>>4679565

“Ah, here they are. Clean kills.” Arastro says, crouching down and picking up the pair of birds, holding them up for you to examine your handiwork. The tiny stones passed clean through the animals, blood staining their ruffled grey feathers on both sides, their eyes now lifeless and cold. Part of you feels the slightest pang of guilt looking at them... they’re sort of cute up close, or at least where before what did to them. Best to not linger on the thought, you’re a mercenary now and a slain pair of birds can’t be allowed to bother you.

A faint echoing crack sounds throughout the old ruin again, less sharp than that of your spell, and coming from the far side of one of the collapsed towers. There's a strange bleating noise at the same time, and then silence returns to the old ruins. This place used to be an imperial fortress of some kind, guarding the passes of the East Wall from foreign barbarians, but it's been overrun by wildlife for centuries, making an almost perfect hunting ground... And a rather interesting site of arcane history. Mages were more common in years past, and a ruin like this might still be home to secrets of some kind.

“Peter must’ve got that deer.” Arastro says, looking off in the direction of the noises. Quite the conclusion to draw from what little could be heard, but Arastro has years more experience with this than you; he's probably right.

>”Less work for us then. Come on, there’s something I want to see in the keep.” Search for the ancient mage’s chamber within the fortress, your curiosity is killing you.
>”We’ll see about that, I bet I’m still in the lead.” Head toward Peter’s position, its best to meet up every so often for safety.
>”Good, even more to bring back to camp then. There must still be some game around here somewhere...” Continue the hunt. This is foraging duty, not ruin exploration hour.
>Write-in.

>>4679568
>>”Less work for us then. Come on, there’s something I want to see in the keep.” Search for the ancient mage’s chamber within the fortress, your curiosity is killing you.

File: Frauke.pdf (85 KB, PDF)

85 KB PDF

Recap and quest admin:

You are Frauke, a young witch of considerable potential and one of many bearers of the mark of witches. Two years ago, your adoptive mentor Åse sent you away from her hidden island abode and out into the wider world to learn the secrets of magic firsthand. Armed only with Åse’s old grimoire and your mother’s manaruby pendant, you set out for adventure! ...But it’s been very slow going, and it turns out learning magic alone is hard.

Life as a wandering witch had begun to feel normal, but with early snow falls already beginning you chose to winter this year at your childhood village of Brokhof, staying with your uncle Tristan. Tragically, Brokhof was sacked by a savage mercenary band, the Boars, and you were forced to flee - And as it happened you fled directly toward another mercenary band, a small detachment from The Band of the Drakefang. You made a deal with the Drakes, joining their company for a year and a day in exchange for their help in rescuing the survivors of Brokhof, and the Drakes more than delivered on their end. The survivors were safely freed from the Boars, and escorted to the nearby town of Tordorf where they have been left under the care of the church. The church also attempted to thrust a pair of templars upon you to act as bodyguards and teachers during your travels in the east, but you refused the offer.

The road to Tordorf was not without event, marking perhaps the strangest encounter of your life. Gazing toward the sky from the rear of a wagon, you noticed the distant silhouette of a winged creature high among the clouds, and it noticed you in return. What followed was unsettling. The creature projected a message directly into your mind, a prophecy foretelling of tremendous suffering yet to come, and commanding you to ”SEEK THE CHILD!”.

Of course it didn’t stop to explain the finer details before disappearing, the bastard, so you’ve been left pondering what exactly any of it meant…

Tordorf is now days behind you, and currently you’re travelling through the East Wall, the ancient mountain range which separates central Teutsland from the old eastern imperial territories. Most of the Drakes have grown accustomed to your presence on the march east, and despite your small stature you’re an experienced enough traveler to not burden the party overmuch; if anything your magic is speeding the journey along significantly, stuck wagons easily freed with spells of earth and control.

But all is not well, the old ruins common throughout the East Wall are home to opportunistic brigand bands and man eating dire beasts, and rumors speak of far worse than simple bandits or wolves lurking within the ancient mountain range...

Previous Thread: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/4612320/
Longer Story Summary: https://pastebin.com/eDn5D64V
Pic related is Frauke’s character sheet.

>>4679568
>”Less work for us then. Come on, there’s something I want to see in the keep.” Search for the ancient mage’s chamber within the fortress, your curiosity is killing you.
yasss, it's back!

>>4679568
>>”We’ll see about that, I bet I’m still in the lead.” Head toward Peter’s position, its best to meet up every so often for safety.

>>4679568
>>”Less work for us then. Come on, there’s something I want to see in the keep.” Search for the ancient mage’s chamber within the fortress, your curiosity is killing you.

File: Ruins.jpg (110 KB, 1200x551)

110 KB JPG

>>4680930
>>4680226
>>4679575

“Less work for us then. Come on, there’s something I want to see in the keep.” You say, looking off toward the vast grey bulk of the keep, a squat pile of rubble at the center of the ruined fortress walls. It was a grand building once, but centuries of weathering and hard freezes have reduced it to a depressing mass of frost covered stone.

“Have something particular in mind?” Arastro asks idly while setting about field dressing the birds with his knife.

“I do. A fortress like this probably had a resident mage, once upon a time.” You say, your eyes fixed on the keep. It isn’t hard to imagine it in its glory days, towering above the surrounding walls and abuzz with the movement of Imperial legionaries.

“Think there’s anything left after so long? This place has definitely seen better days.” Arastro says, continuing his work with practiced ease even in the numbing cold.

You adjust your scarf and consider the question absentmindedly for a few moments, your attention stuck on the keep and its peculiar weathered features, “...Maybe. I’ve never seen one out in the wild, but Imperial mages liked to keep engraved casting circles in their chambers. If anything is left, that would be it.”

“I vaguely remember something about those, in one of Grond’s treatises, On Configurations I think...” Arastro says, trailing off as he finishes securing the birds in his bag.

The mention of Grond snaps you back to the present, a smile spreading across your face at Arastro’s mention of the ancient mage, “Well, look at you, monk. You really do know the classics... for whatever they’re worth, anyways. On Configurations is one of the better ones.”

Arastro shrugs, standing up and moving alongside you, “I haven’t forgotten it all quite yet. What do you mean by casting circles ‘in the wild’ though?”

You start walking toward the keep, snow crunching under your feet as you cross the nearly empty grounds, only a few pillars and bare foundations left of the fortresses’ lesser buildings in this section, “My mentor has a few circles of Imperial vintage, plucked right out of old ruins… I think, anyways. They might have been replicas, we made a few together.”

“You can carve?” He questions.

You look up, tilting your hat’s wide brim to get a clear view of Arastro’s face, “Earth magic, Arastro.”

>>4680982

“Right, of course. Imagining you with a hammer and chisel didn’t seem right anyways.” He says a little wryly, stopping as you both come upon a stone arch holding up a section of the keep even after centuries without maintenance. Beyond, the darkness of the ruined keep’s interior looms.

“Huh? What’s that supposed… ah, nevermind, I think this is the best entrance we’ll find. I’ll make a light.” You shake your head, not knowing what to make of Arastro’s comments sometimes, and whisper a simple spell as you focus your thoughts and visualize the desired result. Ethereal geometric patterns coax the mana flowing within your staff to a brilliant and flaring blue orb, ”Vezarko.”

>-3 MP

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Arastro questions, eyeing the burning ensorcellment with mild suspicion.

“Just think of it as a torch, don’t touch the pretty light and you’ll be fine. Come on, it won’t last forever.” You tease, moving ahead into the darkness, wavering blue light casting deep shadows as it illuminates the long abandoned hallway. There are strange lumps along the base of the walls to either side.

“Resist my inner moth, got it.” Arastro says with a chuckle, “What would I ever do without your sage counsel?”

“Hey, you’re the one that asked…” Your voice trails off as your mind finally registers what you’re looking at in the hallways. Corpses. Nearly a dozen of them. Ancient decayed skeletons trapped in armor long ago rusted to little more than clumps of reddish dust. Elongated red stains on the floor mark where swords fell from their hands, the blades now entirely gone.

“Moon and sun… It’s like they just collapsed all at once.” Arastro whispers in shock.

“That's because they probably did. The fall was…” You hesitate a moment, recalling what little you managed to beg Åse to tell you years ago, “...bad. The spells should have worn off centuries ago though. There’s no telling what's still in here. It doesn’t look picked over.”

Arastro sets his crossbow down on the stone floor and draws his longsword, “No telling what’s in here?”

You give a small nod in response. A sword probably isn’t needed, but it never hurts to be safe.

>Inspect the ancient corpses more closely.
>Carry on into the ruined keep. The keep not having been picked over yet is very promising, many artifacts might remain.
>Wait, why hasn’t the keep been picked clean? Pull back, this is a little too spooky.
>Write-in.

>>4680988
>Carry on into the ruined keep. The keep not having been picked over yet is very promising, many artifacts might remain.

>>4680988
>>Inspect the ancient corpses more closely.

>>4680988
>Inspect the ancient corpses more closely
Could tell us if we need to be on guard.

>>4680988
>>Inspect the ancient corpses more closely.

>>4681004
>>4681052
>>4681096

“Watch the hallway for a moment. I want to take a closer look at these bodies...” You mutter, nearly lost in your own thoughts.

“Take your time, I’d rather know what happened than move in blindly. Poor bastards...” Arastro answers, briefly glancing toward the ancient remains with a solemn look.

You cautiously approach one of the fallen Imperial soldiers, your staff held closely with both hands. The light from the mana orb continues to cast the area in a pale blue-white hue as you crouch down by the ancient skeleton, getting a better view of what little is left of his bones and rusted away plate armor. There really isn’t much left, it’s little more than a pile of bones kept in a vaguely human shape by the rusted scraps of armor.

Whatever did this took him off guard, and after all these years he’s still laying on his side with an arm outstretched toward a reddish stain on the stone floor. That must’ve been his sword once. Nobody came back to bury him. Nobody came back for any of these men from the looks of things, not even thieves looking to loot the place; the swords would surely have been taken. A shudder runs through you at the thought. The East Wall isn’t heavily populated, but surely someone has been here in the last thousand years...

Pondering what could have caused this, you look over the body for clues. You’re not a physician, and the light from your staff isn’t the brightest or positioned all that well, but there don’t look to have been any traumatic wounds on the corpse. Nothing obvious at least, like torn armor and severed limbs or crushed skulls and helmets. No, it’s as you first suspected, ancient spellwork.

Even if you could cast a spell of detection, the residue of the ancient magic would be long gone. All you have are faded clues to work off of, and what little Åse told you of the fall. Rituals gone horribly wrong, poisoned mists employed en masse by armies… Regardless of the exact cause of these soldier's deaths, it wasn’t recent, and it wasn't done by magic you'd discuss in polite company.

Moving to the other bodies, you inspect them in turn hoping to find new evidence. Each scene is depressingly similar. The soldiers fell suddenly and without sign of struggle, the nearly uniform spacing and forward orientation of the bodies leading you to conclude they were moving in ranks and not a simple crowd. None looked back, there were all headed to the doorway. With swords drawn there must have been trouble, and… oh, now what’s this?

The rearmost body, wearing slightly different armor, has something clutched in the pile of bones that used to be its right hand. A small silver whistle in the shape of a dragon, gleaming brightly in the light of the mana orb. It’s untarnished, and bears a pair of runes you recognize…

Nkal; communicate. Suhr; spirit.

>Reach out and take the whistle.
>Leave it where it lies and move on.
>Write-in.

>>4681185
>Reach out and take the whistle.
Do we know if curses prock on skin contact? If they do, pick it up with a cloth just in case.

>>4681185
>Reach out and take the whistle.

>>4681185
>>Reach out and take the whistle.

>>4681185
>>Reach out and take the whistle.
>Nkal; communicate. Suhr; spirit.

cool, maybe we can ask their ghosts why they were here

>>4681185
>Reach out and take the whistle.

>>4681185
>>Leave it where it lies and move on.

>>4681250
>>4681359
>>4681533
>>4681603
>>4681608

You reach out with one hand, delicately removing the silver whistle from its resting place among the skeleton’s finger bones. It’s frightfully cold to the touch, not that surprising in this weather, and you pull your hand back into the sleeve of your robe as protection to handle the whistle more comfortably. It’s about the length of your index finger and crafted to resemble a dragon’s head, a small mouthpiece jutting from the base of the head and the nostrils flaring slightly into openings; it’s clearly a whistle, no doubt about that at least… But the runes and lack of tarnish, those speak to enchantment of some kind.

You spin the whistle about, rotating it carefully in your cloth covered hand, examining the runes as best you can in the light cast by your staff. Nkal and Suhr. They’re engraved on both sides of the dragon’s head in a delicate black font, running along its slightly puffed out cheeks. The runes stand out starkly from the base silver by some unknown means, acid etching perhaps. It’s pretty, but its exact purpose remains a mystery.

“Found something?” Arastro asks, breaking his silence while continuing to stand guard.

“A whistle. Here, look.” You say, standing and showing him what you’ve found.

He looks it over with great interest, lowering his sword slightly as his attention focuses on the trinket, “...Is it enchanted? I’ve haven't seen anything like it, even among Lussan’s collection.”

You nod, “I think so. The runes indicate it was used to communicate with spirits somehow, but how narrow or broad of a spell it is I can’t say, and there might have been more words involved - From what I’ve been taught, it isn’t necessary to carve any at all, if secrecy is important enough.”

“So you have no idea what it does?”

“Not no idea, but I can't know for sure without using it.” You grumble, turning the silver whistle over again in your robe covered hand. What does it do? Curiosity is burning away at you.

Arastro looks about at the skeletons laying in the hallways, his expression growing uncertain, “You’re not going to use it, right? This isn’t exactly a place of peaceful rest for the dead.”

“They'd have faded into the astral world long, long ago… Spirits might not be my area of expertise, but using old magic is.”

>Blow the whistle and power it with some mana, see what it does.
>Place the whistle in your satchel and move onto the rest of the keep. You can investigate it later.
>Write-in.

>>4681185
Pick up the whistle, but don't touch it with our bare hands until we know it's not cursed.

>>4682007
>Blow the whistle and power it with some mana, see what it does.

>>4682007
>Place the whistle in your satchel and move onto the rest of the keep. You can investigate it later.
Let's not mess with enchanted items willy nilly when we don't even know what they do.

>>4682007
>>Place the whistle in your satchel and move onto the rest of the keep. You can investigate it later.
nerves got to me

>>4682136
>>4682371

“...That being said, maybe you’re right. An abandoned ruin isn’t a great place to experiment.” You tuck the whistle away in your leather satchel for later inspection.

Arastro sighs in relief, “Moon be praised, I really thought you were going to use it for a moment there.”

“It scares you that badly?” You ask, taking up a position beside the mercenary and extending your staff forward to burn away the darkness shrouding the chilly stone hallway. It splits off up ahead, the archways of an intersection still holding strong even with most of the ancient building’s upper levels long collapsed. Cobwebs cling to the walls and ceiling, spiders at least having made the fortress into a home after the Empire abandoned it; hopefully that’s all there is.

“No, it’s not that it scares me, Frauke. I've always wanted to be able to practice magic, or be around someone who could so I could at least learn more, but it was just a distant sort of daydream. Now that it’s a reality…” Arastro chooses his words carefully, lowering his voice as you slowly walk deeper into the ruined keep, both on the lookout for trouble, “Well, there are practical concerns, you know? If that whistle called an angry spirit to us, could I fight it off? Do swords even work on them?”

“Astral beings have to materialize in some way to affect our world, a sword would work fine. I think, anyways. Are you familiar with the overlap of leylines in our world and the astral?”

Arastro shakes his head and comes to a halt, examining the split in the hallways before you, both are equally shrouded in darkness, “...No, I’d remember something like that. Right or left?”

You pick at random, and continue your explanation, “Right. The lines exist simultaneously in both worlds, not identical copies but the same lines. We’re similar, a portion of our being is spirit but we’re, arguably, natives of the material world. Our presence in the astral world becomes nearly total upon death, but in life it can be enhanced through spells, projections, or even simple meditation.”

“Meditation? What, like you do in the mornings?” Arastro asks, stopping by a doorway leading to a larger chamber.

You extend your staff to illuminate the new room in pale blue hues, stepping through a long ago rotted away door and into the half collapsed room, “No, not like that, more- Wait a second, are you… do you watch me in the mornings?”

>>4682924

Arastro follows you in, and you both set about examining the area, a small gloomy temple of some kind, “It’s hard to miss. You wander off with your grimoire and go into a trance almost. Makes you useless for helping pack up the camp most days.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I hadn’t really considered what it looks like for others.” You respond, not entirely convinced by his answer. You haven’t given it much thought though, perhaps it really does look odd. In the past you’ve always been able to seclude yourself in the mornings, but travel through mountainous wilds hasn’t left you much of a chance for privacy beyond the bare minimum for your dignity.

“You were explaining something about spirits?” Arastro prods, crouching down by a toppled stone altar and inspecting a small metallic object. Empty stone pews stand near him, waiting for a congregation that will never come; in the dim light cast by your staff it’s haunting. Not hauntingly beautiful, just plain old skin-crawlingly unsettling.

“...Before you interrupted me, I was, yes. Beings of the physical world can increase their presence in the astral. Sometimes it’s as a disembodied projection, I’ve done that before with my mentor, but with some methods you never leave your body… it’s just a simultaneous perception. Both worlds are reality at the same time, adding detail but also allowing physical interactions and travel which don't track fully with material reality. I don’t know how to do that at all, or to project even. I only know that they’re possible.” You try to ignore the statues lining the sides of the old temple in stone cutouts, their faces staring outward with cold, shadowed expressions in the dim light, almost as if they know you’re an unwelcome intruder.

Arastro stands up, placing whatever he was looking at back on the toppled altar. He seems to be following along with your impromptu lecture without issue, an aptitude you’ve grown used to over the last few days, “So spirits do the same but going the other way? That sounds similar to how the catechisms describe it, in some parts at least.”

“Yes, more or less. That’s why a sword would still cut them, our world would become as real for them as it is for us. What were you just looking at?”

>>4682929

“An old holy symbol.” He picks the object back up, and holds it out into the light for you to see more closely. It's a small silver lion’s head, its mane flared out almost like the rays of a stylized sun. The metal is heavily tarnished, turned a corroded brownish color.

“Oh. It looks odd.” You comment, a little disappointed by the find. Another enchanted artifact would’ve been far more interesting than a corroded holy icon.

“It is odd.” Arastro echoes, “I’ve never heard of a lion faced sun before, but it's clearly a solar icon. The number of rays are the same as modern ones.”

“...I’ll take your word for it. Planning on keeping it?” You ask, turning around a bit to scan across the pew filled chamber. It feels almost as if you’re being watched, but nothing is there. You try to shake the feeling off, with limited success.

Arastro sets the icon down once again and turns toward the exit, “No, I won’t loot a church, not even a half heathen one like this. Lets move on.”

You nod, heading toward the rotten out doorway and past the unnerving statues again, “Lets. The mages chamber should be nearby.”

“What makes you think that?” Arastro questions, leading you back toward the right

“The right side had the keep’s temple, so it stands to reason that the left would have the mage’s chamber.”

That gets a small chuckle from him, “I’m not sure that makes sense, Frauke, but okay.”

“What? No, it makes perfect sense, witches…” You trail off, having a difficult time articulating why exactly it makes so much sense to you. It just feels correct.

...And sure enough, it is correct. At the end of the long left-side hallway lies a circular stone barrier about three meters in diameter, its surface inscribed with intricate overlapping runic circles and complex thaumaturgic patterns; an Orellian portal. It’s a spell-locked puzzle door, only openable by mages that know or can decipher the correct combination of mana inputs to power its enchantment.

It’s an old Imperial pattern, which makes sense given your surroundings, and one which you know extremely well; Åse had a portal just like this that she forced you to train on constantly, hundreds of hours worth of grueling lessons on how to utilize complex pre-shift spells. At the time it seemed like it was just a nifty practice piece, but perhaps not…

This should only take a few seconds to open the door, assuming the normal pattern hasn’t been badly scrambled.

>Quickly input the correct mana charges, tapping out the rune order almost by memory alone. No reason to waste time, this place gives you a bad feeling.
>Check over the door’s patterns more closely. It isn’t as if you’re pressed for time, you aren’t expected back at camp for another hour at least and the keep seems to be empty.
>Write-in.

>>4682938
>“What makes you think that?” Arastro questions, leading you back toward the right

This should read: “What makes you think that?” Arastro questions, leading you back toward the intersection.

>>4682938
>Check over the door’s patterns more closely. It isn’t as if you’re pressed for time, you aren’t expected back at camp for another hour at least and the keep seems to be empty.
Check for any traps that could go off if we put in the wrong inputs too. No need to rush things and get ourselves killed.

>>4682938
>>Check over the door’s patterns more closely. It isn’t as if you’re pressed for time, you aren’t expected back at camp for another hour at least and the keep seems to be empty.

>>4682952
+1

>>4682938
>>Check over the door’s patterns more closely. It isn’t as if you’re pressed for time, you aren’t expected back at camp for another hour at least and the keep seems to be empty.

>>4682952
>>4682964
>>4682978
>>4683242

You approach the sealed Orellian portal, reaching out with a delicate hand and tracing the ancient spell wrought lines of the stone. It’s cold to the touch, but you ignore the mild discomfort and carry on, handing your staff off to Arastro so he can handle the light while you work.

There’s no mana fueled pulse of self-powered enchantment, no faint tingling or buzz at your fingertips that such things normally cause, so it’s unlikely any automatic traps were worked into the spellwork. That still leaves the more fiendish possibility that door uses an unwitting mage’s own power against them, and unfortunately that’s the default for these things.

You make a frustrated little noise, stepping back from the stone door and looking at it in its entirety once more, “Hmph.”

“Something wrong with it?” Arastro asks, offering you your staff back. You wave it away, it’s best if both of your hands are free for this type of work.

“No, nothing at all. I’ve opened a portal exactly like this one dozens of times.” You say, still examining the patterns of the doors.

“Well, that sounds like good news to me." He answers, looking you over briefly, "You’re nervous though.”

“A little.” You admit, “If I’m wrong about how to open it, if something subtle was changed, it’s going to do far worse than a little training shock.”

“Training shock?” He questions.

“Lightning, but very small.” You explain. Electricity is a bit of an esoteric topic, even for someone as studious as Arastro.

He catches on quickly though, “...and I suppose this wouldn’t be small? Figures.”

You let out a small nervous laugh, not liking the thought of dying in a dreary abandoned ruin like this, “Not at all, no. I’m going to check the spell formulae to be sure. This will take a few minutes. Just move the light around as I ask, okay? It’ll help a lot.”

“Of course.”

With that you set to work, untying the red protective knot of your satchel’s main compartment and removing your grimoire from within. Unclasping the silver rose holding its cover shut, you flip the huge old spell book open to its section on Orellian portals. There are only a few pages treating the subject, but they deal with precisely this variant; even with the spells memorized, it’s good to have a reference to check against. The whole point of this is safety, may as well take all the precautions you can.

>>4683416

It’s tedious work, checking and rechecking each line and angle, deciphering the meanings of the movement spells and distinguishing them from false security warding. The entire mechanism is genius really, redundant and designed to thwart brute force openings with spells of earth movement or magic destruction, while still able to handle more subtle interference such as attempts to carve new lines to alter the meanings of key spells. The mana powering the spells to move or alter the stone would be the very thing that activated its defenses and mana reservoirs, the result of complex siphoning and reflection warding.

Trying to destroy the enchantment directly would be very difficult due to its permanence and multifaceted nature, not to mention extremely loud and explosive. It's not something you want to be around when it happens, the energy of the blast would be channeled right down this hallway and away from the mage’s chamber. Simply blowing it apart from a distance could work, and so would using muscle powered tools such as picks and hammers, but no defense is perfect and it would still require enormous effort on the attackers part. More complex portals integrate steel plating and self-powered enchantments to thwart such attempts, and even spirits bound as guardians. Thankfully this one isn’t nearly so heavily defended.

No, as you finish up your calculations and checks you’re sure this door is exactly as you suspected, lacking any additional traps or tampered spells. You take your staff back from Arastro and tap out the familiar pattern, channeling mana through the length of oak to power each spell in turn with the correct magical charge. Pale blue light appears at each contact point and spreads across the geometric patterns of the door like growing tendrils, brightening where it connects with other lines of light and splitting off to fill out yet more of the detailed surface. Several patterns remain completely dull and unlit, the security warding you took painstaking efforts to avoid. The door rolls open with a hiss of released stale air, sliding into a hidden cubby in the wall to its left. Perfect work.

>>4683424

>-3 MP.

Beyond lies the mage’s chamber, enchanted blue crystal lamps brightly illuminating the high ceilinged domed room in defiance of the passage of time. Several oddly curving tables covered in strange curia fill the area, and the walls all are almost totally covered in tall wooden shelves with colorfully bound books that remain neatly organized just as they must have been a thousand years ago. Golden bird cages hang from the ceiling on silver chains, a long rolling ladder propped against one wall presumably the means of accessing them. Unopened crates and chests litter the room, some in neat stacks while other rest on or near tables. Even a few plants remain alive, nurtured by enchanted planters or perhaps being some type of bound astral flora. Almost directly ahead of you an archway leads to a downward spiral flight of stairs; it probably leads to the casting circles, or maybe the mage’s bedchamber.

Arastro freezes up and barely manages an awestruck, “Wow.”

Used to such things, you just walk right in, feeling incredibly at home in the chambers. It reminds you a great deal of Åse’s tower. Not quite the same sense of interior decoration or organization, a little too chaotic for her tastes, but absolutely the work of one of your kind. It’s the sort of place you could happily get lost in for weeks or months, the exact type of thing you’ve been searching out for two years.

You have less than an hour until you’re expected back.

And of course there’s still the question of what destroyed the fortress, and why the mage’s chamber managed to be sealed despite the soldiers outside being taken by surprise. Not a comforting line of thinking…

>Check the bookshelves, look for titles you don’t recognize and start making a pile.
>Scour over the tables. What are all of these objects? Are they enchanted? What do they do?
>Open some of the chests and crates, if they’re sealed they must be more important, right?
>Anything still in those cages up there? Climb the ladder and check.
>Check down the stairs, you came looking for a casting circle and that’s probably where one is.
>Write-in.

>>4683426
>>Check the bookshelves, look for titles you don’t recognize and start making a pile.

>>4683426
>Check the bookshelves, look for titles you don’t recognize and start making a pile.

>>4683426
>>Check the bookshelves, look for titles you don’t recognize and start making a pile.

>>4683426
>Open some of the chests and crates, if they’re sealed they must be more important, right?

>>4683454
>>4683545
>>4683606

You have to restrain yourself from running directly toward the bookshelves, settling instead for a dignified if suspiciously quick walk. Brushing past the tables and chests, you plant yourself firmly before the first shelf and set about your very scholarly and not at all excited impromptu cataloguing. What ancient secrets could these hold?

Thoughts of just how unsettling the ruined fortress is melt away from your mind, the comforting familiarity of the well stocked arcane study putting you at ease; it reminds you of happier times, almost like you’ve returned to the misty island. You haven’t, of course, and the bodies of long dead soldiers still lie outside in a dreary frozen ruin, but none of that matters right now...

It’s making you giddy just looking at all the books, their colorful spines and covers have been kept in beautiful condition by the Orellian portal’s seal on the chamber. They hardly looked aged at all. Where to start though, where to start? You make an embarrassing little noise of scholarly interest, and carefully pull the first book from its millennium long slumber.

Herminia On Thaumatological Ciphers. Interesting. Probably retreads ground you’re familiar with, but it’s worth a read. You set it aside and move onto the next, skipping several copies of classic treatises by Marcitus. They’re probably immensely valuable, but you’re here for magic and not money and you’ve read everything of worth Marcitus ever wrote, so they can continue their rest for now. The next few new books though are quickly added to the pile.

Secrets of the Human Body. You open the book to about halfway through, and immediately turn red upon seeing the first illustration, a very detailed moving image of a pair of young… Well, the rest of the book is useful for your current studies of the Body at least. Yes, it will be positively vital for academic research. You glance about to make sure Arastro didn’t see, wanting desperately to avoid that particular conversation, and add the book to the pile.

Mana Geysers and Cascades. Oh, now that really is something. Detailed information about leyline conditions preceding the shift is always fascinating, and immensely difficult to come by. Onto the stack it goes.

On the Care of Dragons. Probably not useful for spells, but it fits the company name and Lussan might like it from what you’ve heard about him. One more for the pile, and soon joined by half a dozen others as you just keep finding promising titles...

>>4683891

At some point Arastro wandered in closer behind you, setting about his own exploration of the room in relative silence, only occasionally asking you to identify a few objects as he searches through a few of the steel-bound chests nearby. You continue your hunt for tomes, leaving him about his own business for now.

A Theory of Spell Harmonics. Huh. You’ve never even heard of spell harmonics before. This is absolutely a keeper. You set it aside, but realize that the pile of tomes you wish to take back with you is rapidly growing to an unmanageable level. How are they even going to be carried back to camp?

You grumble to yourself, not wanting to leave any of it. The chamber could be resealed and you could come back at a later time, but it just doesn’t feel right to abandon so much knowledge…

>Search a little longer and pick one last book to take back. (Initiates a vote)
>See what Arastro’s found, he’s climbed up on the ladder now and seems preoccupied with one of the golden cages. Is he talking to something?
>Head down to the stairs to explore the rest of the mage’s chambers. Casting circles await! Probably.
>Write-in.

>>4683902
>See what Arastro’s found, he’s climbed up on the ladder now and seems preoccupied with one of the golden cages. Is he talking to something?

>>4683902
>>See what Arastro’s found, he’s climbed up on the ladder now and seems preoccupied with one of the golden cages. Is he talking to something?

>>4683902
>>See what Arastro’s found, he’s climbed up on the ladder now and seems preoccupied with one of the golden cages. Is he talking to something?

>>4683902
How many of the books have we checked, and how many of those stood out? If most of them are just old editions of stuff we've already read, we might be able to get the Drakes interested in helping us clear it out by letting them resell most of the books.

>>4683960
Frauke has looked over about 3/4ths of the books, and of those the vast majority are ones she's ready before or has been actively discouraged from reading by Åse due to them containing particularly bad misinformation. Just because somebody wrote something down doesn't make it true, age just gives a veneer of authority to utter nonsense sometimes.

There's currently a pile of a little over a dozen books Frauke wants to take, all of which are rather large and heavy. You could bludgeon an ogre to death with a few of them, they're very bulky.

Trying to take some of the already read stuff for resale is definitely possible, though the few wagons the Drakes have are already loaded down pretty heavily with provisions for crossing the mountains; a lot of books are going to have to be left behind, but if could probably turn a tidy profit if a buyer is located. Most traders/nobles won't have any interest in arcane tomes, but those that do are usually quite wealthy.

>>4683919
>>4683922
>>4683927
Writing.

>>4683919
>>4683922
>>4683927

You look at the decorated bookshelves and sigh, wishing again that it could all come with you. Sometimes things aren’t meant to be, but if the other Drakes bring the wagons to the ruined fortress you might be able to take a few more. They could even turn a tidy profit. Coin isn’t a particular interest of yours, most things of arcane relevance are found or made and not bought, but as a newly minted mercenary you’ve already come to see coins more mundane benefits; A well fed company is a happy company, and running a campaign can’t possibly be cheap.

Tucking those thoughts away for now, you turn your attention toward Arastro and strange preoccupation with one of the golden cages dangling by a chain from the dome d ceiling. He’s standing atop the higher rungs of the moveable ladder, leaning toward the cage and… talking?

Yes, you can’t quite make out what he’s saying, but he’s definitely whispering something. Could there still be something left in the cage? Surely a bird would have died long, long ago… But looking around the chamber at the still living plants sends a little jolt of doubt through you. Has some poor creature been trapped here for so long?

“Arastro, what is it up there?” You call out, staring up at him as he tries to open the cage’s tiny locked door.

Arastro wobbles slightly on the old ladder as he pulls away from the cage, but quickly finds his balance again and looks to you with a confused expression, “...It’s a tiny person, Frauke. She’s breathing, barely, but won’t wake up. Almost missed that she was in there.”

“A tiny person… Does she have wings?” You ask, growing more concerned.

“Yes, why?”

“How about a flower for hair?” You question further, fearing the likely answer.

“...Sort of, I haven’t seen one like it before though. Think she’s a spirit?”

You wince at the question, hoping the spirit hasn’t gone completely mad in isolation, “it has to be, the poor thing. A sprite or... something, I’m not the best with spirits. Can you lower the cage?”

“...No, I don’t see a mechanism or latch, the chain link is solid. Here, just climb up.” Arastro offers, sliding down the ladder at an alarming speed.

>>4684215

You begin climbing, moving far more cautiously than Arastro did, and soon you’re at eye level with the golden cage. It looks to be a repurposed bird cage of some kind, but with slightly tighter bars…

Lying within it is a pale, tiny woman, with long pointed ears and diaphanous insect-like wings. In place of hair, her head is crowned with a few long, almost fluffy looking white flower petals; very much like an edelweiss. At a greater distance they could easily be mistaken for long, flowing hair. She’s clad in a simple and clinging mossy white frock which matches her hair, and she's curled up at the far edge of the cave, eyes shut and breathing extremely shallow. At most she’s as little taller than your hand and forearm.

Looking about at the other cages, you spot a number of tiny skeletons. It’s hard to tell what left them at this distance, they might have been simple animals.

>”Hello? Are you alive in there?”
>Just focus on opening the cage, use an earth spell to force the lock if necessary.
>Examine the cage more closely, it doesn’t appear to be warded but it's holding a spirit captive somehow…
>Write-in.

>>4684221
>Examine the cage more closely, it doesn’t appear to be warded but it's holding a spirit captive somehow…

>>4684056
Might I make a suggestion we seal this place back up if we can to preserve whatever is left behind.

>>4684454
Resealing the chamber would be very easy, only taking a bit of mana and a few seconds.

>>4684221
>Just focus on opening the cage, use an earth spell to force the lock if necessary.

We know they are fairly harmless right?

>>4684221
>Examine the cage more closely, it doesn’t appear to be warded but it's holding a spirit captive somehow…
She's been fine for this long, she'll can wait a bit longer while we study the cage before breaking it.

File: Dulac.jpg (279 KB, 900x1249)

279 KB JPG

>>4684638
Yes.

>>4684221
>>Examine the cage more closely, it doesn’t appear to be warded but it's holding a spirit captive somehow…
If it's locked then there's probably a good reason for it

>>4684221
>Examine the cage more closely, it doesn’t appear to be warded but it's holding a spirit captive somehow…
Still need to read through everything but want to participate.

>>4684281
>>4684642
>>4684756
>>4684801

Some of the unease you felt whilst outside of the mage’s chamber returns, a little whispering voice of fear reminding you of how dangerous it can be to poke around another mage’s possessions, how spells can be hidden in the strangest places sometimes.

Getting your wits about you, you take a moment to steady yourself on the ladder with one hand and lean forward to examine the hanging golden cage more closely. There aren’t any obvious runes or geometric patterning to indicate an enchantment, but such focus aids aren’t strictly necessary and their absence isn’t conclusive. Arastro suffered no ill effects touching the cage, so you take the risk and reach out to brush your fingers lighting against its thin bars. There’s no pulse or buzz of mana, just cold metal.

Is it really just a fancy birdcage? Surely a spirit could have escaped such a contraption, physical objects exist in the astral world but their dimensions aren’t quite as definite, and she should be able to just step out with a bit of effort. It isn’t as if it’s a solid wall… Or perhaps it is solid, it’s the only option that makes much sense.

The cage appears to be made of gold, which if alchemists are to be believed has its own peculiar and unique qualities. Perhaps it’s more solid in the astral world? You place your hand under it and attempt to lift the cage up, and find its weight almost immoveable, only nudging it to the side and sending it rocking slightly on its chain. It's heavy, very heavy for how lightly built it looks.

Is it solid gold? If that’s true it’s worth a small fortune, but it fits your theory. You make a mental note to try and learn more about alchemy and enchanting at some point, as outside of leywood you’re not familiar with the special properties of many materials.

Letting out a relieved breath, you smirk in triumph, but the sight of the collapsed spirit stops you from feeling too good about your little deduction. The cage isn’t hiding some threat, it’s just expensive and cruel. What heartless monster would trap something so harmless like this spirit and then just abandon her? Perhaps it wasn’t intentional, the fortress seems to have fallen quickly, but that doesn’t explain imprisoning her in the first place or why someone would go through the expense of having such a cage made.

>”Are you okay in there? I’m here to help.” Try talking, maybe you can wake her up.
>Focus on opening the cage, use an earth spell to force the lock if necessary. Get her out of there.
>Check on the other cages, their occupants don’t seem to have been as lucky…
>Write-in.

>>4684801
Welcome to the quest, anon! The summary should be more than enough to make informed decisions, but I definitely won't discourage you from reading the rest.

>>4684823
>reach out to brush your fingers lighting against its thin bars
Should say 'lightly'.

>>4684823
>>Check on the other cages, their occupants don’t seem to have been as lucky…
Let's not mess with it until we get all the info we can.

>>4684823
>”Are you okay in there? I’m here to help.” Try talking, maybe you can wake her up.
She might know something about the cage.

>>4684823
>”Are you okay in there? I’m here to help.” Try talking, maybe you can wake her up.
try to find out if that thing hasn't gone mad through the millennia stuck in a cage

>>4684823
>>Focus on opening the cage, use an earth spell to force the lock if necessary. Get her out of there.

>>4684823
>”Are you okay in there? I’m here to help.” Try talking, maybe you can wake her up.

>>4684823
Just caught up and eager to get into the mix, really good read. Definitely missed sleep tonight.

>>4684974
>>4685070
>>4685099

“Are you okay in there?” You ask softly, “I’m here to help.”

The spirit remains almost motionless, her eyes shut and breath so shallow as to almost be imperceptible, only the faintest rise and fall of her tiny chest betraying the fact that she still lives. The sad little sight reminds you of the birds that would sometimes strike the windows of Åse’s tower, they’d remain dazed and motionless for minutes, sometimes much longer; cute, helpless, injured. More than once you helped nurse them back to health, a practice Åse encouraged, but eventually one wasn't so fortunate. After a couple of days of care it died during the night, and it had you in tears for hours. Åse warded the windows to prevent further accidents after that, but you sometimes wonder why she hadn’t done so long before.

“You’re a sprite, aren’t you? I’m Frauke, a witch of the Misty Island.” You say in the same gentle tone as before, introducing yourself properly. She probably can’t hear you, but it’s worth a try. Witches and spirits often live together, it might put her at ease. Or perhaps not, considering where she's been stuck for the last thousand years...

“I’d like to help you, to get you out of that cage. Is that okay?”

Still no response, not even a slight shifting like a sleeping person makes; she’s simply out cold. You sigh, and try a different approach. Very carefully, you tap a few times on one of the bars of the cage, hoping the rhythmic noise might cause her to stir. There’s no effect, which by this point you expect. You just hope she hasn’t gone mad from isolation, but this catatonic state isn’t encouraging.

>Focus on opening the cage, use an earth spell to force the lock if necessary.
>Check on the other cages, their occupants don’t seem to have been as lucky…
>Go back down the ladder and speak with Arastro about the situation, think things over a bit.
>Write-in.

>>4685249
>>Focus on opening the cage, use an earth spell to force the lock if necessary.

>>4685249
>>Check on the other cages, their occupants don’t seem to have been as lucky…

>>4685249
>Focus on opening the cage, use an earth spell to force the lock if necessary.

>>4685249
>>Check on the other cages, their occupants don’t seem to have been as lucky…

>>4685249
>Focus on opening the cage, use an earth spell to force the lock if necessary.

>>4685249
>Focus on opening the cage, use an earth spell to force the lock if necessary.
That's it, let's get the poor thing out.

>>4685249
>Check on the other cages, their occupants don’t seem to have been as lucky…
Let's not rush things. For all we know, it's dangerous. Let's look around and see what we can find out.

>>4685249
>>Check on the other cages, their occupants don’t seem to have been as lucky…
Either the lock or the content of the cage might be dangerous still

>>4685249
>Check on the other cages, their occupants don’t seem to have been as lucky…

>>4685638
>>4685562
>>4685550
>>4685293
>>4685254
Locking in checking on the other cages. Writing.

Apologies for not getting an update out earlier, the gap was much longer than intended.

>>4685638
>>4685562
>>4685550
>>4685293
>>4685254

Caution has defined your exploration of the ruin thus far, and slipping up now would just be embarrassing. Examining the other cages before opening the sprite’s is only prudent. Even from here you can see the tiny skeletons littering their interiors, but it’s difficult to make out more. You lower yourself down the ladder, careful to ensure your footing on the aged wood, and trade worried looks with Arastro as you reach the bottom.

“No response, I take?” He asks, holding the ladder steady as you descend.

You shake your head in dismay, “None. She isn’t sleeping, it’s something deeper than that.”

“Moon grant her mercy, spirit or no.” Arastro closes his eyes and makes a small gesture in front of his heart as he speaks the prayer, and then addresses you once more, “Are you sure?”

“No, not entirely.” You admit while struggling to move the ladder to the next hanging cage, “She doesn’t appear to be injured or starved, and I’m not sure spirits can even be ill, but I'm no expert…”

Arastro helps you move the weighty ladder without hesitation, and guesses correctly at your intentions, “Checking the other cages?”

“That’s the plan.” You confirm, beginning to climb as soon as you reach the correct spot, “With any luck there might be a clue or two as to what happened to…”

You stop speaking, the closer inspection of the cage immediately revealing what led to its occupant’s death. The thin gold plating, that is all it was on this cage, has been clawed off of the iron bars, and a small section forcibly widened. Tiny, tightly spaced scrapes on the metal make you think that some kind of many clawed creature must have been responsible. It must have been shockingly strong for its size. The tiny humanoid skeleton within the cage is strewn about it in bits and pieces, the bones scarred and gnawed. It wasn’t a peaceful death. Bile rises in your throat, the mere thought of being eaten alive being upsetting on an instinctual level. Testing the cage’s weight with a hand reveals it is noticeably easier to shift. Still heavy, but it lifts a little. Definitely not solid gold.

You lower yourself down the ladder, and move onto the next cage. The scene is much the same there, the gold plating clawed off and a small entrance forced into the bars. This cage held a pair of beings, trapped together until the end. Two tiny humanoid skulls, one slightly larger than the other and partially crushed. The next cage yields the same, and the next, and the final one as well. Tiny skeletons within them all, each of roughly the same size as the sprite woman. All were devoured by some beast which clawed part of the cage’s gold plating off and then forced the bars.

>>4685897

You cover your mouth with one hand, almost brought to tears by the shocking scenes. They might not have been humans, but they were still people. People forcibly trapped, and then preyed upon by some beast, probably terrified until their last agonizing moments. Sprites can speak and sing, they form little societies and some even cast magic… and while you don’t know much more about their way of life or disposition, that’s more than enough. They didn’t deserve this. No one deserves this.

But could that delicate little flower of a sprite be responsible? It doesn’t seem to track, she didn’t look strong enough or appear to possess claws, and her cage was locked with no way to open it from the interior. But even still, looks can be deceiving.

Of course if the unconscious sprite didn’t do this, it means something else did. Something which very much isn’t caged and neatly contained. Something that could still be in this very room, lurking within a shadowed corner or just outside your perception on the other side of the astral veil…

>Go ahead with opening the cage and freeing the sprite, using a spell if necessary. She needs to be rescued, this chamber isn’t the welcoming place you first took it for.
>Attempt to locate what else might have broken into the cages, and deal with it in a bit of old fashioned preemptive self-defense if you can find it. (How?)
>Try using the whistle you found earlier. You’re not sure what it does, but it might wake the sprite up so you can talk. Of course it might also attract whatever bestial creatures did this, assuming it isn’t the sprite.
>Write-in

>>4685899
>Try using the whistle you found earlier. You’re not sure what it does, but it might wake the sprite up so you can talk. Of course it might also attract whatever bestial creatures did this, assuming it isn’t the sprite.
saves the trouble of us looking around and having to look for what did this, if its out there.

>>4685899
>Try using the whistle you found earlier. You’re not sure what it does, but it might wake the sprite up so you can talk. Of course it might also attract whatever bestial creatures did this, assuming it isn’t the sprite.

>>4685899
>>Attempt to locate what else might have broken into the cages, and deal with it in a bit of old fashioned preemptive self-defense if you can find it. (How?)
let us not throw caution to the wind after all this tip-toeing

>>4686243
>(How?)
How?

>>4685899
>Go ahead with opening the cage and freeing the sprite, using a spell if necessary. She needs to be rescued, this chamber isn’t the welcoming place you first took it for.
It will come for the last sprite but there's no telling when or if we can wait so long as to set a trap or ambush it. Us taking away his meal might reveal him and we could make ourselves ready for a fight but I have no idea how we'd locate him before hand. Let's tell our boy to keep his eyes open and watch our back.

>>4686265
Who?

>>4686146
>>4686187
Blowing the whistle.

>>4686349
Making sure Arastro is ready for what might happen doesn't conflict and makes sense, I'll add it in.

>>4686146
>>4686187

You climb down from the old ladder once more, with an idea on how to deal with this predicament in mind. The silver dragon head whistle you found earlier is enchanted to communicate with spirits in some way, and though the specifics are still a mystery it seems reasonable that it might awaken the caged sprite woman or attract the predator responsible for devouring the others; regardless of the outcome it stands a good chance of resolving the situation. As soon as your shoes touch the stone floor of the chamber, you take up your staff from where you left it propped against a table nearby and start to open your leather satchel.

“Something broke into the cages, Arastro. It scraped the gold off of them and forced its way inside, and… ate the other sprites.” You explain while pulling the whistle from its snug fit in one of the satchel’s small side compartments.

“Moon and sun.” Arastro mutters, looking up at the golden cage holding the unconscious sprite, “Why’s she still alive then, and what’s this about gold?”

“The gold is just a theory, I’m not certain but I believe it’s more solid in the astral world than most materials, and as for her that’s what I want to find out. Her cage is solid gold, I’m sure of it, so it may simply be better protected, but the way I see it there are two likely possibilities: either she’s responsible for the other sprites’ deaths and far more dangerous that she looks, which I doubt, or there’s something else in here that killed them and it hasn’t been able to get past the golden bars of her cage. A malevolent spirit, though I couldn’t guess as to what kind. I’m going to try using the whistle we found earlier. Keep that sword ready.”

“An evil spirit? Well, if blades work on them like you said earlier, I’m always up for rescuing a bit of rescue work…” He gives his longsword a flourishing twirl, and firms up his grip on it, flashing you a wolfish grin.

“You just like playing the hero.” You accuse while fighting off a grin of your own, trying to keep your mind focused on the task at hand. You flip the whistle around in your fingers, feeling over the cold silver grooves and ridges of its draconic form, and the slight indents of the runes on both sides.

“Absolutely.” Arastro agrees, his green eyes searching across the few shadowed area of the room.

“Stay on your guard, I’m unsure of what this will do.” You say, a final warning before you press the whistle to your lips and blow. Willing a small transfer of power, you can feel the pulse of mana as it flows from you and into the enchanted object.

>-1 MP.

>>4686563

A shrill and incredibly loud note sounds from the whistle, its shrieking cry sounding more like the call of some predatory bird than a normal whistle. You flinch at the noise but continue to blow until the little burst of mana you fed into the enchantment is expended.

There’s a tiny, frightened cry from the golden cage, ”Aaagh! What’s happening!?”

But you scarcely have time to consider the voice, as Arasto lunges forward at one of the nearby tables with the tip of his longsword. Steel bites into wood, missing his target by a matter of inches. Leaping away from the blade is a small humanoid figure, hunched over and covered in thick bristling black fur, the feline features of its dark face pulled back in anger as it lets out a furious hiss. It continues it’s leaping roll away from the blade as Arastro pulls his sword back, frightfully quick for its size, a step or two beyond the scale of a normal house cat.

The cat-spirit lands atop the stack of tomes you set aside earlier, having little issue balancing on its hind legs atop the precarious pile of books, its strange partially bipedal movements reminding you of moving illustrations you’ve seen of monkeys. The beast narrows its bright yellow eyes at Arasto and continues to hiss menacingly, batting a clawed paw threateningly in the air at him. Arastro doesn’t follow up with another thrust, and as you prepare to join him in the fight you see why.

There are at least a dozen more of the creature spilling in through the open Orellian portal, scurrying in on all fours and leaping atop tables and onto shelves, each shrieking and hissing, calling out in unnatural sounding speech.

”Noissse! Noissse! Why call?!” One of the newcomers cries out, its voice hissing and as it leaps onto one of the tables in a single bound.

”Prey! Food!” Another shrieks, following closely behind.

”Finally! Finally! The cage!” A third shouts, already on the move to the shelf nearest the sprite’s golden cage.

”Foolsss! Sstrong cage! No open! Try sso long!” The original creature calls at the others, leaping back from the tomes as Arastro decides to go ahead with another strike; the blade swishes through the air, not quick enough to catch the fiendish cat-spirit.

“Frauke, a little help? This is more than I expected!” Arastro asks, making another opportunistic cut at one of the cat-spirit as it tries to rush him. The blow lands this time, catching it deeply across the chest and sending it sprawling back in a spray of crimson blood and panicking furred limbs.

Hopefully the formatting isn't fucked this attempt, lets see.

>>4686580

”Back, you brutes! Ruffians! Scoundrels!” The sprite yells, her little voice now defiant but almost entirely drowned out by the cacophony of hisses and shrieks coming from the many cats-spirits rapidly spreading across the chamber. One of them is already clinging onto the cage somehow, trying to reach a paw inside but unable to fit between the bars. Lines and signs, they're far too quick, it's only been a few seconds.

>Blast em’! You’ve got a few spare bags of stones tied to your staff, get to work with Scatter Stone!
>Slam the butt of your staff onto the stone floor and try to scare them off. “I am a witch of the Misty Island! Oppose me and you shall be destroyed, spirits! Leave this place at once!"
>”Arastro, the stairs! They can’t surround us there!” Retreat to a more defensible position.
>Write-in.

>>4686583
>Blast em’! You’ve got a few spare bags of stones tied to your staff, get to work with Scatter Stone!

this sounds like just the right job for our little magic shotgun. QM, how's our mana? We keep losing points but I have no idea how many are left.

>>4686583
>>”Arastro, the stairs! They can’t surround us there!” Retreat to a more defensible position.

>>4686606
MP: 28/32
Pendant MP: 26/30

I believe 8 MP has been expended, taking into account everything from the contraction cast in the OP all the way through the last update.
Splitting MP use between the two reservoirs means Frauke can take full advantage of their separate siphon/recharge rates.

>>4686583
>>Blast em’! You’ve got a few spare bags of stones tied to your staff, get to work with Scatter Stone!

File: I CAST SHOTGUN!.jpg (213 KB, 800x617)

213 KB JPG

Rolled 2, 1, 3, 3, 3, 3, 5, 2, 2 = 24 (9d6)

>>4686606
>>4686714
Blasting it is! I need three separate rolls of 6d6.

The first 3d6 of each roll is for casting the contraction 'Scatter Stone'; TN is 14.
The second 3d6 of each roll is to hit; TN is 12. Every point of success after the TN is another hit with a pebble.
You want to roll equal to or under the TN, lower is better. Once the rolls are all done I'll ask for one anon to roll all of the damage at once, assuming Frauke hits anything.

Rolling for a trio of Arastro's attacks.

Rolled 6, 6, 6, 4, 4, 2 = 28 (6d6)

>>4686858

>>4686862
oof, would've been a very good roll on another quest

>>4686858
Checking for the cat-spirits fighting back. The first pair of 3d6 is directed at Arastro, the third is at Frauke. TN for them is 14.

>>4686862
Oh no, that's not a promising start.

Rolled 4, 5, 6, 4, 4, 3, 1, 6, 5 = 38 (9d6)

>>4686866
Forgot the dice like a moron.

Rolled 1, 1, 1, 6, 1, 1 = 11 (6d6)

>>4686858
PUSSY DESTROYER

>>4686876
That's a very shiny 3 that you have there, anon. Rolls are really all over the place currently, first an 18 and now this.

Rolled 4, 3, 6, 3, 5, 5 = 26 (6d6)

>>4686858

File: Souls is always relevant.jpg (567 KB, 2000x3000)

567 KB JPG

Rolled 5, 6, 3, 2, 6, 1, 5, 1, 5, 3, 3, 3 = 43 (12d6)

>>4686862
18, critical failure to cast. Oof!
>>4686876
3, critical success to cast. 8 to hit; 5 hits. Probably a very, very dead cat-spirit.
>>4687084
13, successful casting. 13 to hit; 2 hits. Possibly a dead cat-spirit.

I forgot to work in the +2 to hit from rate of fire 1x9, which is a slight issue since its one of the major points of using scatter stone at all. TN should have been 14 to hit, so I'm going to correct it to that.
Modifiers for anybody that cares. Base skill of 14: -3 for a range/relative movement of 7 yards (how much was range or movement depended on the target); +2 from rate of fire 1x9, +1 from using a staff.

I need a roll of 7d6 for damage, and another roll of 3d6 for Frauke dodging away from an enraged cat-spirit trying to maul her. These are the last rolls I'll need before writing.

Rolls are for Arastro and the cat-spirits he's fighting. First 3d6 is his parrying defense, TN 13. The next three sets are for the cats dodging, TN 9.

Rolled 5, 1, 1, 4, 4, 3, 6 = 24 (7d6)

>>4687121

Just need that last 3d6 for Frauke's defense. If by the time I'm back it hasn't been rolled I'll do it myself, but I'd prefer a player did it due to the risk of injury.

Feel free to roll multiple times if there's been half an hour or so since your last.

Rolled 4, 6, 5 = 15 (3d6)

>>4687236

Rolled 2, 6, 4 = 12 (3d6)

>>4687236
People might be asleep now, ill give you another if your waiting.

>>4687329
The first was all I needed, but I appreciate it. Currently writing.

>>4686862
>>4686876
>>4687084
>>4687174
>>4687259

Arastro takes a step forward, his longsword flowing from one cut to the next as opportune moments to strike at the spirits present themselves. His feline targets dance just out of the reach of his blade, leaping from table to table and onto nearby shelves to avoid its bite. The fiendish looking cat-spirits, whatever the hell they are, will be absolutely swarming over the chamber and its shelves soon if something isn’t done to thin their numbers. The time for caution and subtlety is over.

Shifting your feet to a more balanced stance, you extend your staff toward one of the nearest spirits and focus your will upon it, clearly visualizing its evisceration in a hail of stones within your mind’s eye. The arcane power dwelling within your blood roars to life, the pulse of mana mixing with that of your beating heart, magic and adrenaline focusing your mind upon this first hissing cat-spirit to catch your gaze..

You utter the contraction, speaking the clipped words of power in anger for the first time, “Sayerd!

>-1 MP.

A small thunderclap fills the chamber, sending your ears ringing as the one of the small bags of pebbles tied to the end of your oak staff simply detonates in every direction. Pebbles smash to dust against the floor and ceiling at odd angles, a few of the flatter one making terrific whistling noises as they ricochet about the spacious domed room, while others strike the bookshelves and bury themselves into ancient tomes. You aren’t hit, thankfully, but the cat-spirits hiss and shriek in terror, a few that had been bounding toward you jumping away to find cover as the stones strike about the room. That is not how the spell is meant to work.

>>4687467

You don’t have long to consider the miscast as one of the spirits has already recovered from the fright, rolling back from cover and sprinting toward you on all fours. Even moving between piles of books, it clears the distance in the blink of an eye and launches itself from a table directly toward your face. You barely have time to interpose your staff and cast.

“Sayerd!

>-1 MP.

Mana pulses and thunder cracks, and the small spirit is ripped to shreds as your spell catches it nearly dead center, only inches beyond the tip of your extended staff. The spirit isn’t wounded, it simply bursts like a melon crushed by a wagon wheel. One moment it was flying toward you, fangs and claws flashing. The next it was ragged, gore covered fur and meat flying past you, just inches off target. You’re struck by a small wash of crimson as the mangled body sails by, thumping into the shelf behind you with a dull wet impact.

”Witch, behind you!” The sprite calls out from her golden cage, and you spin about on your heel immediately, turning your staff toward another yellow eyed cat-spirit leaping down from the shelf above you.

“Sayerd! You cry out again, sending another jolt of mana surging into the pebble bags tied to the staff. One more tiny thunderclap resounds in the chamber, but your aim isn’t as true and only the edge of the shot pattern catches the leaping feral spirit across its side. More crimson sprays the walls, but the beast isn’t thrown entirely off course.

>-1 MP.

You let out a small scream of fright as it crashes into you, your clumsy attempt to step to the side coming too late, and your cry soon shifts to one of pain as razor sharp claws tear into your skin. The robes you wear do little to stop the attacks, a dozen tiny knives ripping across your right arm and chest as the injured spirit flails and rakes at anything it can find purchase upon. Stumbling backward, you trip over a wooden stool and fall to the ground; Not a good position to be in, but the jolting impact sends the spirit rolling off of you before it can dig in further. You’re still moving, but it isn’t. Not a clean victory, but still a win.

>-4 HP.

>>4687468

Through some small miracle you still have your staff in hand, and you awkwardly begin righting yourself. Pushing up from the cold stone floor, even as the searing pain of your fresh cuts clouds your perception, you stagger back to your feet just in time to see Arastro get swarmed. He halts the leap of one spirit with a stop thrust, the cat-thing impaling itself down full the length of his longsword as its own momentum betrays it, and he then slices another nearly in two with a flicking cut across its belly as it jump from a shelf, but yet another strikes from below and latches onto his leg. He tries to cut it away with a reflexive swipe of his sword, but the nimble beast rushes up his back and easily avoids the awkward blow, claws digging into Arastro’s gambeson and flesh as if he was merely a tree to be climbed.

“Agh! Bastard!” Arastro cries out, grabbing at the dark furred creature as it bites down on his neck with a fanged maw. Arastro manages to seize it by the nape and hunches forward, violently ripping the cat-spirit free of his neck and hurling it into a table edge with a wet cracking sound. It thuds onto the ground and doesn’t get up.

”Flee! Flee!” One of the spirits cries out, bolting toward the chamber’s entrance and then out into the darkness of the ruined fortress. Another follows close on its tail, and more behind it. Several continue to hiss and screech, fur bristling as they turn back to face you at the edge of the stone doorway and making threatening swipes with their paws before leaving. Now that they’re not climbing over all of the walls around you, they don’t look quite as intimidating. Still, if a pack of them had caught you alone there isn’t much you could have done, they’re much stronger and faster than they look, and their claws cut as well as any knife.

”Hunt later! Sscent sstrong. Never ssafe, witch!” The last one to leave cries out, its voice filled with hatred. It’s larger than the others, if only by a little, and narrows its amber eyes at you before slinking off into the darkness with the rest of its kind.

>>4687470

The chamber is now empty of their ilk, the predators fleeing upon meeting serious resistance. You lean against your staff, one hand pressing against the painful, spreading warmth of the cuts across your chest. You wince as you walk toward Arasto, who’s gripping at the side of his neck with one hand. Blood stains his gambeson, but the heavy quilted cloth and the few sections of plate he still wears look to have stopped the worst of the attacks.

“Arastro, your neck-” You begin to say, worried by the location of the wound. Even at their size, those spirits had little trouble digging deeply into flesh. An unlucky enough bite near an artery...

“I’ve… I’ve had worse, it’s nothing.” Arastro brushes of your concern with a grimace, his handsome features strained by the pain of the injury. He pulls his hand away from his neck briefly, looking at his blood stained leather glove before quickly reapplying pressure.

“It doesn’t look good-” You continue to protest.

“Couldn’t take me out with one... bite… I… oh…” He slumps down against a nearby table with little warning, ancient papers and a few unlit candles sent scattering away by the impact, his hand still held against the wound even as his eyes begin to lose focus.

“Arastro!” You shout while running the short distance to him, your own wounds now forgotten.

He tries to speak but can’t get the words out, barely managing a choking gurgle as his eyes widen and search about in a panic before locking still. His bloodied hand slips from his neck a moment later.

“Arastro?” You ask, trying desperately to remain calm, waving your hand before his still open eyes. There’s no response. He’s still breathing, but only barely.

”Madam Witch, was your companion harmed by those vicious rapscallions? I cannot see from here, the cage obscures you both.” The sprite woman asks from within her golden cage high above you, her tiny voice crisp and clear even in your growing panic.

>Try to muddle your way through a spell of control and body to aid Arastro. Spells affecting the body are very unfamiliar to you still, your study having only just begun a few days ago.
>...Peter is outside still, and he’s a healer of sorts. Maybe he can help? He carries medicine and bandages, there might be something to treat Arastro.
>”One of them bit my friend on the neck, he’s… he’s paralyzed, I think!”
>Write-in.

>>4687471
>”One of them bit my friend on the neck, he’s… he’s paralyzed, I think!”

>>4687471
>>”One of them bit my friend on the neck, he’s… he’s paralyzed, I think!”

>>4687471
>>Try to muddle your way through a spell of control and body to aid Arastro. Spells affecting the body are very unfamiliar to you still, your study having only just begun a few days ago.

>>4687471
>>”One of them bit my friend on the neck, he’s… he’s paralyzed, I think!”

>>4687876
>>4687623
>>4687560

“One of them bit my friend on the neck, he’s.... he’s paralyzed, I think!” You shout back, and set your staff aside as you begin applying pressure to the deep bite wound on Arastro’s neck. It’s clearly much more than blood loss affecting him, but you can’t just stand by and do nothing.

“His neck? Oh my, how unfortunate, even for a giant such as he. Those fiendish hooligans, their venom is as foul as their tongues! Your companion is in great peril!” The sprite says, her tone urgent as she speaks from high above you. Her accent is… odd, difficult to place, but it reminds you of your mentor a bit; refined, proper. You slip into it sometimes as well, the consequence of a strangely mixed upbringing.

You try to focus your mind, to think through the situation carefully just as you trained to do for so long, but with the throbbing pain of your own wounds and the blood of your friend spreading across your palm make difficult, to say the least, “Venom? What does it do? What do I do to help him?”

“Still your heart, Madam Witch. Your companion’s great stature has staved off the worst of its nature, but the venom may halt his breath given time.” She warns, “Please, climb upon that ladder there and release me from this gilded prison. I will render what aid I may still muster, even after such a slumber as I have endured.”

“You can help him? You’re a healer?” You question, having seen no evidence of such a thing when you looked in the cage earlier. The cage was bare, the sprite woman possessing her tiny white dress but nothing else; what could she do with so little? Magic, perhaps, or some innate power of her kind?

Her tone grows more urgent, speech speeding up slightly, ”Indeed, of a sort, but you must act with haste, the hourglass has already been turned! The healing ways of my people are known to me, as is the venom of the grimalkin.”

The hourglass has already been turned? That’s a phrase you’ve heard before, but not from anyone you’ve met while travelling… You shut your eyes briefly, clearing your thoughts. Something has to be done, and soon.

>Do what the little sprite asks, free her from the cage. She sounds genuinely concerned, and her warning saved you a great deal of pain earlier. Of course she might just be using you as a means to escape.
>Ask her to explain what needs to be done from where she is, and try to use your magic to help Arastro. Those grimalkin, if that’s what they’re called, could still be lurking just outside the chamber.
>Search about the room, perhaps there’s something you’ve overlooked that might help. A healing tincture or something similar.
>Write-in.

no opinion between trying a spell and talking to the spirit.
if we're talking to the spirit, until we have something better to do with our hands (like going up to free her, or casting a spell), we can hold onto his wound like he was trying to do.

>>4687882
>>Ask her to explain what needs to be done from where she is, and try to use your magic to help Arastro. Those grimalkin, if that’s what they’re called, could still be lurking just outside the chamber.

>>4687882
≥Do what the little sprite asks, free her from the cage. She sounds genuinely concerned, and her warning saved you a great deal of pain earlier. Of course she might just be using you as a means to escape.

>>4687882
>>Ask her to explain what needs to be done from where she is, and try to use your magic to help Arastro. Those grimalkin, if that’s what they’re called, could still be lurking just outside the chamber.

>>4687882
>>Do what the little sprite asks, free her from the cage. She sounds genuinely concerned, and her warning saved you a great deal of pain earlier. Of course she might just be using you as a means to escape.

>>4687882
>Ask her to explain what needs to be done from where she is, and try to use your magic to help Arastro. Those grimalkin, if that’s what they’re called, could still be lurking just outside the chamber.

>>4688150
>>4688090
>>4687976
Locking this in and writing.

>>4687976
>>4688090
>>4688150

“Just tell me what needs to be done, I can use my own magic. Those spirits, the grimalkin, there’s no way to know they won’t come back for a second attack. It isn’t safe for you down here.” You say, pressing your hands more firmly against Arastro’s wound and grimacing at the feeling, blood soaking over your fingers. You try to focus your mind on the sprite’s words instead of the spreading warmth of crimson, averting your eyes slightly from Arastro’s strangely locked face.

“Such prudence and concern! Very well then, I shall endeavor to instruct you from this prison. My own methods differ from those you must undertake, I am no magi, but many paths lie before you. Are you familiar with the four spheres, Madam Witch?”

“Yes, yes, skip the basics! How do I stop the venom?” You insist, not needing to retread over lessons you learned years ago.

“Your companion’s battle with the grimalkin’s venom is not wholly corporeal, it assails his spirit and innate magic in equal measure. First, you must strengthen his inner magic, this will ward the worst of-”

“His magic? He isn’t a mage, I… I can do that, but I don’t have much to work with here!” You half-shout, worry creeping back into your voice.

“Oh dear, that complicates things, and wards will do little at this stage… His corporeal form is the most grievously affected, but being of such great stature it may yet defeat the venom of its own accord.”

“So I just need to strengthen his body? I can do that, that’s simple!” You say, feeling your confidence renew. Simple doesn’t mean easy though, especially with a word of power you’re barely capable of utilizing it times of total calm let alone bloodied and with a racing heart.

“Precisely, Madam Witch, though finer control is necessary to ensure his form does not bring ruin upon itself. The defense must be coordinated, or it may prove fatal in its own manner.”

“What am I trying to stop, exactly? I can’t visualize it clearly, I need to know the symptoms-”

“Tsk! Nay, Madam Witch, you do not. Summon forth his image within yourself, behold your companion as he should be. Hold firm upon that memory. Fret not upon the details of the illness, or they shall surely consume your focus. Speak truly, is healing entirely unfamiliar to you?”

“...It is, yes, but I can do this.” You admit, feeling shaken once more. What are you doing? This isn’t the time to try new magic. No, you can’t think like that or you’ve already failed, this is the only way that doesn't risk further lives.

“Troublesome, most troublesome. Perhaps you should free me, the fairy way of healing is simpler and will surely work. If the grimalkin return they shall not find me defenseless, fret not for my fate.”

>>4688425

>Attempt the spell, you can do this. The sprite’s guidance makes this possible, but unfamiliar magic is still far from easy. Strengthen+Control+Body. 6 MP. TN 8. Multiple attempts can be made, but will consume MP with each failure as usual.
>Release the sprite and let her try the ‘fairy way’, whatever that is. This magic is beyond your capabilities, and the risk of a serious miscast or simply running out of mana is not worth it.
>Write-in.

>>4688430
>Release the sprite and let her try the ‘fairy way’, whatever that is. This magic is beyond your capabilities, and the risk of a serious miscast or simply running out of mana is not worth it.
This isn't the time to be practicing with magic we barely know, and she's willing to take the risk of the grimalkin coming back.

>>4688425
>Release the sprite and let her try the ‘fairy way’, whatever that is. This magic is beyond your capabilities, and the risk of a serious miscast or simply running out of mana is not worth it.
Yea this is a serious one.. We've already thrown our lot in with her, might as well let her return the favor.

>>4688430
>>Release the sprite and let her try the ‘fairy way’, whatever that is. This magic is beyond your capabilities, and the risk of a serious miscast or simply running out of mana is not worth it.

>>4688430
>Attempt the spell, you can do this. The sprite’s guidance makes this possible, but unfamiliar magic is still far from easy. Strengthen+Control+Body. 6 MP. TN 8. Multiple attempts can be made, but will consume MP with each failure as usual.
If multiple attempts can be made, I say we try it at least once.

>>4688711
>>4688616
>>4688560

You run through the spell formulae in your mind, shutting your eyes as you calculate the mana charges, the unfamiliarity of magic affecting the body weighing heavily on your mind. With a few tries perhaps it would work, healing is quite different from evocations or ensorcellments but the sprite’s guidance was helpful even for how simple it was. You could do it, the spell is possible, but it would be hard.

The steady pulse of blood from Arastro’s wound and the slick warmth of it soaking over your fingers swallows up what little confidence you’ve mustered. No, not confidence, it was hubris. This is not a time for possible, or experimentation, that simply is not good enough. You inhale deeply, calming yourself, and open your eyes once more. Arastro is still frozen in place, slumped against the ancient wooden table, his gambeson stained a dark crimson by more blood than you would have expected from the wounds he suffered.

“I’m coming up.” You announce to the sprite, wincing a bit as you release the pressure you were applying to Arastro’s neck. It wasn’t the bleeding that was going to kill him, you’re forced to remind yourself, it’s the venom. Staunching the bleeding was more for you, almost selfish, a response to feeling the need to do something. Well, here’s something.

You begin the climb up the ladder, blood slick hands grasping with some difficulty upon the angled rungs. Inconvenient, but your feet remain steady and soon you’re at the top, looking between the bars of the golden cage and at the small sprite woman. She’s standing to the side of the locked door, pointing toward it with a tiny accusatory pale finger.

”With haste, Madam Witch!

You don’t waste time on a response, already focusing your mind upon the golden lock holding the cage shut. Locks and their inner workings are mostly a mystery to you, but opening them is far from strange. It’s metal, and in this case that’s all you need to know. You place a hand against the golden lock, the cold of the metal distinct in your mind as you call upon the mana pulsing within your blood. With a short utterance of the words of power…

“Muravazaerd!”

>-6 MP.

...Arcane forces twist and contort the metal of the lock’s hidden mechanism, and golden bars bend and contort with brief metallic screeches as the small door of the cage is simply forced open. Not an efficient spell, just simple metal shearing control, but it worked.

>>4689079

There’s a strange thrumming from the sprite’s wings as they blur into motion, and with an exultate cheer she leaps through the mangled door of her thousand year prison, ”Freedom! Freedom at last! Oh, you have my dearest gratitude, brave rescuers!”

The zips right past you, arcing sharply downward toward Arastro, doing a few small happy rolls in the air near him after she descends. That little flourish is her only delay, and at once she lands atop his shoulder, placing one tiny hand to her chin contemplatively as she assesses the bite wound on his neck. You begin climbing down the ladder, observing as well as you can as she… begins to brush her hair, or petals really, over the wound. How is that supposed to help?

“What are you doing? You said you’d help!” You almost shout, feet finally reaching the stone floor once more. The sprite continues to lean over the wound, holding out one of the fluffy white petals of her hair over the wound, brushing it with her free hand. She doesn’t respond to your panicked accusation, and as you get closer you can hear that she’s whispering something. It’s nearly impossible to make out her tiny voice, but…

No, she’s not just whispering, there’s a melody to it. She’s singing, or maybe reciting a poem, as she brushes some kind of strange dust from her white petals. You nearly gasp as Arastro's wound begins to close up, flesh reknitting before you. His eyes slowly narrow and shift to look at the sprite now standing on him, and his breathing begins to deepen. It’s working!

”...Hence, you malk-born hissers, hence!...” The sprite finishes her little poem-thing, and ceases to brush her petals. She waits atop Arastro's shoulder, watching his face expectantly as the paralysis fades.

After a few more moments Arastro manages to speak, the words clearly still a struggle for him but easing by the moment, “...Moon.... Moon be praised, thank you, little spirit.”

”Bah, that pallorous orb aided not a lick!” She scoffs, turning her chin up at the remark and crossing her arms, though her pale cheeks redden a shade at his thanks, “But you are most surely welcome, brave warrior.”

Arastro ignores the insult to the moon, and gives the sprite a wide grin, clearly feeling better already, “I’m Arastro. What should I call you?”

She looks up at the cage above her and takes a moment to answer, her face written with sorrow, “...I was once Leona of Aster, but I fear that idea of myself perished within those gilded bars. You may call me... Edela.”

“Thank you, Edela.” Arastro says while beginning to stand, getting one hand on the table’s edge to help support himself as he rises unsteadily to his feet. Edela simply hops off of his shoulder, blurred and thrumming wings holding her aloft in the air nearby.

>>4689080

“I’m Frauke, a witch of the Misty Island.” You repeat what you said earlier while she was unconscious, introducing yourself properly once more, “And you have my thanks as well, Edela.”

”The Misty Island?... Upon the vast lake Waisenmeer, flanked by mountains three?” Edela says in a sing-song voice, sending a shock running through you. Those are the opening words of the disarming rhyme for the island’s outer wards! How on earth does she know that?

Your eyes widen, and you wave a hand in front of your neck in a cutting motion, “Quiet, stop! He doesn’t know the words-”

She covers her mouth with both hands, dreadfully embarrassed, “Oh, my sincerest apologies! I presumed you were both elf-friends.”

“...Feeling a little left out here, what’s this about misty islands and mountains three?” Arastro asks, probably feeling better than you are by now but looking utterly confused. Your own cuts still ache, bleeding but ignored; they can be dealt with in a few moments, hardly being life threatening.

You try to conceal your own confusion at Edela’s words, not know what she means by elf-friends, but address Arastro quickly, “I can’t talk about it with you, Arastro. It has to do with where I was trained in the arcane arts, that’s all I can say.”

“Oh, that again, of course. ‘Keep your secrets, tiny witch’.” He says, impersonating Gustav’s deep voice briefly. That seals it, if he’s back to making jokes he must be fine; whatever Edela did worked wonders.

>”Edela, could we speak in private for a moment? You know the Island?”
>”...How did you end up imprisoned here, Edela? I’m so sorry about what’s happened to you and the others, it must have been awful.”
>”Could you… could you heal my cuts as well? They’re not envenomed, but I can barely focus through the pain. Stinging little bastards.”
>Write-in.

>>4689081
>>>”Edela, could we speak in private for a moment? You know the Island?”

>>4689081
>>”...How did you end up imprisoned here, Edela? I’m so sorry about what’s happened to you and the others, it must have been awful.”
keep an eye out for the catdemons while we talk tough

>>4689081
>>Write-in.
Let's get out of here. I'd rather not stick around when the grimalkin might be doing the same.

>>4689277
Sounds reasonable. Skedaddle first, talk later. Ask if she'll join us for a while.

>>4689277
>>4689365
Locking it in.

>>4689398
can we bring the books we picked out?

>>4689400
Yes, absolutely, gathering the books up won't take long.

>>4689277
>>4689365
>>4689400

“We should get out of here, this ruin isn’t safe.” You announce, the intent finally crystalizing in your mind. Ancient tomes and enchanted curiosities might fascinate your intellect, but with the grimalkin potentially lurking nearby it seems most prudent to return to the camp; besides, Peter is probably wondering where you’ve run off to by this point, you were supposed to be hunting.

”Ruin?” Edela asks, leaving the single word hanging in the air. She looks about the chamber in confusion, gazing across the nearly perfectly preserved shelves and tomes, and the crystal lamps still glowing with arcane power; relics of a long gone age.

“Yes, this ruin.” You repeat, while moving to the pile of tomes you made earlier, “The empire fell a millennium ago, Edela, and this fortress with it. The world is very different now, for humans at least.”

“Oh.” She responds, her voice sinking, “I… I had not reckoned my slumber was quite so long, the interruptions were few, only the occasional taunting of the grimalkin brought me from my rest…”

“We’ll have a lot to talk about once we’re out of here.” You say, trying to sound reassuring as you sort the books into small piles, “Will you stay with us for a while, Edela? I’d hate to send you off into the wilds after only just freeing you.”

Edela lands atop one of the decoratively bound tomes, sitting upon the edge of its golden scrollwork covered spine, her legs dangling off it. She brushes one of her long white petals from her face and looks up at you, ”I would be honored to accompany you, Frauke of the Misty Island. It has been far too long since I last travelled with a witch.”

“Fantastic, though that raises a few questions of its own… Could you sit somewhere else? We need to get these packed.”

“My apologies!” Edela says, leaping into a thrumming hover with a small embarrassed hop, “You wish to study these tomes?”

“That’s the idea, yes. Arastro, do you still have that sack Dirk gave us? Grimalkin didn’t rip a hole in it, did they?” You question, moving the book Edela was sitting upon into the correct stack.

He nods, removing a heavily folded cloth sack from his own small side satchel, “It’s intact, mostly. Here, I’ll get the books packed, I have more experience with old texts… Well, actually I might not for once, but I know how to handle them with care. Stay on watch, I’d rather not get bit again.”

“Right, monk. Make sure to pack all of these.” You say with a sweeping motion of one hand, indicating several of the small piles, “It might be a bit of a tight fit.”

“I’ll make it work.” He answers confidently, though following his eyes as he examines the stacks, it’s not hard to guess what he’s thinking: ‘how in the hell is this all supposed to fit?’

>>4689675

Removing one of the crystal lanterns from the hooks on the chamber’s wall, you stand on guard at the large stone doorway, staring out into the darkness of the hallway beyond. Edela sits, or perhaps perches would be more accurate, upon your right shoulder, treating the large brim of your hat almost like the shady overhang of a building. To her credit, she maintains her focus on the hallway, probably seeing far more than you even as she idly strokes at her hair; as a spirit she should be able to easily perceive the astral world, or even disappear back into it fully.

The pain of the cuts on your arm lessens slightly as you both maintain your little vigil, as do the cuts on your chest soon after. Edela’s work, not even asked for. You whisper a small thanks to her, which she happily accepts.

The grimalkin don’t return, or at least stay well enough out of sight for it to make little difference at the present, and you depart as soon as Arastro has finished packing the books. The journey back through the ruin feels quicker and less oppressively sinister, the brighter light of the crystal lamp illuminating the frost covered stone hallways and banishing much of the uncertainty of the dim light of your spell created earlier. Lurking grimalkin aside, it’s just cold old rubble and a few long forgotten skeletons; not the most impressive remnant of the empire around. You much preferred the bathhouse at Tordorf, even if it wasn’t filled with magic tomes.

Moving back out into the central grounds of the ancient fortress, you’re once again surrounded by broken stone pillars and the crumbling inner ring of curtain walls and towers. Chill mountain wind cuts into you, the brightness of the sun's rays upon the snow briefly blinding you as you exit back out into the light. You blink a few times, your eyes eventually adjusting. Peter and Dirk are on the opposite side of the ancient snow covered yard, cleaning blood from their swords with small rags.

>>4689678

Wait, what’s Dirk doing here? Why are their swords out? You hurry your pace toward them, Edela now flying off to your side, and Arastro follows up close behind lugging the sack of books with him.

“Where’ve you two been, eh?” Dirk calls out, continuing to wipe down his wide bladed falchion, “Huntin’ on your own?”

“We were exploring-” You begin to explain, but Dirk cuts you off.

“No, I won’t hear none of it now.” He says grumpily while motioning with his falchion for emphasis, “Peter here, poor bastard, got jumped by a pack of mountain cats while you were ‘explorin’, bloody things nearly got ‘im.”

It was difficult to see at first, but sure enough there are a number of slain mountain cats sunk into the snow, crimson staining the pristine white around their motionless forms. Not grimalkin, just huge predatory cats, they’re nearly three times the size of their more fiendish spirit relatives. Edela hovers closer to them, landing atop one of the dead animals and examining it more closely. Dirk and Peter don’t comment on the sprite’s presence, or even seem to notice her at all.

“Nearly did me in, yeah.” Peter agrees, muffled and sounding none too happy from behind the woolen scarf concealing much of his lower face. He’s nursing a heavily bandaged right arm, his sword held in his unwounded off hand, “If Dirk hadn’t shown up I’d be a goner. Damn things wouldn’t run off, even after I got the one that jumped me. Just kept coming back like they were possessed.”

Edela flies about the area while investigating, passing just in front of the two men a number of times as they talk, but never stopping to introduce herself. Again, they seem to be oblivious of her presence.

“Well, you survived, didn’t you? Had cat troubles of our own.” Arastro says, indicating his blood stained gambeson.

You motion to the bloodstains on your own robes as well, though they’re harder to make out on the dark fabric, “A pack of cat-spirits, grimalkin, attacked us. Arastro barely survived.”

Dirk squints and steps closer to examine you both, “Right, right, but he's on his feet now. All's well that ends well then, but you two don’t go runnin’ off again without your third, yeah? Ambushes don’t work quite so well on bigger groups... What’s in the sack?”

“Ancient tomes, they’ll help with my magic. It’s what I was going to explain a moment ago, before you cut me off.” You say, trying to avoid putting too much sharpness in your words. The tomes will be worth far more than any extra game would have been, but Dirk is probably right about sticking together.

Dirk simply grunts in acknowledgement, sheathing his sword and waving for you to all to follow, “Hurry it up, Captain’s expectin’ us back at camp. Scouts found a brigand camp blocking the pass up ahead, we’re makin’ a battle plan and he wanted your help.”

>>4689682

”Captain?” Edela asks, zipping back over to you with startling speed, her little white dress blowing slightly in the chill wind. You exhale, realizing how little she knows, and...

>Explain to her in detail how you came to be a Drake, and some of your life before doing so.
>Give a rough overview of how you came to be a Drake, but focus more on Edela’s past; that’s far more interesting.
>Explain bluntly that you’re a mercenary as of a little over a week ago, and attempt to coax her into introducing herself to the others.
>Write-in.

>>4689685
>>Explain to her in detail how you came to be a Drake, and some of your life before doing so.

>>4689685
>Give a rough overview of how you came to be a Drake, but focus more on Edela’s past; that’s far more interesting.

>>4689685
>>Explain to her in detail how you came to be a Drake, and some of your life before doing so.
ask her if only arasto and us can see her, and if she has strength enough to heal our friends if they need it

>>4689685
>Give a rough overview of how you came to be a Drake, but focus more on Edela’s past; that’s far more interesting.

also ask about how she seems to be invisible to everyone but us and Big A.

>>4689849
>>4690028
Talk about yourself in detail.

>>4690043
>>4689992
Rough overview of your history, ask about Edela.

Heading to bed, if there isn't a winning option when I wake up I'll roll it off.

>>4689685
>>Give a rough overview of how you came to be a Drake, but focus more on Edela’s past; that’s far more interesting.

>>4690209
>>4690043
>>4689992

Explaining your recent past in rough terms doesn’t take long, from the tragedy of Brokhof and your oath to join the Drakes, all the way to the present moment. You leave out the bit about the flying creature and its prophetic warning for now, not wanting Peter or Dirk to overhear; that’s something to discuss at another time. Edela listens intently, asking very few questions but absolutely captivated by your words.

”I begin to understand you, Frauke of the Misty Island. Resilience is in your nature, as assuredly as your magic.” She says, floating alongside you as the group exits the outermost edge of the ruined fortress, leaving its crumbling walls and dilapidated towers far behind. It had a commanding view over the valley once, and it’ll be a bit of a hike back down to camp.

“Maybe. There’s no need to be quite so formal anymore though, Edela, you can just call me Frauke.” You respond, not entirely sure of how to take her reading of you, “I’d like to hear more about you, if it isn’t asking too much. I know little of sprites, or spirits of any kind really, but I’d like to change that.”

”The long dreams of my slumber have left much of my former being a haze, but I will endeavor to recall all you ask of me, Frauke. She says with a little bow, which must be rather difficult to do while continuing to hover along, but she soon grows more nervous and uncertain, Firstly though… Might I have your leave… to explore? I so dearly have missed the wilds.”

“I'm not your keeper, go ahead, enjoy it. I can wait for-” You begin to say, but she’s already gone, zipping off into a nearby tree and startling a few birds resting within its branches.

Edela thrums about excitedly from place to place as your group descends back toward camp, a little white blur that’s easy to lose track of against the snowy mountain forests of the East Wall. She darts here and there, exploring between the branches of spruce trees in a search for nothing in particular before swooping down to happily greet hardy mountain flowers on the forest floor and take in their scent. It’s the simple happiness of a sprite rejoicing in newfound freedom, experiencing sights and sounds only dreamt of in isolation for a millennium. Her joy is contagious and you can’t but smile as you observe, but it seems that only you and Arastro can see her; likely something to do with her presence in the astral world, though you couldn’t guess at much more.

>>4690395

Dirk and Peter are leading the way up ahead, having a far less pleasant experience trudging through snow in the chill mountain wind. It’s a clear day, the sun shining brightly overhead between the treetops and no new snowfall for now, but the East Wall is still a harsh and unforgiving place for travelers. Your own slightly torn robes aren’t doing you any favors in that regard, but pulling your heavy cloak tighter about you and being distracted by Edela’s antics keeps your mind mostly off of the cold. Mostly.

You wait until she approaches again, and wave her over while speaking in a low voice, “Edela, you said you would tell me about yourself?”

”I shall answer your most burning questions concerning my former identity, Leona of Aster. Those answers I recall, at least.” She corrects, fluttering to your side and looking almost relaxed despite her constant effort to remain aloft, “Little is unknown to you of Edela, this conception of myself is quite new, and you have been by my side from the beginning! They are nearly twin ideas, but a gulf of time and long dreaming distinguishes them.”

...Perhaps fairy concepts of the self are different to that of humans, but her insistence on being a new person still strikes you as odd. Of course you probably have the same effect on non-mages every time you ramble about leylines and words of power, so really who are you to judge?

What do you ask (first)?

>”So you were a different person then, this ‘Leona of Aster.’ Where was she from?”
>”How did you, erm, Leona I mean, end up being taken prisoner? I assume a mage did it.”
>”You mentioned travelling with a witch in the past. Who was it? I might have heard of her in my studies.”
>Write-in.

>>4690397
>>”So you were a different person then, this ‘Leona of Aster.’ Where was she from?”

>>4690028
>>4690043
Forgot to include the non-conflicting write-in parts of these, I'll make sure to sneak them in somewhere in the next post or two.

>>4690397
>”So you were a different person then, this ‘Leona of Aster.’ Where was she from?”

>>4690397
>>”How did you, erm, Leona I mean, end up being taken prisoner? I assume a mage did it.”

>>4690397
>”How did you, erm, Leona I mean, end up being taken prisoner? I assume a mage did it.”

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>4690401
>>4690439
1
>>4690487
>>4690443
2

“So you were a different person then, this ‘Leona of Aster.’ Where was she from?” You ask, trailing a bit back from Dirk and Peter so you’re not forced to speak quite so low.

Edela rests her delicate chin contemplatively upon her crossed arms, almost looking to lay down flat in the air in a state of complete relaxation despite maintaining her flight, “You misunderstand, though perhaps the imprecision of speech is at fault. The idea that is me was made anew, yet I remain a singular spirit.”

“...I guess that makes sense, but I’m still not sure I understand.” You answer, not wanting to get too bogged down in the mysticism of it for now, “Anyways, where are you from? Originally, I mean.”

Edela closes her eyes, speaking slowly as if she were searching through cluttered chest and drawing forth items one at a time, announcing them each in turn, “My origin? Such long buried memories to dredge, yet still pieces remain... I hail from the great valley of Aster, the land of swans and sprites deep within the astral. The rest is fog, beyond recall. As Leona I held tightly to the name Aster, for what reason though… slips the mind. When I think upon it, I feel the most lovely warmth and serenity… I shall grasp those fading memories awhile longer.”

“Edela of Aster, then?” You say, confirming her name aloud while you grip onto the brim of your hat and duck under a partially fallen tree, its many green branches forming a sort of natural lean-to as it rests upon another tree. Dirk and Peter were forced to go around, and Arastro steps around the side as well. The rare benefits of being so short.

“Indeed, that is my wish.” Edela says, looking utterly at peace as she continues to float along almost effortlessly. The thrum of her wings has faded mostly beyond your notice by now, drifting into the normal sounds of the forest.

“I’ll make sure to introduce you as such when you meet the others. Say, why can’t they seem to see you?” You ask, pointing ahead at Dirk and Peter even as Arastro rejoins you by your side.

“Yeah, what’s going on with that?” Arastro echoes, glancing between Edela and Dirk with a puzzled look, and grunting a bit as he steps over a fallen log and continues to lug the weighty sack of books over his shoulder. Something knocked a lot of trees down around here, these were already here this morning but couldn’t be too old.

Edela rights herself, ‘standing’ again, or at least whatever passes for standing among sprite’s in flight, “Oh, a simple question and matched answer! I reside within the astral, but their perception is not attuned to my presence, nor have I unveiled myself before them. Their revelation might be forced, if I were to tug upon their hair or shout foul words in their ear, but I shan’t.”

>>4690647
“So you could appear, and you just don’t want to?” Arastro questions, “Stories about trickster spirits are beginning to make more sense.”

“Precisely! My folk easily cross the veil, but I shall remain a lurker beyond their sight. A gust of wind at the greatest. I feel no trickster’s whim at present.”

“Could you heal Peter’s arm? I feel a bit guilty about leaving him alone.” You ask, the thought of your comrade being attacked by mountain cats while alone troubles your conscience. It really was luck that he was only clawed the single time before Dirk arrived. Or perhaps it was simple skill at arms and you credit too much to luck, none of the Drakes in Gustav’s detachment are poor fighters.

“Absolute softy.” Arastro accuses, though you know he must feel similarly.

Edela lets out a small giggle, “When he rests, he shall find a second wind. The wound was not so grievous as he first believed, his complaints were exaggerated, and none shall say otherwise.”

“Thanks, Edela.” You say, grinning a bit at the idea and already formulating your next questions for her. Not a trickster? Sure.

“I have done nothing.” She holds her palms up innocently, giving a small shrug.

What do you ask (second)?
>”Not to sour the mood, but how did you end up being taken prisoner? I assume a mage did it.”
>”You mentioned travelling with a witch in the past. Who was it? I might have heard of her in my studies.”
>”So, ahem, I take it you’ve been to Misty Island and remember it enough to… well, y’know, say the words. When did you do that?” Step away from Arastro a bit for this.
>Write-in.

One more question after this.

>>4690647
Should be "sprites in flight", not sprite's in flight.
I really need to stop reflexively slapping apostrophes on everything, the mistake is too common even with proof-reading.

>>4690650
>>”Not to sour the mood, but how did you end up being taken prisoner? I assume a mage did it.”

>>4690650
>”Not to sour the mood, but how did you end up being taken prisoner? I assume a mage did it.”

>>4690650
>”Not to sour the mood, but how did you end up being taken prisoner? I assume a mage did it.”
final question about misty island then.

>>4690650
>>”Not to sour the mood, but how did you end up being taken prisoner? I assume a mage did it.”

>>4690848
>>4690800
>>4690763
>>4690693

“Not to sour the mood, but how did you end up being taken prisoner? I assume a mage did it.” You ask, the question chief among your thoughts as you continue down the snowy forest path.

”Yet soured it is.” Edela sighs, crossing her arms unhappily and casting a gloomy look toward you, “Ruminating upon my capture is... most unpleasant, yet I remain grateful for my rescue. I shall divulge that which is not bound indelibly to secrecy or lost to the fog of dreaming. It was indeed a mage, a ghastly Imperial fiend by the name of Sparax.”

“This Sparax, who was he? Just some Imperial mage? I’ve never heard of him.” You say, which seems to greatly please Edela, reversing her mood entirely back to the positive, her hands clasped in glee.

“Wonderful, positively splendid! She practically cheers, causing you to look sharply toward Dirk and Peter, yet both remain undisturbed as they forge ahead through the woods, If ever there was a man deserving of sinking into utter insignificance it was he. Yet you bear his whistle, whence did that come?”

“I found it on a body in one of the hallways… It might have been Sparax, the armor was different. I think he was caught in a spell during the fall, it killed most of the fort.” You answer, looking down to your leather satchel with suspicion. A whistle owned by a malicious wizard that calls forth spirits? Combined with what little intelligible communication that grimalkin made between their constant hissing, and the whistle’s purpose is hardly a mystery. It was a hunting horn, or at least served a similar purpose.

“Oh, were I to have known! I would have spat upon his bones, and cursed them thrice!” Edela laments.

“Would’ve joined in.” Arastro says, sounding very much as he did when he spoke of the Boars on the night of Brokhoff’s sacking, compassion and hate often walking together hand in hand.

“Probably would’ve as well... feels a bit disgusting to have used the whistle now, actually.” You agree with a grimace, “So how did he capture you? A spell?”

Edela shakes her head, the long fluffy white petals of her hair swaying as she does so, and she gestures about at the forest around you, “Not to begin with. A trap was laid far beyond these mountains, deep within the astral realm beside a nexus. Sparax’s bound minions; grimalkin, goblins, and trolls of the foulest sort, sat in ambush along one of the greater lines. A conclave of magi had been called, the details of which I was not privy to, and my… My dearest friend tasked me with the delivery of a message, committing it to my mind, and I departed to fulfill the duty with a band of allied sprites. In truth, many of the details are hazy...”

>>4690920

“Oh no, I think see where this is going…” You say, not at all likely the sound of the story. It was never going to have been a pleasant tale, but this sounds more like the set up for a slaughter than a simple capture.

“They fell upon us in the dark. Most were slain quickly. The unfortunate were captured. By the sacrifice of many, I escaped for a time, but a shackling spell seized upon my wings near the veil’s edge. Sparax cast me in that horrid cage, and…” Edela looks pained, and she turns away from you looking just moments away from bursting into tears, “I cannot speak of what was done, it is unbearable to think upon. I am sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you more pain.” You apologize, feeling guilty at forcing her to relive such horrors, the situation not so different than the burning of Brokhoff, “It’s alright, I know enough.”

“Thank you, Frauke. Let us speak of more pleasant topics instead, of friends or home perhaps, not villainous deeds.”

What do you ask (last)?
>”Agreed, how about home then? I take it you’ve been to the Misty Island if you… well, y’know, can say the words. When did you visit?” Step away from Arastro a bit for this.
>”Let's speak of friends, that usually cheers me up. You mentioned travelling with a witch in the past? Who was she? I might have heard of her in my studies.”
>”Do you enjoy singing, Edela? Not to be overly presumptuous, but you seem like the type. Song has always comforted me, even at my lowest.”
>Write-in.

>>4690928
>”Agreed, how about home then? I take it you’ve been to the Misty Island if you… well, y’know, can say the words. When did you visit?” Step away from Arastro a bit for this.

>>4690928
>”Agreed, how about home then? I take it you’ve been to the Misty Island if you… well, y’know, can say the words. When did you visit?” Step away from Arastro a bit for this.
We have to know, as tempting as singing is.

>>4690928
>>”Let's speak of friends, that usually cheers me up. You mentioned travelling with a witch in the past? Who was she? I might have heard of her in my studies.”

>>4690957
>>4690976

”Agreed, how about home then? I take it you’ve been to the Misty Island if you… well, y’know, can say the words. When did you visit?” You slow your pace as you speak, moving briefly off the narrowing game path and waving Arastro past, which he accepts without argument.

Edela seems somewhat taken aback by your words, ”Visit? I dwelt there for nearly ten winters once, and many other times besides, entire seasons at a span. The elves and witches welcome my folk with cheer and song, it is the way of things.”

“The elves?” You question, having been wondering about them since Edela’s earlier.

”Of course the elves, it is their island! One home of many, hidden away and protected.” She answers as if she were stating the most obvious thing in the world, spinning lazily in a circle out of boredom while hovering along with you. Not orbiting around a point, but actually spinning like the arm of a clock even as she moves, legs slowly going up in the air and coming back down as she rotates, her white mossy dress swishing and swooshing about but never too far. Her control of her own flight is impressive, and seemingly entirely effortless. Are all sprites so nimble in the air? It seems to defy logic.

“There aren’t any elves on the Misty Island, Edela, at least not anymore. I trained there for nearly seven years and never met a single one.” You respond, finding the idea off. The island is secluded, a witches’ retreat created by Åse.

“Impossible! All witches of the Misty Island are elf-friends.” Edela protests, ceasining her silly spinning and giving you an incredulous look.

“...Not this one, apparently, or any I know of. It was just my mentor Åse and myself, and the old tower. A few guests visited over the years, but they certainly weren’t elves. I very much would have liked to meet one.” You say while shrugging and taking a short hop over a small dip in the path, “Say, how many ‘Witches of the Misty Island’ did you know? You make it sound like there were a lot, which… I think I would have heard of, if that were the case.”

Looking perplexed, Edela considers the question for awhile before answering, “I would name them as few rather than many, but such is a matter of perspective. By your use of the title, I took that to still be so.”

”It’s traditional, I was taught to introduce myself as such.” You explain simply, “So who were these other witches? I'd like to know more about the island's past.”

Edela extends a hand and begins to count off her fingers one by one, There was Astrid the Singer, I was her confidant, and Sieglind the Ruby, so called for her necklace, as well as Svanhildr the Silent… and several more, but the fog lies thick there. They frequently resided within my dream, and the memories of life and slumber blur. I slept far too long, I fear.

>>4691338

“Sieglind the… Ruby? Like this?” You ask, drawing your silver manaruby pendant from within the concealment of your dark robes.

Edela’s golden eyes light up, widening to tiny saucers, “Oh my, yes indeed! Precisely like that, that very one! When I resided upon the island she would often show it to me, I never tired of its sight, nor did the elven crafters that shaped it. How did you happen upon such a treasure?”

You sigh, the origin of your prized possession is a tale of mixed emotions, “It was my mother’s, she was a witch as well, Åse trained her too but I never really got to know her… She left me with my Uncle Tristan when I was young, and never came back.”

“Was she called Siegl-” Edela starts to ask excitedly, zipping around in a small loop.

You cut her off before she gets too far along that line of thought, “No, her name was Runa, and she definitely was not around before the fall of the empire. I’m fairly sure not even Åse is that old, but she might have known some of the students of the witches you mentioned. She hated talking about her past, almost as much as I liked to ask.”

“Perchance, do you possess the other four rubies?” Edela probes, moving closer you your pendant, thrumming wings matching your pace as she struggles to lift the pendant up on its cord and examine it. It’s comically large compared to her, nearly the size of her torso, a situation made no less humorous by the odd angle you have to look down at to see it clearly.

“Other four?” You ask, having never heard of such a thing.

“Yes, it is a set of five, and most beautiful when assembled. I remember it clearly.”

“I’m afraid not, I had no idea there was more than this one, or even that it wasn’t my mother’s originally.” You say, an old feeling of longing returning to you, the sort you get when you gaze upon intact Imperial buildings or fine illustrations in old tomes, “You’re making me feel a bit cheated, Edela, the past has always sounded like such a better time for my people. I feel nostalgic for it and I wasn’t even alive. What a joke, right?”

“Tsk! Do not dismiss your heart, Frauke, I understand that longing. I yearn for Aster of years past, yet remember nearly nothing of it, almost as if it is another's memory… Hold onto that feeling, as I do.”

“I think I will.” You say, feeling a little more assured. Åse never condemned the feeling either, but she didn’t go so far as to encourage it, focusing more on the present and future.

“When your oath to the Drakes is fulfilled, might we return to the Misty Island?” Edela asks, and the question hangs in the air for several seconds.

“…I’d like that.” You finally answer, now feeling nostalgic for a place you have known.

>>4691339

Half an hour later, in the Drake camp at the base of the valley, Gustav and the other officers are standing about a makeshift map drawn in the dirt, conducting a small war council. As the only magic user in the detachment, your presence was critical…

“...Aye, they do have a palisade, and towers besides, and it’s the only way through which we can bring the wagons. The camp’s built into a ruin guarding the road, what did you expect of it?” Dirk asks, pointing at a few twigs and lumps of dirt that are meant to be the enemy camp.

“Nothing less, just hoped they might be piss poor at soldiering, had it happen before a few times.” Gustav says with a shrug, his armor creaking in the cold as he crouches near the impromptu map.

Dirk crosses his arms, scanning over the map again just as Gustav is, even as he continues to question the attack, “Well, they’re not amateurs from the reports, and our numbers are nearly evenly matched, and they’ve got that bloody great beast with them. The other path only adds two days to the crossing, it would be best to avoid a battle.”

“We can take them, escalade the palisade in the dark, catch them off guard and beat their sodding skulls in. Turn the tables like we always do. Other option takes too long, every day risks the passes snowing over entirely, and then we’ll be gnawing on each other's bones. We’re going in.” Gustav announces, making sure to look up from the map and meet the other men’s eyes.

“Lussan isn't here, Gustav, but I’ll follow you into hell if the pays good. Just didn’t think I’d do it so soon.” Dirk grumbles, a final small protest before he pulls back from the earthen map.

Gustav chuckles, the protesting from Dirk more of a tradition than a real threat to discipline, “That's enough, Dirk. Marc’s always seeing things, I doubt they’ve got a troll. Never seen a troll, never even heard of any bastard I know fighting one. Closest I’ve seen was Ole, and he’s more of a toad! It’s probably just some big son of a bitch like me wearing bear pelts.”

“If he’s always seeing things, why do you put him on scouting duty so much?” Peter questions. He’s not an officer, but he is the closest thing to a physician around currently and that got him a spot listening in to the initial planning.

“You listening to a word I just said, Peter? Marc’s always seeing things, that makes him the best scout!” Gustav says, dismissing the comment half jokingly before returning his focus to the map, “Come on, we need to get the details worked out.”

“Agreed, if there really is a troll I’d rather not go in sloppy. We don’t need another port-” Dirk starts to say, before Arastro cuts him off.

“Hey, Dirk, listen. There aren’t so many maidens this time, give the port stuff a break, its behind us. Besides, whatever happens, we have a witch and they don’t.”

>>4691349

“...True, monk, very true. Little Drake, any spells to turn an entire camp into frogs?” Gustav questions, opening the way for you to speak.

You smirk, enjoy the frog comments at this point, “No, not quite, but if people keep asking I’ll have to work on one. I’m hardly a tactician either, but…”

>”I can easily spread burning coals throughout their camp, and maybe knock one of those old towers over. Simple shock and awe, hit like a battering ram and send them reeling while you go over with the rope ladders.” Fortune favors the bold, perspective switch and lead the vanguard as Gustav.
>”I can probably distract them long enough for the wagons to get past, no need for an assault. I found this crystal lamp in the fortress, and if I were to levitate it around the brigand camp at nightfall all I would need is a little support to distract the lot of them…” Perspective switch to Arastro for some night time wetwork.
>”I do have ways of observing their camp much more closely. Give me an hour and I’ll have a report with everything you need.” Perspective switch to Edela to scout the brigand camp. Potentially quite dangerous, but a far better plan might be devised.
>Write-in.

>>4691338
Should read, 'since Edela's earlier comment about elf-friends.'
Also entirely forgot the quotation marks for Edela's last bit of dialogue on that post, but oh well, text coloring means its legible enough. Trying to cut down on simple errors like that. Probably a few more small errors throughout.

>>4691351
>”I do have ways of observing their camp much more closely. Give me an hour and I’ll have a report with everything you need.” Perspective switch to Edela to scout the brigand camp. Potentially quite dangerous, but a far better plan might be devised.

>>4691351
>”I can probably distract them long enough for the wagons to get past, no need for an assault. I found this crystal lamp in the fortress, and if I were to levitate it around the brigand camp at nightfall all I would need is a little support to distract the lot of them…” Perspective switch to Arastro for some night time wetwork.

if we can avoid bloodshed we should do it. Who are we fighting anyway?

>>4691351
>>”I can easily spread burning coals throughout their camp, and maybe knock one of those old towers over. Simple shock and awe, hit like a battering ram and send them reeling while you go over with the rope ladders.” Fortune favors the bold, perspective switch and lead the vanguard as Gustav.

>>4691411
You'll be fighting an unfortunately well positioned band of brigands blocking a narrow chokepoint in the valley, the only area the detachment's wagons can be brought through. The East Wall is filled with brigands due to years of war in the surrounding lands, they're either East Wall natives turned bandits or deserters from mercenary companies and nearby houses. They mostly prey upon merchants who don't really have much of a choice than to make the crossing, regardless of the danger.
The detachment is on a tight timetable with the first serious winter storms likely not far off, so finishing crossing the mountains as soon as possible is essential. Each day is critical. Gustav made the decision to push through and fight, fearing you'll be snowed in the passes and trapped otherwise, which would be very, very bad. Even with the extra provisions Dirk bought in Tordorf (that whole sausage merchant thing) you probably wouldn't have enough to last the winter. Not to mention you'd be trapped with all the nasty beasts and brigands, many of which would also be very hungry. Fighting half starved in waist deep snow is a situation best avoided.

On a side note, this attack might be Frauke's first proper skirmish, depending on how its handled. The raid on the Boar camp wasn't really a fight at all, just a rescue featuring some bloodshed, and as weird evil cat spirits the grimalkin attack hardly counts.

>>4691365
>>4691411
>>4691712
The accursed three way split! I'll leave voting open for awhile, I'd prefer not to roll this one off since its outcome will dominate the next few posts.

>>4691351
>>”I can easily spread burning coals throughout their camp, and maybe knock one of those old towers over. Simple shock and awe, hit like a battering ram and send them reeling while you go over with the rope ladders.” Fortune favors the bold, perspective switch and lead the vanguard as Gustav.

>>4691712
>>4691811
Locking this in.

>>4691712
>>4691811

Several hours later, night has fallen upon the valley, and the Drakes lie in wait within concealed positions near the edge of the forest surrounding the brigand camp. Each man has donned his full armor, girded himself for battle, prepared for the bloody work to come. You are Gustav, a giant among men and a veteran Captain of the Band of the Drakefang, and the assault is yours to lead, as always.

You’re tensed up, like always before battle, crouching behind the concealing branches of an old spruce, your poleaxe gripped tightly in gauntleted hands. Your joints and old scars ache in the chill of the early winter night, but it’s a good pain, keeps you alert and lets you know you’re still kicking. Keeps you mad, too. Ready to crack skulls and rend flesh.

Dirk crouches low by your side in the deep shadows cast by the trees, the visor of his dented old helmet kept up as he squints at the faint glow of the lanterns atop the brigand camp’s palisades and crumbling old stone towers. He’s a good enough quartermaster, but a much better shot with a crossbow; he won’t miss a man, even at this distance and with shit lighting. You’ve seen him take birds in flight before, a man atop a palisade is nothing. Peter, that unwounded whiner, is in a similar position several paces off to your left, as are more of the men down the staggered line. Every Drake in your detachment waits within the shadows of the snow covered forest, some with crossbows while others prepare the rope ladders, each eager to witness the rain of fire that the tiny witch promised.

Tiny Drake, you find yourself correcting mentally. She and Arastro should have the coals burning by now, ready to be launched by a spell of some kind.

It’s hard to get a read on Frauke, she’s an odd woman, always reading something or, as of a few hours ago, muttering to herself when she thinks you aren’t paying attention. You’re always paying attention, wouldn’t have survived this long otherwise. Most of the time when you speak to her you just see the top of her pointed hat, or those shadowed green eyes of hers between its brim and her scarf; and even that’s only when she bothers to look up. Absorbed in another world, that witch. Still, you trust she’ll come through. She gave the Boars a hell of a beating by dropping that pile of rocks on them, no reason she can’t do it again to these lot.

Your focus remains locked on the palisade, watching the brigand sentries as they change shifts, glowing lamps bobbing about in the dark. Taking a hand from your oversized halberd, you adjust the position of your left pauldron slightly, the southern armor still not fitting quite right in the cold. Gods above, if only you had your proper harness, this disguised junk got old weeks ago even if it did serve its purpose at the port. You knock a bit of frost from your beard while you wait, wondering when...

>>4691995

“Look, there it is!” Marc says in a hushed voice, though not hushed enough if you can hear him from so far away. A bolt of burning flame arcs across the night sky, lazily making its way over the brigand camp before silently bursting into a rain of tiny, flaming rocks that scatter about ground far below. Immediately shouts of alarm and confusion sound from the camp, the lanterns bobbing more quickly as sentries struggle to determine what’s happening.

“Hold.” You command, lifting a hand. A second bolt arcs through the sky and bursts, and soon after a third. Then, with a tremendous rumble, one of the crumbling stone towers finally loses its long battle against gravity, collapsing inward upon the camp; the screams of agony are horrific, clear even from here.

A devilish grin spreads across your face, unseen behind your salet’s visor as you lower it fully and wave your hand in the signal to begin the attacks. Crossbows thwump as they launch their bolts, sentries and their little lanterns falling as the shots find their mark, and every man draws his blade or takes up arms from the ground near them as they drop their crossbows. There is a great rumble as thirty men in full harness storm from the forest toward the palisade, you at the very tip of the spear, but all your men remain silent as they charge. Battle cries would only give up the game at this point.

Smoke is already rising from within the camp’s interior when you reach the palisade, probably tents or dried supplies catching from Frauke’s rain of coals. The time for the escalade, the critical moment of any assault, is upon you.

>Clamber over the tall base of the fallen tower, you’re strong and tall enough to do so without trouble. Begin clearing any brigands from the other side of the palisade while the ladders are set, clear the way for your men to drop in safely.
>Stick closely to your men as they set the ladders, but make sure you’re one of the first over the top. Coordination is key in a night assault, make sure nothing goes wrong.
>Hmm, that section of the palisade looks a bit shoddy. With some effort, you may be able to shift the stakes aside enough to enter on foot. [Strength test]
>Write-in.

>>4692002
>>Stick closely to your men as they set the ladders, but make sure you’re one of the first over the top. Coordination is key in a night assault, make sure nothing goes wrong.

>>4692002
>>Stick closely to your men as they set the ladders, but make sure you’re one of the first over the top. Coordination is key in a night assault, make sure nothing goes wrong.

>>4692002
>Hmm, that section of the palisade looks a bit shoddy. With some effort, you may be able to shift the stakes aside enough to enter on foot. [Strength test]

>>4692052
>>4692080

You halt at the foot of the wooden palisade, waving for your men to follow and barking commands, “Get those ladders up, Drakes!”

Three pairs of Drakes run forward, each group carrying a partially unfurled rope ladder between them, their swords sheathed for now as they handle the unwieldy things. The top of each ladder ends in a pair of wide iron hooks, and with synchronized motions your men hurl them atop the wall. Two find purchase, hooks biting into the wood as they’re tugged upon to test their grip, but the third falls back to the snow covered ground below, rungs and hooks sinking into the white.

A helmeted head peaks over the edge of the palisade, follower by arms and a crossbow, and you strike forward like lightning. Sliding your grip down the length of your poleaxe and stomping forward, you bring the weapons head hurtling upward at the furthest extent of its reach, catching the brigand directly in the visor of his polished helm. Metal impacts metal, and crunches deeper into flesh and bone, the impact reverberating down the length of your weapon. The crossbow thwump as it fires, the dead man reflexively depressing the trigger lever even as he falls backward, the bolt whizzing past and impacting into the snow near your feet. That’s one. Feels good to be back in action after so much damned walking, feels damn good.

As you struck at the crossbowman, your men quickly untangled the third rope ladder and made another attempt at the throw, the hooks sinking in firmly this time.

“Go, go!” You order, hurling your poleaxe up and over the wall and drawing your long dagger, climbing up the nearest ladder and skipping multiple rungs at a time as you scale it. The climb is a brief one, the ladder was made for smaller men but its rocking and swaying do nothing to slow you; you’ve done this for years.

Clambering over the top, you drop down onto one of the wooden watch platforms the sentries had been posted on, and get your first proper view of the enemy camp. There’s a stone building just ahead across an open yard, an old ruined imperial manor house turned into a makeshift keep, a pair of enemy archers standing among the stone arches of its long caved in roof and already knocking arrows. To the manor house’s left are clusters of rounded canvas wall tents and a few cooking fires, several tents ablaze from Frauke’s rain of coals, and beyond them look to be wagons and a huge makeshift wooden… shed, you think, of some kind. It’s big, anyways. Nearer to you, the rubble from the collapsed tower looks to have crushed several tents, a few mangled bodies visible even by only the light of the moon and flickering lanterns dropped by the sentries Dirk and your other shooters took out.

The brigands are already quickly organizing a defense, even in the chaos of multiple spreading fires. A few rough voiced men are shouting commands and shoving others into groups; they’re all in armor, several with poleweapons.

>>4692251

Sodding hell, so much for total surprise.

You leap from the platform, the fall not so great, and take up your poleaxe from the snowy ground, sheathing your large dagger simultaneously in a single smooth motion. Around you, other Drakes begin to drop in over the palisade, snow puffing up as they impact the ground in their plate armor, some remaining standing while others land in less graceful crouches. The rest of your detachment is not far behind, clambering over as quickly as they can; They don’t have the luxury of just hurling their polearms over the wall like the first wave, so they’ll be slower or restricted to smaller weapons.

An arrow strikes your breastplate, and another, each loud reverberating concussion as their shafts shatter and the iron heads skitter off harmlessly. Going to have to do better than that, bastards. Good aim though.

>”Together, men!” Hold this position, wait for a few more of your men to drop down and then surge into the camp in something approximating ranks. Any organization is an advantage.
>”Charge! Cut them down!” Barrel forward into the not quite fully organized brigand groups with the few Drakes that have already made it over. The vanguard should smash the enemies before they can organize!
>Write-in.

>>4692253
>>”Charge! Cut them down!” Barrel forward into the not quite fully organized brigand groups with the few Drakes that have already made it over. The vanguard should smash the enemies before they can organize!

>>4692253
>”Charge! Cut them down!” Barrel forward into the not quite fully organized brigand groups with the few Drakes that have already made it over. The vanguard should smash the enemies before they can organize!

>>4692253
>>”Together, men!” Hold this position, wait for a few more of your men to drop down and then surge into the camp in something approximating ranks. Any organization is an advantage.

>>4692253
>>”Charge! Cut them down!” Barrel forward into the not quite fully organized brigand groups with the few Drakes that have already made it over. The vanguard should smash the enemies before they can organize!

>>4692261
>>4692275
>>4692353

“Charge! Cut them down!” You bellow, that old familiar battle fury filling your voice as you thunder forward, your poleaxe held with an iron grip. Ah, the raging heat of battle, what a feeling! The Drakes already within the wall let out battle cries of their own, polearms and swords held forward as they storm behind you across the snowy yard.

The brigands, to their credit, nearly manage to form ranks by the time you impact their ragged line, a sweep of your poleaxe beating aside a pair of interposing spear points as you fall upon them in a frenzy. Pushing past the out of position spears, you carry on and bring the butt of your poleaxe into the bearded chin of the nearest enemy, shattering his jaw with a crack and an accompanying triumphant roar, your grip widening on the polearm’s shaft as you begin to fight in close quarters. That’s two!

Another comes at you, his messer flashing quickly in high swing, but you void the strike with a small sidestep and deflection, and bring the head of your closely griping weapon crashing down upon his shoulder in return. Steel buckles, and even with the lesser leverage of this grip the man’s armor means little, your strikes finding its weakest areas, guided by nearly two decades of hard learned lessons; there’s a spray of blood, but you’re already moving onto the next man before the wound fully gouts. That’s three!

Around you, your men clash with this first line of brigands, keeping them from surrounding and swarming you as you cut a bloody swathe. Most of the other Drake more than hold their own, dispatching their opponents in the melee after trading a few blows, but it’s hardly one-sided. Marc takes a thrust near his armpit but continues to fight on, clearly in pain. Hugo falls with an agonized scream as a sword thrusts down into his inner thigh while he struggles in a grapple with one of the larger enemy soldiers. The large brigand’s blade narrowly slips past the faulds of Hugo’s armor and sinks deep into his leg. He manages a defiant retaliatory thrust with his own sword, screaming in pain, but his killer deflects the blow away with a short clanging sweep of a vambrace, the weapon’s misaligned edge doing little against the steel plate. Moments later he's overwhelmed by the other Drakes, his body mangled by a storm of vengeful attacks and sent crashing into the snow.

>>4692377

Arrows hiss in from the ruined manor house’s roof as the chaos of the first melee clears and the archers get new lines of sight unobstructed by their allies, but the arrows find no purchase among your number. For now, at least. With arrows it's a game of hazard; some poor bastard will take one in a joint or the side of a visor if enough are loosed.

Even with the losses, the assault is going very well. That rush bought you more than a little breathing room to get the rest of the detachment inside the walls, and the snow is crimson with far, far more of the enemies blood than your own. The first line of their defense was overwhelmed, but even now the rest of the brigand camp rallies to fight; they probably don’t realize the extent of their losses yet, if they had a damned brain between them they’d be routing, over a third of the camp must be dead already!

As you meet the next group of brigands more Drakes hop in over the palisade, joining the bloody struggle. From beyond the spreading inferno of the burning tents, well out of sight in the chaos of the battle, a deep rhythmic stomping shakes the earth.

But how does this last phase of the battle fare?

I need four rolls of 3d6. The first three rolls are for Gustav, TN is 18. He’s very good at killing.
The final roll is for the rest of the Drakes in general, TN is 15. (14 normally, +1 from Gustav’s leadership.)

If no one else rolls for half an hour after you have, feel free to just do so again. I don’t want rolling to take hours.

Rolled 1, 4, 1 + 1 = 7 (3d6 + 1)

>>4692379
TN basically needs a 666 to pass wew thats hard

Rolled 5, 4, 3 + 1 = 13 (3d6 + 1)

>>4692379
If its cumulative. Understandable

>>4692494
It is roll equal to or under, its actually quite easy in this case.

Rolled 2, 5, 6 = 13 (3d6)

>>4692551
>>4692379
Ill just roll all of it if you dont mind. Board seems slow lately

>>4692562
Go ahead, not a problem. Just need one more.

Rolled 5, 2, 6 = 13 (3d6)

>>4692379

Rolled 2, 3, 4 = 9 (3d6)

>>4692494
6
>>4692499
12
>>4692562
13
Gustav did fairly well, very strong start.

>>4692584
13.
Drakes did alright in general.

Rolling for the brigands in general.

Won't be able to properly update until tomorrow evening, apologies for that; I had planned to get a lot more done today. Perspective will switch back to Frauke very soon and probably stay there for quite awhile, these little asides won't be that common.

>>4692693
if those are wanted brigands, can we cash in on their destruction somehow?

>>4692991
Possibly, yes.

>>4692494
>>4692499
>>4692562
>>4692584
>>4692693

That strange earth rattling rhythmic stomping grows more erratic, quickening and increasingly frantic, but you pay it no heed.

The ringing clash of steel and the screams of dying men fill the night air, myriad sounds of battle surrounding you as the brigands struggle on, a furious final defense in the face of your swelling numbers. Night assaults are often bloody and chaotic, it's difficult to gauge which side is winning, but by now you’re sure the battle is yours. Most of the Drakes have made it over the palisade and joined the tumult, but even still the brigands fight on. In another life some of them may have made good Drakes, but as you see a pair of your men pummeled to the ground by a group of mace wielding bastards the thought vanishes, a simple cold rage overtaking you.

You do not roar in anger or cry out in joyous battle fury as you did early, or make any sound at all; you’re filled with a terrible, silent resolve as you see yet more of your men fall. These brigands will die, they’ve already lost but even now they’re killing your men. The death of each Drake hammers into you. They’re your comrades, your brothers, and by your command they’ve fought and died in this shithole of a camp… all to save a few days of travel...

Striding forward through the throng of lesser men, you clear a bloody path toward the trio of mace wielders. The largest of the three, clad in yellow brigandine and old mail, charges forward at you through the snow and loses his head for the trouble, spouting gore sent arcing away with his helm as your poleaxe bites cleanly through the iron mail about his neck. That makes four kills. The remaining two brigands hesitated, frozen briefly in terror instead of supporting their freshly minted corpse of an ally, the whites of their eyes widening behind visor slits as they look upon your towering form. If they’d attacked together they might have stood some small chance. Gritting your teeth so hard they feel as if they might shatter at any moment, you swing, and swing, and swing, the brigand’s desperate efforts at defense meaning nothing as you overwhelm their parries and blocks with raw brute strength. They’re killing your men. Five kills! Six kills!

This battle had to be fought, the detour would have risked too much. The Commander’s plans must come first, he made it clear that you must arrive before midwinter. It may not make sense now, but you know at your very core that Lussan’s plans are what is best for your men. For you. Not these brigands though, they won’t even see the morning, lives ended simply because they stood in the way of greater ideas at the wrong time.

>>4693818

You’re not enough to take them all alone, no matter your skill and strength, and even fighting side by side with your men you cannot ensure every Drake survives. As you tear through the remaining brigands, your poleaxe rending steel and flesh alike with ease and turning six kills into eight, another Drake falls nearby. Almost instantly his killer is overwhelmed and swarmed by your vengeful brothers, the deed done well before you arrive, a dozen dozen blows raining down on the screaming armored man until he falls silent. A messy kill.

The rest of the brigands finally begin to route, barely more than a handful reaming that are able to turn and run, some tripping over blood slick bodies as they stumble in the dark. The archers have disappeared from among the manor house’s old stone arches, and only that damned strange stomping remains… Until it too suddenly stops.

A few of your men pursue the fleeing brigands a short distance, but they pull back as their quarry plunges into the midst of the burning tents. Slaughtering the fleeing men serves little purpose, and there’s certainly no reason to run into a smoking inferno.

“Victory!” Marc shouts, raising his unwounded arm and cheering into the night. The fires of the burning tents illuminate your men as they join in the outburst of celebration, their mismatched armor and disguised waffenrocks stained with blood. Some of it is brigand, some of it Drake, but no matter its source it’s the same darkening red. In the shrouding dark of night and the burning camp’s harsh firelight, it almost looks like they’re all wearing proper Drakefang colors again, flickering shadowed blacks and reds. Not quite right though, too soft, too much orange and yellow, but close enough for the imagination to fill the blanks.

”Victory!” You roar along with your men, raising your poleaxe over your head before beginning to shout orders, “Peter, Dirk, assess the wounded! Marc, finish these bastards off-”

>>4693822

Your orders are abruptly cut short as the thunderous cracking and splintering of wood fills the air, beams and wooden walls turned to splinters as something crashes outward from the large and now burning shed beyond the tents, bellowing in pain and fury.

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHH!

It’s monstrously huge, a towering brownish-green skinned humanoid thing; its proportions are anything but natural, arms too long, hands and feet far too large. A shaggy black mane of fur hangs far down past bent, pointed ears, framing its huge crooked wart covered nose and hideous wrinkled face. Amber eyes wide with agony stare out from under a bushy brow, the things entire face contorting as it continues its drawn out blood curdling scream. The huge overbiting fangs of the creature are displayed prominently as its jaw nearly unhinges, opening much too far as it cries out. Arching its back, burning black hair falling away from its sagging breasts, the thing extends its long arms out to either side and unfurls clawed hands, each finger ending in a wicked black talon the size of a dagger.

“Sun preserve us, what the hell is that?!” Marc shouts in fear, similar shouts quickly sounding from the rest of your men. A few ready their weapons once more, and you tighten your grip on the shaft of your poleaxe.

The huge shaggy haired she-beast stumbles forward through the flaming tents with awkward staggering steps, screaming for blood as one clawed hand wraps around one of the slower of the fleeing brigands, easily catching him in a long sweeping motion. Without pause she drags the struggling, wounded man to her mouth and sinks her huge yellowed fangs upon his upper torso, right through his armor, biting down and tearing away nearly half his body as he screams his last. As blood pours from the ruined body, she uses it almost as a wet rag to douse some of the flames burning her shaggy black mane of hair.

”DIE! DIE! ALL DIE! FIRE! FIRE AND KILL HIM! WHY KILL HIM?! WHY FIRE?! HURTS SO BAD! AAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHH!” Her cries devolved back into a simple agonized scream, and leaning forward she begins to barrel toward your position with more long strides, hurling the ragged half corpse of the brigand at your men as she charges. Dirk is hit, taken off his feet by the bloody chunk of meat and sheared armor, and sent crashing backward into the trampled snow meters away.

Sodding hell, there really was a troll!

>>4693826

>”Hold steady! Form two lines, one on either side! Spears forward, just like Kotharg!” Hold and fight, imitating the ancient Imperial legions battling war-elephants. One of Lussan’s favorite stories of the early empire.
>”Get to the manor house! Go! Go!” Stone walls will help defend against whatever strength this monstrous she-troll can muster.
>”Fall back! Get back to the wagons! I'll hold it off!” Bet your own decades of skill against this beastly troll woman’s strength and reach, taking her on alone. No more dead Drakes tonight.

Perspective will switch back to Frauke immediately following this vote.

>>4693832
>”Fall back! Get back to the wagons! I'll hold it off!” Bet your own decades of skill against this beastly troll woman’s strength and reach, taking her on alone. No more dead Drakes tonight

>>4693832
>>”Hold steady! Form two lines, one on either side! Spears forward, just like Kotharg!” Hold and fight, imitating the ancient Imperial legions battling war-elephants. One of Lussan’s favorite stories of the early empire.
Create lanes where the orc can charge without causing casualties while pelting it with arrows and spears all along.

>>4693832
>”Hold steady! Form two lines, one on either side! Spears forward, just like Kotharg!” Hold and fight, imitating the ancient Imperial legions battling war-elephants. One of Lussan’s favorite stories of the early empire.
The most tactically sound choice

>>4694125
>>4694148
Locking it in and writing.

>>4694148
>>4694125

You are Frauke, wandering witch of the Misty Island and a bearer of the Mark of Witches.

Deep shadows lay upon you as you sit atop an old tree stump, nary a flicker of light within the woods but that of the stars and moon and the distant fire set by your own arcane craft. The howling chill of mountain wind blows a faint strand of golden hair once more before your eyes. Peeved by the recurrence, you tuck the stray strand aside, slipping it beneath the wide brim of your hat with a cold numbed hand, and then adjust your dark scarf to better guard against the wind. Dirk gave you the scarf a few days ago, an overlarge spare unused by the other Drakes. It’s been a sort mask for you recently, wrapped up enough to protect your lower face from the winter chill, a habit still retained from your more carefree youth and Brokhoff’s harsh winters. Brokhoff…

You banish the unwelcome thought.

Arms pulled tight against your chest, you rub your pale hands together for warmth before slipping them within opposite sleeves of your robes; gloves would be by far superior, but at your diminutive size only bespoke work would fit, and clumsy mittens are the bane of casting. No, you’ll just have to bear with it. Sighing deeply into your scarf, you look over to Arastro. He stands silhouetted faintly by the distant hues of the fire you unleashed upon the brigand camp, blue hood pulled down and his long dark hair flowing in the wind as he looks down upon the distant battle. Marc led you up to this high perch earlier, the position from which her surveyed the brigand camp unseen. It served well as a point to cast from, far, far beyond the range of any arrow. Arastro’s back is turned to you, and your gaze lingers upon him a few moments.

There’s nothing much to see out that way at this distance and in the dark, nothing you want to see anyways even if the flames might reveal some, and your spellcraft has left you nearing exhaustion. The mana within your veins and ruby pendant were spent upon the brigand camp's destruction. Your gaze drifts back to the snow beneath your feet, and you idly tap at it with the tip of your boots in an alternating rhythm, focusing on staying warm under your heavy cloak and robes and the gentle pattern of crunching the snow underfoot. Focusing on anything other than the battle.

>>4694375

...Toppling the tower was mostly brute force and its decrepit age, gravity doing much of the work but the mana expenditure still outrageous from casting at such a great range. The burning coals meanwhile were a clever if insidious trick, bundles of the incendiary black stone magically bored with dozens of miniscule tunnels to increase their surface area before being set ablaze by Arastro’s torch, their heat and propensity to burn far increased by the work spell worked pathways almost invisible to the naked eye. That they would shatter and spread burning dust had been your hope, and judging by the size of the glowing inferno in the distance they must have; a snowy camp is no easy thing to burn, yet it does readily. Perhaps another factor is the cause of the fast catching flames, something unknown to you, but it suited your purpose regardless.

Really you’re just thankful Dirk had bought the coal in Tordorf at all, and decided to lug it about in one of the wagons. Space and weight is at a premium in the wagons, the mountain crossing difficult enough as it is with whatever the Drakes are carrying in all of those locked chests and barrels, and the presence of the coal made little sense. You sigh again, the line of thought drifting too close to imagining the fighting. All’s well that ends well, as Dirk says, no need to think of the battle.

...And inevitably your mind drifts to the gory details of the battle regardless, imagined horrors readily appearing in your mind's eye. The battle amongst the flames is too similar to Brokhoff in your imagining of it, far too close to home. You close your eyes, trying to banish the persistent thought once more, mustering your mental discipline honed by years of focused spellcraft and visualization. Even after all these years, it’s difficult to not think of elephants, but you manage yet again. Just focus on the snow and the tip tapping of your boots. Focus on something repetitive, little rituals to clear your thoughts.

>>4694377

A faint thrumming noise causes you to look up, Edela flying toward you with panicked speed, the long fluffy white petals of her hair jostling about as she comes to a sudden halt before you, ”The scout beheld truth, Frauke!”

You squint at her in confusion, green eyes narrowing but a sense of unease filling you merely from her tone of voice, “What? The scout?...”

“Frauke, something huge is moving in the camp!” Arastro shouts, already turned about and moving to your position.

”A troll! A bonded she-troll, dwelling among the thieves!” Edela cries out to him, buzzing away a few feet in the air from you. You stand from the stump, your small boots fully sinking into the snow you’ve distracted yourself with for minutes now, and you trade worried looks with Arastro. He’s already drawing his longsword from its scabbard, readying himself for battle. It's a good thing he's clad in most of his armor, the dulled plates only faintly reflecting starlight and distant flame.

”I attempted…” Edela puts her hands behind her back, looking nervously to the ground, “...a parlay with the she-troll, but flames and death incensed her to rage. Reason failed to reach her, a transfiguring hate overwhelming sense. I... fear I may have worsened her fury.”

“I told you not to explore that far-” You begin to say, chiding her. The grimalkin threatened to hunt you, a sinister parting curse, and Edela running off so far alone in the dark was blatant foolishness. Even keeping closely together, those malevolent cat-spirits pose a serious risk in the dark if they set upon you at once as a pack. You're not her keeper, ultimately the choice is hers, but the recklessness bothers you.

“Is that what that huge thing is down there, an angry troll woman? How could Marc have missed something like that?” Arastro questions, cutting you off, though you remember the dismissed warning well enough. At the time you thought Gustav was right, deferring to his experience.

Who encounters trolls outside of a bards story anyways? Witches travelling with fairies, apparently.

Lines and signs, if only that didn’t make its own twisted sense. Convergences of conception, as Åse called the phenomena, an idea you never paid much heed to until this very moment. There’s been too much strangeness lately.

“Your watcher did warn of it!” Edela corrects, though hardly sounding pleased as she does so, her tone sorrowful, “He spied her as she must have been, tall but peaceful. Rage swells their stature, grief moreso; form and feeling are one for trollkin!”

Her knowledge of spirits has proven elucidating over the prior few hours, but sometimes you really don't like what Edela tells you.

“Moon and sun.” Arastro says, the divine invocation more of a swear than a plea for aid, “We have to help the others, Frauke. Can you still cast?”

>>4694388

Edela can fly with terrific swiftness when she wishes to do so, but you’re very much limited to old fashioned foot slogging, theoretical feats of earth magic aided levitation aside. In the darkened woods, retracing the narrow path Marc led you up earlier will be no quick task, and crossing the distance to the camp will take minutes longer still. The crystal lantern you seized from the mages chamber lies nearby, wrapped in a spare cloak to conceal its faintly azure light, but even with it at full blaze and lighting the way the journey would not be swift; Would intervention even aid the battle? Would you arrive too late regardless? There's no way to know for certain.

Arastro's question lingers in the air. Can you still cast?

>”I can push myself a little further, manage a few spells if we close the distance. Lets go, there’s no time to waste!”
>”I might be able to cast something big enough to help from here, but it… it won’t be pleasant. You’ll need to guard me when I fall unconscious. My, uh, my robes might catch fire too, put them out if that happens, okay?”
>”I can, but I… I don’t see how it could be of much use. I’ll just end up knocking myself out again, like at the Boar camp. With the grimalkin around, I’d be too much of a liability...”
>Write-in.

Damn formatting errors strike again.

>>4694390
>>”I can push myself a little further, manage a few spells if we close the distance. Lets go, there’s no time to waste!”

>>4694390
>”I can push myself a little further, manage a few spells if we close the distance. Lets go, there’s no time to waste!”
Let's try to at least pass out in the general vicinity of the other Drakes.

>>4694390
>>>”I can push myself a little further, manage a few spells if we close the distance. Lets go, there’s no time to waste!”

>>4694430
>>4694450
>>4694474

“I can push myself a little further, manage a few spells if we close the distance.” You say after a moment's delay, taking up your oaken staff once more from where it leans against the stump, “Lets go, there’s no time to waste!”

“That's the spirit! Come on Frauke, we’ve got a troll to kill.” Arastro states confidently, already heading toward the cloak wrapped crystal lamp with a prayer on his lips, “Moon guide our steps and my blade, let your light be a shield in our time of need, a guardian watching over-”

Edela zips over to the crumpled cloak, and straining with effort she pulls the blue crystal lamp out from its hold and lifts it into the air by its looping bronze wire handle, wings thrumming ever louder as she compensates for the overlarge lantern’s weight, ”Begone, pallorous orb, you starlit egg of woe! By my hand shall the way be lit!”

“-watching over us all.” Arastro finishes the prayer despite the mildly blasphemous interruption, wasting no time in standing around here and bickering, already following the little sprite and her proportionally gargantuan lamp into the depths of the forest, “Edela, why do speak of the moon so poorly?”

“It does get a bit old, Arastro, moon this, sun that.” You comment, keeping close behind the floating lantern as you descend quickly down the winding rocky trail Marc revealed earlier, careful even with the lamp’s blue-white light guiding the way to not trip upon iced over stone.

“No, no, I get that feeling too at times.” He says with a small wave of his free hand, looking distracted and glancing off to the left at something, even as his pace quickens down the icy path, “...It's one of the bigger reasons I left the monastery, to tell the truth. But why be so venomous about it? The moon watches over us all, she’s a protector in the dark from unseen danger.”

“Deep fog and ill feeling surround my gaze when I behold it.” Edela explains grumpily, she and the glowing lamp bobbing about in the air as she avoids the bristling branches of nearby spruce trees, ”Mere thought evokes the same. Foul thing, thief of starlight, false harlot!”

“...Strong words, sprite, I've heard similar before but never so openly about the gods. How about the sun then? He’s not so bad, right?” Arastro asks, keeping the conversation going, and sounding… mildly amused? Is he just prodding at her now?

>>4694664

“Quit it, you’ll get her riled-” You begin to protest before almost slipping on an iced stone, catching your balance with the aid of your staff moments before disaster. Practical for casting and hiking, these things, but you’re nearly finished with this descent anyways, the ground leveling off.

“Worse still! Even within my broken recollection of Aster, light suffused all- Aaagh!” Edela cries out as about fifty pounds of screeching grimalkin leaps from the shadows without warning, the little sprite narrowly avoiding being dragged off into the dark by the cat-spirit's fangs. With a panicked, spinning swing she clonks the grimalkin over the head with the lantern mid pounce, sending it sprawling to the snowy forest floor with an angry hiss, and it flees back into the shadows.

More leap from nearby hiding spots, Arastro catching a pair mid jump with single swift cut, bloodied halves striking the snow just beyond him, but a third falls upon him from a tree, wrapping its unnervingly human limbs around his neck and biting down visciously. No, no, not this again!

Not again indeed. The cat-spirit’s fanged maw finds no purchase upon the steel of Arastro’s armor, making terrible noise but managing… nothing of note, really, before Arastro grabs it by its black bushy tail and slams it upon a nearby rock. There’s a crack and final yowl of pain from the beast, and he flings the body off into the darkness. The other dark furred grimalkin, just a few moments from setting upon you, break and run at the sight of their failed ambush.

It’s all over so fast you barely had time to react, raising your staff defensively for a few moments but not even casting a single spell. Bickering about the sun and moon one moment, and then slain grimalkin in the snow the next...

“Haha, it worked! Can’t believe they’re that easy to bait, little bastards.” Arastro exclaims with a laugh, eyes scanning over the nearby trees and shadowed undergrowth before he continues onward to the camp.

’You knew! Edela accuses, before breaking into a happy giggle of her own, complementing him and giving him a tiny peck on the cheek, “Clever hunter! I begin to understand your ploys.”

“Thanks, I try.” He says without an ounce of humility, cheeks a little red and basking in the small victory for a moment, “Come on, we still have to deal with the troll.”

“...Right.” You manage to say, still trying to make sense of what happened. How long did he know the grimalkin were following you? You hadn’t seen a thing, too distracted by the conversation.

A few minutes later and you’ve made it through the woods and to the edge of the still burning brigand camp, orangish red hues flicking about as flames light the area. Beyond the palisade are the sounds of… cheering?

>>4694667

“Sounds like we won. That’s Gustav for you.” Arastro says, chuckling and lowering his blade but not yet sheathing it. You walk alongside him to the palisade, Edela setting the lantern down with an exhausted huff and flying close behind. The camp gate is closed, so you’re forced to use the rope ladders hooked along the wooded palisade, an awkward climb in your robes and with staff in hand and… oh my, that’s quite a drop down! Arastro goes over without hesitation, landing gracefully. You hesitate further, and look around the area before making the leap yourself.

In the corpse filled yard beyond, near an old stone manor house, you can see the rest of the Drakes standing atop an enormous greenish brown skinned corpse, waving weapons about and congratulating one another like nobles posing around a freshly slain aurox on a hunt.

Already standing on the bloodied snow far beneath you, Arastro sheaths his longsword and looks up, grinning mischievously, “Alright, you can’t hold onto that ladder forever, Frauke. Come on, jump. I’ll catch you.”

>Jump!
>Insist on lowering yourself down awkwardly. You have your pride!
>Lower yourself back down outside the palisade, move to the next ladder, and use one of the watch platforms to descend the other side in smaller steps.
>Write-in

>>4694669
>>Lower yourself back down outside the palisade, move to the next ladder, and use one of the watch platforms to descend the other side in smaller steps.

>>4694669
>>Jump!

>>4694669
>Insist on lowering yourself down awkwardly. You have your pride!

>>4694690
>>4694791
>>4695151
Won't be able to start writing for another couple of hours probably, so I'll leave voting open. I'll roll it off if there isn't a winner when I'm back.

Unfortunately all of this week will likely only have one update a day, if even that. When I (hopefully) hit my next chunk of free time I'll start up a new thread, but I'll keep this one going for now.

Rolled 2 (1d3)

>>4694690
1
>>4694791
2
>>4695151
3

>>4695354
>>4694791

At Arastro’s insistence you make the leap, trusting he’ll live up to his word, your dark robes rustling slightly as you fall the short distance from the top of the palisade and into his waiting arms. The impact isn’t pleasant, armored plates are not the most welcoming cushion, but his grip is strong and firm, and you’re gently set down to the ground. Your boots crunch into the bloodied snow below, and looking away from Arastro you take a few moments to situate your robes, hat and scarf, fussing about with them in the cold. It’s all so very… embarrassing, the gifted scarf concealing your cheeks as they flush scarlet.

“Not so bad, right?” He asks, letting out a small chuckle.

“Y-yeah. Thanks.” You answer, still situating your scarf and refusing eye contact as you begin to walk toward the Drakes surrounding the troll corpse. Several of them are already waving in greeting as you both approach. A few look wounded, and another pair are sitting with their backs to the grey manor house wall and clearly in even worse condition.

“Anytime you need me, Frauke. Come on, this...” Arastro trails off, the playful cheer draining from his tone as he begins to take in the scene of the battlefield around you, several slain Drakes separated from the fallen gory throng of brigands and set out in a line near the crumbled tower, “Gods, this actually doesn’t look good.”

“How many was it?” You ask, trying to count them up, seeing only five in the grim line as you approach, but a more important question burns in your mind, “Who was it?”

“I’ll check, you go see Gustav. They need prayers if they’re to pass on peacefully, may as well be me.” Arastro says solemnly, looking at the moon hanging high above the night sky, barely a cloud in sight to block its silver rays.

”Poor troll… Poor men...” Edela says softly while hovering next to you, her head bowed respectfully.

>”Poor troll?” You’re not sure if you're angry or just confused by the comment. The troll only made this worse, surely.
>Head to Gustav, he’s standing near the wounded and speaking with them. It looks like Peter is with him as well.
>Follow Arastro anyways. You need to know who’s dead, you haven't know them for long but the Drakes have only treated you well. They deserve better.
>Write-in.

>>4695522
>Head to Gustav, he’s standing near the wounded and speaking with them. It looks like Peter is with him as well.
I hope Dirk is ok

>>4695522
>Head to Gustav, he’s standing near the wounded and speaking with them. It looks like Peter is with him as well.

>>4695522
>>Head to Gustav, he’s standing near the wounded and speaking with them. It looks like Peter is with him as well.

>>4695522
>>Follow Arastro anyways. You need to know who’s dead, you haven't know them for long but the Drakes have only treated you well. They deserve better.

>>4695522
>Head to Gustav, he’s standing near the wounded and speaking with them. It looks like Peter is with him as well.

>>4695522
>>Head to Gustav, he’s standing near the wounded and speaking with them. It looks like Peter is with him as well.

>>4695522
>>Follow Arastro anyways. You need to know who’s dead, you haven't know them for long but the Drakes have only treated you well. They deserve better.

The awful sights left in the wake of the battle weigh upon your mind as you trudge through the bloody snow toward Gustav, squinting over the edge of your high wrapped scarf to try and determine who it is he’s standing by along the manor house’s front wall. Peter is kneeling and treating the two badly wounded men, one of them you’ve only spoken to in passing and the other is… Oh no. It’s Dirk!

He looks to be in serious pain, sitting against the stone wall and absolutely soaked in blood, his blue brigandine stained dark by the drying gore, black hair and mustache matted down by what must have been a truly nightmarish amount of blood. How badly is he wounded? Where? You can’t tell from here, and quicken your pace through the snow as worry grips you, brushing right past the Drakes standing about the troll corpse and paying its foul smelling bulk little heed. You head right over to Dirk, ignoring the others.

“Hey, Kid. Fine work with that, gah...” Dirks greets you before Gustav speaks, grimacing in pain as he tries to sit up a little more, “...With that spell. No frogs, roasted em’ good though.”

“Are you alright?” You ask, better words not readily coming to mind, to which Dirk starts to laugh before coughing in pain.

“You’ve got eyes.” He answers, “Look for yourself. Feeling just great, think I might run laps in a minute.”

You kneel by his side, and on closer inspection he doesn’t appear to have any stabs or cuts, no bandages at all… broken bones then? Ribs maybe, hopefully not his back, and his arms and legs at least aren’t obviously broken, but a visual inspection doesn’t give hints as to the exact location of injuries. Ugh, that’s still awful, you broke a rib once after falling while trying to levitate on a boulder, and it hurt like hell to even breathe until Åse healed you. After an hour-long lesson without tea, of course.

“Damned troll threw half a man at him, it took him right off his feet! If he was any shorter it would’ve taken his head clean off, isn’t that right Dirk?” Gustav rumbles, his red beard and plate armor smeared with drying crimson, though clearly not his own. The visor of Gustav’s salet is lifted, and he flashes a crooked toothy smile at both of you.

>>4696478

“Sod off, giant, it’s the-Agh!” Dirk starts to respond, returning a pained tight lipped grin and trying again to sit up before wincing and settling back down, “...It’s the pay that keeps me goin’, you know that. Can’t die here, I’d miss the bonus Lussan’s gonna give us for doing such a fine job.”

“...Won’t get paid if you’re dead, Dirk, stop moving around so much. It’s only going to make it worse, you need to rest.” Peter chides from nearby, busy checking over the bandages on the other Drake propped against the wall.

Dirk shoots Peter an unpleasant look, “Don’t move? Get rest? Oh, thanks doc, really appreciate that wise and insightful advice, couldn’t have- Agh, Gods damn it all, where’s the spirits? Hurts somethin’ fierce just talking.”

Gustav grunts in acknowledgement, “Been there before. The wagons are being brought up, you’ll get your drink.”

>”...Yeah, we could really use some spirits right now, shame there’s none here.” Nudge Edela with your elbow. She’s invisible to them still, but that shouldn’t matter for this.
>”...Who all did we lose, Gustav? Arastro and I tried to get here as soon as we spotted the troll, but the forest’s dark and… full of cats. I wish I could’ve done more.”
>”Here, I can help. Probably. Maybe. ...It’s a bit of a long shot, actually. Hold absolutely still, okay?” Attempt to use Control+Body to speed Dirk’s recovery.
>Write-in.