She never really understood why, but she’s always hated dolls. Unnatural interlocked joints, cold porcelain faces, dead, ever-staring eyes. It’s especially true now, as she stares with unwavering determination at a doll named Calcabrina, more a mountain than a plaything, all eerie giggles, horrific screams and heavy, sundering strikes that vibrate Enambris’ bruised arm through her shield. It’s a temporary replacement, the kite shield strapped to her injured left arm, made of iron and tempered well enough. But it’s not her shield, and so it feels alien.
Another monstrous swing strikes the flat of the kite and she skids back at least nine fulms, limbs buzzing from the impact. The heavy thwack and crack of a lance is just audible over haunted giggling, and beneath the unclothed horror that is Calcabrina she can just glimpse the practiced footwork of Molly Harlan, thrusting and stabbing and striking with such force that any normal doll would crack and splinter to pieces. There’s another awful shriek that splits the air, and the explosive force of fire paints the doll black; the void magic that calls the fire forth makes Enambris’ skin crawl from the reaction of faded burns that wind their way up her arms beneath her chain shirt and plated coat, a sickly sweet sensation that makes her stomach turn. Beside Mara she catches a glimpse of Serea, all concentration behind a staff glowing white.
The doll swipes again and Enambris misses the block. She feels the skin of her right cheek split wide open, a gash that shreds muscle and slices down her jaw and neck. Before her blood can begin to pour though, she feels the skin rejoin, stitching itself back together as though it had never been apart. As Serea’s white magic courses over and through her, she ignores the burns that ignite and protest the healing flow of aether. The thing is almost dead, just a little more punishment must she endure.
She misses what happens next in the tumult of battle. Enambris sets off a spark of her own aether, blinding the horror, but Molly hits the ground hard; the doll swings around hard and sends her skidding back again. Confusion, some panic, and the doll turns away from her, awful red eyes locked on Serea. She’s powerless to stop what happens next.
Another gut-wrenching scream rips the air and a flash of red washes over the pair of mages, standing steadfast side-by-side. Enambris tries to scream out in warning, but it’s too late, and the women’s eyes both turn faded and glossy. She pools her aether around her and watches, helpless to interfere. The doll’s attention is back on her once more but her gaze is fixed on the pair as they turn to face one another, staffs brandished. The hard, aetheric metal of her shelltron shield flares into being and Enambris throws her head back to laugh wildly as Mara and Serea strike each other with the blunts of their staffs, wholly but temporarily lost to reason.
This actually happened last night. I died laughing.
Roses and Ashes 