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A Dram of Dweomer
I raced along the forest trail towards the dark altar, seeing the leaves dotted with traces of blood from Laskuthur’s latest victim, hoping I could reach him before he sealed himself away again… But as I broke through the thick brush, I saw the rune-enforced stone slab descending over the altar, with just a hint of the evil one’s claws visible as the gap closed to all mortal effort. I heard his mocking voice in my mind’s ear.
“Again, Jeroum, you’re just a trifle too late, in keeping with all your efforts to annoy me. I am secure now, and you shall not have time to undo the sigils ere I translocate my corpus to a safer and more remote place… Though I shall enjoy watching you fumble about in frustration.”
For my part I spoke nothing, but pulled out a phial I’d prepared earlier. I marked an ancient oak that grew near the altar, gnarled by age and wind but still noble in its solidity. I bowed to the tree, offering it a deep apology, though necessarily a swift one.
Then I reached forward and grasped a low hanging limb. The power flowed in through the tight lingam fibers and I felt deeper into its past. The seasons flowed by like bubbles in a rushing river as I reached through the years and started to pull.
At first, little was visible, the leaves trembled and seemed to flicker, though they flashed so quickly from green to orange to dead brown that they still seemed an autumn jumble for a while. But then the twigs drew back, and limbs shrank towards the trunk, and its height diminished, the lofty top seeming to collapse down towards me.
And still the years poured into my arm and swelled there abuzzing, as the tree shrank to sapling and thence to a thin shoot in the earth that I was able to pull free with a yank. I turned and pressed the dirt-clotted root ball to the solid stone door.
And then, with great relief, I let the weight of those buzzing burdensome years back out of me.
The roots of the tiny sapling curled about, seeking purchase, and then found the tiniest crevices on the door. They squirmed in and burgeoned, swelling with purpose, and flakes of stone started to chip away. The roots gnarled and thickened as the seasons swarmed back through the oak, guiding it into a redirected destiny.
I heard him grunting within the altar, trapped in a coffin of his own design, but he could scarcely have prepared himself to resist an attack that in a sense began a hundred years ago. The bark turned rough and gray, the foliage surrounded me as I kept my grasp upon the rough limbs, and leaves swelled around me and acorns fell to the forest floor in a near constant rain. The ancient tree grew awry, for that it was anchored around an effective tomb, but it grew steadily nonetheless, as the sunshine of past years returned its nourishment to the sap.
And meanwhile the roots of time squirmed into every last crack in the altar, prising between joints sealed with mortar or demonic compact, relentless and implacable with the vegetable patience and persistence that beds the forest within the earth.
“Interesting, Jeroum, Suppose we say that you won this one? I have much to reveal should you choose to be reasonable. Would it surprise you to learn that your daughter still lives, that I can lead you to her? She abides with my agents, who even now hold her as guarantor of my safety… Jeroum, do you not heed me?”
I remembered his earlier promises, and knew beyond the hopes of my heart that there was no substance under his lies. I kept silent, bade the memory of my lovely child farewell and let the years flow as the mighty taproot finally split the slab with shards of granite flying, and pierced deep into the darkness below.
And when the wood sundered the vampire’s breast and entwined his withered ashen heart, that was when I heard the promises turn to pleading, to fear, to the desperate shrieks of a mortally wounded animal. I waited until all fell silent.
Then I knelt, under the spreading foliage of the rerooted oak, once again grown to venerable age. It was bent now by the altar stones and scarred by dark bands of evil enchantments… yet its leaves spread fair and green for all that.
“Again, Jeroum, you’re just a trifle too late, in keeping with all your efforts to annoy me. I am secure now, and you shall not have time to undo the sigils ere I translocate my corpus to a safer and more remote place… Though I shall enjoy watching you fumble about in frustration.”
For my part I spoke nothing, but pulled out a phial I’d prepared earlier. I marked an ancient oak that grew near the altar, gnarled by age and wind but still noble in its solidity. I bowed to the tree, offering it a deep apology, though necessarily a swift one.
Then I reached forward and grasped a low hanging limb. The power flowed in through the tight lingam fibers and I felt deeper into its past. The seasons flowed by like bubbles in a rushing river as I reached through the years and started to pull.
At first, little was visible, the leaves trembled and seemed to flicker, though they flashed so quickly from green to orange to dead brown that they still seemed an autumn jumble for a while. But then the twigs drew back, and limbs shrank towards the trunk, and its height diminished, the lofty top seeming to collapse down towards me.
And still the years poured into my arm and swelled there abuzzing, as the tree shrank to sapling and thence to a thin shoot in the earth that I was able to pull free with a yank. I turned and pressed the dirt-clotted root ball to the solid stone door.
And then, with great relief, I let the weight of those buzzing burdensome years back out of me.
The roots of the tiny sapling curled about, seeking purchase, and then found the tiniest crevices on the door. They squirmed in and burgeoned, swelling with purpose, and flakes of stone started to chip away. The roots gnarled and thickened as the seasons swarmed back through the oak, guiding it into a redirected destiny.
I heard him grunting within the altar, trapped in a coffin of his own design, but he could scarcely have prepared himself to resist an attack that in a sense began a hundred years ago. The bark turned rough and gray, the foliage surrounded me as I kept my grasp upon the rough limbs, and leaves swelled around me and acorns fell to the forest floor in a near constant rain. The ancient tree grew awry, for that it was anchored around an effective tomb, but it grew steadily nonetheless, as the sunshine of past years returned its nourishment to the sap.
And meanwhile the roots of time squirmed into every last crack in the altar, prising between joints sealed with mortar or demonic compact, relentless and implacable with the vegetable patience and persistence that beds the forest within the earth.
“Interesting, Jeroum, Suppose we say that you won this one? I have much to reveal should you choose to be reasonable. Would it surprise you to learn that your daughter still lives, that I can lead you to her? She abides with my agents, who even now hold her as guarantor of my safety… Jeroum, do you not heed me?”
I remembered his earlier promises, and knew beyond the hopes of my heart that there was no substance under his lies. I kept silent, bade the memory of my lovely child farewell and let the years flow as the mighty taproot finally split the slab with shards of granite flying, and pierced deep into the darkness below.
And when the wood sundered the vampire’s breast and entwined his withered ashen heart, that was when I heard the promises turn to pleading, to fear, to the desperate shrieks of a mortally wounded animal. I waited until all fell silent.
Then I knelt, under the spreading foliage of the rerooted oak, once again grown to venerable age. It was bent now by the altar stones and scarred by dark bands of evil enchantments… yet its leaves spread fair and green for all that.
Hm, interesting tale of a vampire hunter. I'm not sure it was a good idea to wait so late to introduce the motivation of Jeroum's daughter. Not that it really recontextualizes things, but that's kind of the point: you change what the context is, but that change doesn't end up mattering or draw me into the story any more. I was actually afraid it would be completely extraneous and open-ended, but you did conclude it. For that matter, why wait until so late to finally name him a vampire? For all that, I do appreciate that it comes to a neat ending. The only part of the writing itself I'd point out is this passage, where you had a lot of repetitive word choice—3 uses of "seem" in only a few sentences.
At first, little was visible, the leaves trembled and seemed to flicker, though they flashed so quickly from green to orange to dead brown that they still seemed an autumn jumble for a while. But then the twigs drew back, and limbs shrank towards the trunk, and its height diminished, the lofty top seeming to collapse down towards me.
Damn and this time I get to say "I agree with Pascoite". It's really a blast from the past for me tonight!
Author, this was really neat! Jeroum's voice is really well-defined as a single-minded hunter dead-set on a mission, and Laskuthur makes for a fun villain. Who doesn't love to see a villain taken down a notch or two by something they didn't see coming? The penultimate paragraph in particular is a delight. Is this moment a bit of an overdone trope? Yes. Because it's good entertainment. Obviously.
I must say though that I found some of the style choice, particularly the more archaic and floral aspects of the prose. I like the idea here, and it does help sell the fantasy elements in a way, and it works for a lot of the piece (especially Laskuthur's voice), but there's a few places where the prose seems to straddle the line of the archaic and the modern in a way that made me feel a little unstuck in time? "Abuzzing" was a particular offender for ending a clause that felt a little over the top, and having a bit of a softly poetic sound to it that almost hard threw me into a kind of lyrical headspace? And the following clause managed to combine "thence" and "with a yank", and at that point you'd kinda lost me for a bit, if I'm honest. I think the piece would benefit from a more consistently archaic voice, perhaps toning down the lyricism which feels at odds with the grim and determined attitude of Jeroum.
That said: loved the story here. Like I said on The Way of Water, I love a story with a protagonist blindsiding their antagonist, and while this story is a slower burn that takes the reader along for the ride with the aftermath I think it still very much presses those buttons for me. Pascoite's discussion of the pacing aside, I like that overall the piece kept a fairly relentless march forward, and that's part of why the voicing hit so well for me despite my issues with some of the wordings. And there's something really quite beautiful about this elegant solution to the problem of vampires: it's a story of, in a sense, both Nature and Time taking back something that typically is presented as opposed to them both. A poetic justice, as well as a cool way to overcome a difficult obstacle. The note of hope and beauty that the piece ends on is spot-on, and really sells that theme.
In conclusion: I liked this one too! The magic felt genuinely awe-inspiring, as good magic should, and the relief at defeating the villain was palpable - impressive, in the word limit. I'm very glad to have popped my head into the writeoff again 'cos this was a fun read. Now if you could kindly explain the title to me I'll be even happier, because I'm even more lost after googling Dweomer than I was before I looked it up 🥲
Author, this was really neat! Jeroum's voice is really well-defined as a single-minded hunter dead-set on a mission, and Laskuthur makes for a fun villain. Who doesn't love to see a villain taken down a notch or two by something they didn't see coming? The penultimate paragraph in particular is a delight. Is this moment a bit of an overdone trope? Yes. Because it's good entertainment. Obviously.
I must say though that I found some of the style choice, particularly the more archaic and floral aspects of the prose. I like the idea here, and it does help sell the fantasy elements in a way, and it works for a lot of the piece (especially Laskuthur's voice), but there's a few places where the prose seems to straddle the line of the archaic and the modern in a way that made me feel a little unstuck in time? "Abuzzing" was a particular offender for ending a clause that felt a little over the top, and having a bit of a softly poetic sound to it that almost hard threw me into a kind of lyrical headspace? And the following clause managed to combine "thence" and "with a yank", and at that point you'd kinda lost me for a bit, if I'm honest. I think the piece would benefit from a more consistently archaic voice, perhaps toning down the lyricism which feels at odds with the grim and determined attitude of Jeroum.
That said: loved the story here. Like I said on The Way of Water, I love a story with a protagonist blindsiding their antagonist, and while this story is a slower burn that takes the reader along for the ride with the aftermath I think it still very much presses those buttons for me. Pascoite's discussion of the pacing aside, I like that overall the piece kept a fairly relentless march forward, and that's part of why the voicing hit so well for me despite my issues with some of the wordings. And there's something really quite beautiful about this elegant solution to the problem of vampires: it's a story of, in a sense, both Nature and Time taking back something that typically is presented as opposed to them both. A poetic justice, as well as a cool way to overcome a difficult obstacle. The note of hope and beauty that the piece ends on is spot-on, and really sells that theme.
In conclusion: I liked this one too! The magic felt genuinely awe-inspiring, as good magic should, and the relief at defeating the villain was palpable - impressive, in the word limit. I'm very glad to have popped my head into the writeoff again 'cos this was a fun read. Now if you could kindly explain the title to me I'll be even happier, because I'm even more lost after googling Dweomer than I was before I looked it up 🥲