Tipping the Scale

The Prince of Magic (Part 1)

In the annals of history, few accounts have stirred as much intrigue as the discovery of the Vazul, a race dwelling in the most inaccessible heights known to mankind. Their settlements can be found more than thirty thousand feet above sea level within the Mountain Range of the Gods.

For countless generations, their existence was unknown, a secret guarded by the very geography that protected them. It was only the advancement of magic and the daring ambition of mountaineering adventurers that caused their discovery. As magic-assisted climbers set out to conquer these insurmountable peaks, they returned with tales of a civilization hidden in the snow-cloaked heights. Astonishingly, these isolated highland folk extended warm hospitality to the visitors, inviting them into their homes and offering aid to help facilitate their journey to the mountaintops.

The adventurers referred to them as the "Griffin Riders", inspired by their unique companions which resemble the griffin of Sihayan mythology. Majestic creatures with the forequarters of an eagle and the hindquarters of a lion. Their powerful wings giving them the ability to traverse the imposing mountainous terrain with ease.

It is theorized that the domestication of these animals might be the reason for the Vazul's extraordinary survival, as they must rely on periodic journeys to lower elevations for the gathering of food and material.

~ The History and Peoples of Magic by Sir Rainaldus Gale

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"Keep her still!"

Lidea tightened her hold on the patient, her struggles growing more frantic as she screamed incomprehensibly. Crystal's face pinched at the loud noise but didn't complain as she started treating her burn wounds. At every touch of the cooling gel, the patient's screaming grew louder as her pain-riddled brain couldn't distinguish the cold sensation from being burned again.

Her anguish was hard to listen to and made the other conscious patients in the room uneasy. No doubt, it didn't help with the suspicions Crystal's strange appearance had caused. More than one had already refused to be treated by her, something the healer hadn't contested. There were simply too many others to attend to, and time couldn't be wasted on unwilling patients.

All whose life wasn't in immediate danger had been stationed outside, cared for by any able-bodied individuals who had been roped into helping. Still, the infirmary was filled to the brim with patients in need of urgent care.

Upon her return to the shelter, Lidea had been utterly overwhelmed by the chaos that greeted her. The cavern was teeming with people. The wounded lay scattered throughout the space, and members of the resistance scurried about, doing their best to follow Crystal's orders.

The healer was in desperate need of help as she tried to both command others as well as help patients who were at risk of dying. The sight had urged Lidea to immediate action, leaving Warchief to organize the chaos in the cavern while helping Crystal work on patients inside of the infirmary.

She had been helping ever since, with no idea of how much time had passed. Her own hands trembled with exhaustion, and even Crystal had dark circles beneath her eyes.

They had started with the most dire cases. A solemn task as for many their efforts came far too late.

Lidea had to admire the healer's grim ability to assess who could still be saved and who should be granted the solace of a peaceful passing. Every death made her heart feel heavier but she didn't say anything. Knowing that there was nothing more they could do.

The woman they had been treating eased under her hands, likely due to the sleeping draught that the healer had injected. Releasing her grip, she rose in preparation to go to the following patient but Crystal gestured her to follow her instead. They entered the small, dimly lit side room, which served as Crystal's bedroom.