The New Chronicles of the Venture Company

The Crystal that is a Sliver of Ice with Blood at its Heart

I will not forget. My memory shapes the crystal. The crystal holds my thoughts in reality.

The dragon has become ice. He was beautiful and proud in life; in death he retains some measure of his majesty. White ice, stained red. His mind was greater than mine. Blood and ice and cutting wind. I was prey; my mind cowered. I overcame him. I will not forget.

Blood stains the ground. Our dragon-on-two-legs and our striding tree spilled it. Our stonefriend brought each back, green light spilling from her quilled spirit in the heat of battle. Ice coated us, freezing, burning. He was nearly our death. I will remember.

The runes still glow. Faint, fading. Magic ahead of my skill, made simple. A transfer of energy from one weapon to the next. Our shadowling’s crossbow has changed beyond my expectation. My mind altered the magic, altered the weapon’s physical form. Where I go, none shall return. I have learned something valuable today.

Dark smears on the ice. The air shimmers faintly to my eyes. Aberrations. Abominations. Madness and feeding. Like my own gift, twisted. Their madness reached to me, tendrils of shadow. My mind did not touch theirs. My mind should not touch theirs. I will hold this realization for the future.

The crystal holds the shape of my memory.

I will not forget.



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