrassment, for she wore battered leather armor of the poorest quality, some of it found by the side of the road. “Come to my home,” Dinas said at last. “I’d like you to meet someone.” With that, the young mage opened a glowing blue portal and hopped through. Arcana peered at the gate warily, trying to catch a glimpse of what lay on the other side. She’d heard tales of malicious mages who would gate unsuspecting travelers to horrible deaths. Arcana shrugged and plunged through the gate. No risk, no reward.

Arcana stumbled a bit and stepped out of the gate to find herself standing in front of a two-story stone shop amidst several other buildings in a forest clearing. She let out her breath, feeling slightly disappointed not to have been confronted by a horde of blood-thirsty monsters. Dinas was standing on the stairs and watching with some amusement.

“Come in and make yourself at home. I’ll go and fetch Amalia,” Dinas said and promptly disappeared into the house. Arcana peered around the small shop as she waited. She’d never been invited into someone’s house before. She had no money for an inn and had been sleeping in the woods on the outskirts of towns. Arcana didn’t have to wait long before Amalia made her appearance by running down the stairs and beating the holy hell out of a giant spider that was sneaking up on Arcana. Arcana had been rather wary of poisonous creatures since her fatal encounter with the lich and avoided giant spiders at all costs. Now she stared in open awe as the woman dispatched the fearsome beast with a few swings of her halberd.

“Big spider,” was the only comment Amalia offered as she wiped her weapon clean on the monster’s corpse that now lay on the doorstep. Arcana nodded dumbly and skirted the corpse warily; she thought it was still twitching. “Well, what’s your weapon skill?” Amalia asked impatiently, as if surprised that Arcana hadn’t brought up the subject already.

Arcana held out her weapons, all of them sadly battered. Amalia snatched them from her hands and began a businesslike inspection, muttering to herself as she did. Amalia sighted down the blunted edge of Arcana’s practice katana. “Well that’s useless,” she muttered and dropped the ‘weapon’ to the floor with a clang. Next she twirled a rusty viking sword that Arcana had found discarded in the forest. “Oh no, that won’t do at all. Much to heavy and slow.” The viking sword was summarily pitched into the trash barrel. Amalia gave a dented buckler shield a perfunctory inspection and then pitched it into the trash barrel as well. Finally, Amalia hefted Arcana’s prize possession – a silvered axe. It had been a gift from a mage named Ash who had helped her while she fought in the Moonglow city graveyard. Amalia nodded approvingly and handed the axe back to a stunned Arcana. “That one will do. Hang onto it.”

As Arcana slung the axe over her shoulder, Amalia had already turned away and was rummaging through some chests. Amalia was apparently not an organized woman, and odds and ends flew everywhere. “I know it’s in here somewhere,” she muttered irritably.

“Ah ha!” Amalia exclaimed after several minutes and pulled out a set of black-dyed studded armor. It was worn, but still in good repair. “Put this on,” Amalia instructed cheerfully and resumed rummaging. Arcana slipped the armor over her clothes and found it a good fit; it wasn’t too heavy and didn’t impede her movement the way metal armors did. Arcana looked up from inspecting herself just in time to catch a broadsword that Amalia had tossed at her. Amalia nodded approvingly at Arcana’s one-handed catch and then motioned her over to a cluttered shelf packed with runebooks.

“Do you have everything you need for a hunt?” Amalia inquired eagerly.

“Uh…” was all Arcana could manage, feeling at something of a loss.

“Bandages?”

“Um…”

“Nightsight potions?”

“What are those?”

Amalia threw her hands in the air and looked skyward, as if asking for some sort of divine intervention. Finding none forthcoming, Amalia hauled Arcana upstairs and sat her down at a spinning wheel and thrust a pile of wool into her lap. Despite her gruff manner, Amalia actually enjoyed teaching and was pleased with Arcana’s progress as she taught the girl to shear sheep, spin thread, weave her own cloth, and hunt for her own food. Over the next several weeks, she taught the girl the rudiments of healing and continued to work her strength and dexterity until Amalia felt she was at last ready… or ready enough.

Amalia held out a rune to the Dungeon Shame; she’d taught Arcana about runes and their associated spells a short while ago – Arcana could even manage a mark spell from a scroll. “You go first, but don’t go into the cave until I say. Stay close to me once we are in. If you are wounded and panic and run, I will not be able to protect you. My word is the law in there. Do exactly as I say at all times, and you will be safe,” Amalia instructed and smiled reassuringly. Arcana nodded. Her expression was serious, but she appeared more far excited than apprehensive.

Approximately five minutes later, Arcana found herself in a low, defensive crouch, ducking frantically from the heavy blows of an enraged earth elemental. The elemental lumbered in and raised its arm of solid rock, preparing to bash Arcana’s head in.

“Move in on it! Use your speed!” Amalia cried, issuing the latest in a steady stream of instructions.

Arcana rolled forward as the killing blow descended; the elemental hit nothing but air. She rolled right through the confused monster’s legs and came up swinging on the other side. She scored a viscious hit with her sword, landing it precisely in the joint between two stones in the conglomerate that made up the earth elemental. But the elemental was far from finished.

Arcana looked away from the earth elemental and beamed at Amalia. Amalia wasn’t smiling. Her arms were folded and she was tapping her foot. Arcana frowned in confusion and was crestfallen. Her face grew determined and she turned back to face the elemental – just in time to catch a blow from the enraged monster squarely in the chest.

The force of the blow sent her skidding across the rough stone floor and into a wall. “Get up! Shake it off!” Amalia called, sounding only mildly concerned. Arcana struggled to her feet, cringing at the feel of broken ribs and gasping to restore the air that had been forced from her lungs. Her sword suddenly felt much heavier.

She did her best to ignore the pain and advanced to attack. Her injuries slowed her down greatly, and Arcana took a blow on her unarmored head that nearly knocked her senseless. Amalia was shouting something at her… Arcana shook her head and tried to clear her blurring vision, but soon gave it up as hopeless. Unable to focus clearly, Arcana was suddenly more aware of the grinding noise of stone on stone the earth elemental made as it moved. She listened carefully and scored a few more hits, though she could not manage much strength behind them. Then Amalia was beside her, poulticing her wounds and quickly dispatching the elemental with well-placed blows from her halberd. In seconds, the elemental gave a groan of defeat and collapsed into a pile of rubble.

Arcana swayed on her feet, and Amalia put a steadying arm around her shoulders. “You did well,” she told the girl. “We’ll come back tomorrow, and you will do better,” Amalia added with a grin as she dug in her pack for the rune that would take them home.

***