What Else Is There? (Closed)

[Duffy]

Closed to BlackAndBlueEyes.

Prologue - The Wanderer's Comet

Toxicity. Vitriol. Spewing poisons onto the surface without care or concern. Whichever way you put it, poetic license ran rampant when somebody referred to the Red Forest. You could forgive the wrapped up delusions of a half-cut bard the moment someone whispered Lindequalmë into his gin soaked ears. It was the way of the world. The state of things.

“It’s time we did something about Pode’s Curse.”

The flippant way in which Duffy stated his intentions did little to alleviate the worries of the blade singer stood over him. The elf stared down at the wayward oath, disdain scaring his otherwise heavenly features. He adjusted his sword, a curved blade cruel and sour on his hip, and turned to the northern gates of the fort.

“If you wish to do something, there is the exit.” He looked back at Duffy who was grinning imp-like.

“Others referring to the elves, right?”

Upending himself, the bard rose from the bunk and began an elaborate display of stretching, preparation, and musculature flexing. Compared to his slender peers, he was a titan amongst blades of grass. When he finished, he stared Alastair dead on and challenged him with a puffed out chest.

“To us, I think you will find,” Alastair replied tardily.

“I do not chose this form. This form was chosen for me, because people like you need someone to drag you out of the dark ages.” Duffy’s words were crude, without form, and unnecessarily cruel – yet somehow, they drove the point perfectly home.

“What would you have me do?” Alastair pleaded. His eyes glistened with the signs of early tears. His mail danced with the overhead flames of the candelabra, and the torchlights, brackets of security on the cold walls of granite danced as the north gate creaked ominously open.

Duffy folded his arms across his chest. Though he wore nothing more than a thick woollen cloak, a white tunic, and tightly bound slacks he appeared angelic. Ancient Magicks took hold of Alastair’s senses and delivered the elf into the true, unwavering service of the half-human Bladesinger.

“We look beyond these poultry borders.” Duffy pointed to the dark portal. There, in the twilight, appeared a woman the bard had met in many a previous lifetime. The very quintessence of toxicity, of Pode’s Curse, walked brazen through the golden portal in Salvar to the Waypoint between Stars.

Alastair despaired as recognition struck. He reached for his blade, but upon truly recognising the face of the woman in the distance, he fell limp and defeated.

“Alastair I would like you to meet ‘Maddy’, although I hear some call her Farrow.” At least, the high-elves had given her that name, translated from the elven ‘Langhe’. Poison. “She is going to save Raiaera, and I’m going to save her.” Dufy missed out the part about ‘or die trying’, but felt confident enough that his introduction had set the scene for a rebellious delve into keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

"All I'm saying, Madison, is that I think you are wrong in your... your baseless assumptions!"

"And that's why I keep yelling at you, Gustav!"

The thunderous roar of our voices had long since brought the daily proceedings of my laboratory within the Order of the Crimson Hand to a screeching halt. Dozens upon dozens of eyes within the brightly-lit and cluttered room were on myself and one of my most trusted researchers, a grumpy old fuck with a balding head and a thick gray beard that hid his mouth at all times as we debated our points and stood within inches of each other's faces. Gustav was, for the most part, an agreeable sort of fellow; save for the times that he believed himself to be correct beyond all doubt in a certain manner. That's when the researcher turned into the equivalent of a five-foot-four, two-hundred pound badger.

His bushy salt and pepper brows narrowed themselves as he continued to spew his drivel, lecturing me on the nature of the thing we were arguing about. "You clearly do not understand exactly what it is that plagues the Red Forest."

I cut him off with a wave. "Yes, yes, Podë's Curse. Curse implying some stupid supernatural thing that turned the leaves red and mutated the fauna. But that's all we have to go off of; just a stupid name of a thing from your bedtime stories."

Gustav inched closer. I could smell the bacon from breakfast on his breath now. "The War of the Tap was not a simple bedtime story, as you so put it."

I glared venomously right back, refusing to back down. "Spare me the history lesson. I'm well fucking aware of what happened during the War. But there is very little documentation on the nature of what Podë did to the Red Forest. We are people of science, my friend. Isn't it our very nature to want to question things?"

"Some things cannot be questioned," he growled. "The Curse is a corruption of the Tap itself; an action so pure, so inexplicable that--"

"Spare me the fucking 'a wizard did it' explanations, Gustav." I rolled my eyes and threw my hands up, shaking them in mockery.

The balding researcher was quick and quiet in his correction. "Forgotten One, not wizard."

"What the fuck ever," I screamed. I was not in any sort of mood to be interrupted by anyone, no matter how important they were in my operations, for stupid bullshit semantics. "I don't care if you're the personal avatar of every single god, Forgotten or otherwise, you don't just go, 'oh, whoops, I just waved my hand and now you're a rotting, cursed shell of your former self, ha ha ha sorry about that' and expect everyone to be cool with it!"

The bright lights of the laboratory shone off his bald noggin as he crossed his arms defiantly. "And once you get there, what are you hoping to find?"

I shook my head. "For all I know, I won't find anything. I do not have an answer for that. But, unlike you, I'm willing to go and actually look, rather than accept the faded ink in some tattered old tome written millennia after the fact as undeniable truth."

"Let's say you do find something, Madison." He tilted his chin up, trying desperately hard to look down his round little nose at me despite being a solid three inches shorter. "Let's hypothesize that Podë's Curse is something tangible, and not just a simple corruption of magical energies that are altering the cellular structure of every living creature with the forest. Let's hypothesize that it is actually, say, a very unique strain of bacteria, or fungus, or virus, or what have you. What will you do with that knowledge, r those samples?"

I opened my mouth to say something along the lines of global domination, but thought better at the last second. Oh, I had plans, alright. Grand plans. Wonderful plans. Terrifying plans. "I don't know that, either."

Gustav scoffed and rolled his eyes. I clenched my briar-knit fists and breathed in deeply, ready to knock this smug son of a bitch out in front of everyone. My voice came out as a seething, angry hiss. "I'm going to Raiaera, Gustav. No matter what your closed little mind may thing. I will find something related to Podë's Curse that the Crimson Hand can use." That I can use.


-- ~ -- ~ --

The thing is, even though I did not want to admit it at the time, I knew that this was a fool's errand as much as Gustav did. Oh, I've read the stories. I've heard the tales. The affliction that had made Lindequalmë into what it is now had certainly been caused by the incredible magic of an old Forgotten One. But there was a little part of me that desperately wanted to discover whether or not the curse was magic in nature; or if it had simply been a spell that corrupted the bacteria that lived and thrived in every living being with in the great forest and forced the drastic changes commonly seen within the flora and fauna within its boundaries.

A small part of me hoped beyond hope for the latter; for that small part of me wanted to absorb that power for myself.

Oh, the places I could go and the things I could do with that kind of reality-warping power festering and growing inside me, obeying my every command and spreading itself throughout the world in a fashion that would be suitable to my needs--and the needs of the Crimson Hand as well, I suppose.

I have had designs on taking a little trip to the Red Forest for a while now, but an opportunity to do so with fellow researchers arose when I received a letter about two weeks prior. It was written in with a flowery vocabulary, almost thespian in nature (those theater freaks always had a flair for using unnecessarily dramatic and artsy language). The handwriting was beautiful and easily read, however; which I appreciated as someone who deals with the scribblings of rushed researchers and illiterate mercenaries on a daily basis.

The letter offered a chance to join a small expedition into the Red Forest to research the curse that held it in its icy grip, which I took up immediately. A second letter gave me instructions that would lead me to a portal that would swiftly teleport me to a rendezvous point. I quickly gathered a bag with clothes, some rations of jerky, water purification tablets (great for magically cursed drinks, I know), and some medical and survival gear before heading off.

I'll spare the details of the first leg of my trip and skip to the part where I stepped through the portal.

I was unceremoniously dumped in a darkened courtyard. I dropped to one knee, my bags hitting the patterned stonework floor as I steadied myself. Teleportation magic always had a way of scrambling my insides, making me feel as if I was going to throw up at any moment. A few deep breaths and a soft curse or two, and I was all set to go.

Standing back up, I dusted off the knee of my pants with a quick swipe and got a look at my surroundings. This was certainly a courtyard, yes; simple in construction, with walls surrounding it that appeared Akashiman in nature--but not quite. Yes, at the top of the off-white plastered walls you had slanted roofs with red wood trimming and green clay tiles that were curved and all, but... I don't know how to describe it. Especially when it comes to the beauty of the sky overhead.

Above me was a complete, unobstructed view of the stars in the sky--but they seemed more vivid, brighter, clearer. Rather than the fuzzy line that would be the arm of the galaxy as viewed on the ground, it was as clear as the sun in the midday sky. Shades of dark blue and purple, reds and oranges all swirled together in a beautiful dance that left me utterly speechless.

I don't know how long I stood there in awe of the spectacle. But eventually, I was able to pull myself away. I gazed across the courtyard to see two figures in cloaks talking to each other, drinks in hand. My cohorts along this journey, perhaps? Taking a step towards then, I cleared my throat to get their attention.

[Duffy]

Duffy clocked Madison as she approached. He had turned to console his colleague’s aggressive reaction to their co-conspirator’s name. The poison expert had garnered quite the reputation. It was as toxic a name as the person who wore it, mask-like, through quagmire and contagion. With a friendly, welcoming gesture he bade her close the last few hundred feet.

“It has been a long time, Madison Freebird.” Reliant on his recent regeneration, the bard glared intently at their guest. He made no threatening motions. The tone of his voice alone caused the atmosphere to intensify. Hairs on the back of necks stood dutifully to attentions.

“Do I know you?” she replied glib.

Words alone would never convince one so shrewd as she to his identify. He set his glass onto a crate, and unclipped his cloak. The leaf shaped buckle caught the firelight, and he set it down in a heap on the floor. White blouse, loose-fitting slacks, wide-girth. He was everything opposite to the man he had been when last poison queen and bile spewing king had met.

“We exchanged words once. Tables, knifes, and blood as well whilst I think about it.” He smiled awkwardly.

He lifted his arms to his sides, like wings, and then clicked his fingers. It was unnecessary flair to a mental thought. A silver-tipped cane appeared in his right hand. A black-hilted katana, not the one of legend, flickered to view in his left. He dropped his hands to his sides, cane tip in the dirt, katana’s tip resting on his boot.

“…you sent me that letter?”

The more Madison thought about it, the more it made sense. Who else would request her help, of all the people on the planet? Flattery and gumption had won her over with spidery script and the promise of a ‘well-endowed package’ for her if she supported his efforts.

“I am sorry for the secrecy. Given our past, and my friend here’s reluctance to be in the same courtyard as you…it was,” he frowned, “a required measure.”

“That measure will not spare you from my blade.” Alistair’s deadpan tone undid any of Duffy’s diplomacy. The blade singer turned to his half-human friend, rancid smile as poisonous as Madison’s blood. “Do you trust her?”

“I’m right here guys,” she said, false hurt intoning her statement. She encroached further into their camp and picked up Duffy’s cup to inspect the contents.

“Not remotely,” Duffy replied flatly. He turned to Madison. “We are in the Waypoint. Time stops here. Poison will not work. Blades are dinned and unseen. Fists fall short of the mark. We talk, Madison, and then we part. If you like what I have to say,” he paused, for dramatic effect, “and you will…”

He snapped his wrist and his sword extended to Alistair’s nape. Though half-crippled, Duffy’s speed and strength with a blade were unrivalled in the courtyard. It should have cleaved the elf’s neck from his body without resistance. As the bard stated, something unseen halted it, edge pressing gently against whitening skin.

“Will I?” she partook in some of the liquid, and returned the goblet to the crate.

“Help us clear the forest of its poison. Help us destroy Pode’s ghost. Help us to revive Raiaera before the Forgotten Ones reform.” He lowered the blade, leaving Alistair as flustered and irritable as ever he was. “I will give you whatever you want. It is that simple.” His promise was sincere, and his intentions pure.

The stars overhead shifted as the way point continued to spiral through the blind eternities. The tapestry of colour shifted to a maelstrom of darkness, umbrae shades, and greys infinitely bleak and bland in number. Duffy leant on his cane, and kept his sword gripped loosely. He took a deep breath, as though steeling himself, and waited for her inevitable spewing forth of questions and quick witted attempts at put downs.

“Or be gone,” Alistair added. The ultimatum come threat petered out quickly in the immensity of their meeting. He dropped back to the crate he used as a seat and drained his glass.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Curse my bastard's luck...

When the nicer of the two figures threw off his cloak to reveal himself, I recognized the simple white shirt top and black slacks. As the man dribbled on, I recognized the overly-theatrical and dramatic speech patterns. Then, there was of course, the cane. And the almost-magical speed and accuracy with his blade.

Yep, this was that farmboy I squared off against once in the Citadel. Duffy... McKraken? McBraken? Something like that. A man of the famed Tantalus troupe (but not famous enough for me to bother remembering his last name).

Granted, he did look different from the last time we met, all those months ago. His hair was now rust-colored, and his eyes a different shade of green. Perhaps his memory went through a little shift as well since we stabbed the hell out of each other--this past he was referring to that would require portals and pocket dimensions or whatever this place was? We sparred in the Citadel for five minutes. Either he had me confused for someone else for a second, I must've gone on some serious adventures with him whilst blackout drunk only to forget everything when I woke up in an alleyway the next morning covered in slobber and detritus.

I side-eyed his elven compatriot. This rude fuck kept his body hidden underneath a cloak of his own, but at the angle his elbow protruded into the cloth, I could tell his hand was on the hilt of his own blade. How cute. I could've melted his skin off before he could even pull steel on me, and everyone here knew it.

I turned back to Duffy. "Before I agree to anything, I'm gonna' have to ask you to tell your friend here to stop being such a jerk before I tear his jaw clean off his skull." The elf stiffened, tilting his head up in disgust. The redhead flashed a curt smile.

"I can assure you that you are safe from him within the Waypoint, Madison." Duffy shifted his weight, leaning further onto his cane as he continued to size me up. "But I shall require an answer from you as quick as possible. Time is of the essence; even here, where time is but an illusion. I offer you anything your heart desires in exchange for your... expertise on all matters rotting and diseased."

Anything my heart desires? Oh, my poor man; simply going into the Red Forest and researching the effects of Podë's Curse firsthand, taking samples of infected flora and fauna, and working to assimilate it into my own personal Briarheart repertoire is everything my little heart desires. Just the thought of being able to harness and control the Forgotten One's plague was intoxicating. I hadn't felt this excited since I retired as an assassin four years ago and opened up my bookstore.

While I daydreamed, the elf leaned in closer to the cripple. "I still cannot believe that you are considering bringing her along on your journey," he whispered, just loud enough for me to hear. "She is dangerous! She is the walking embodiment of the Curse itself that grips my country! She will do nothing but poison my homeland and brethren further!" Duffy offered the elf a smile full of pity and rested his hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him that he knew what he was doing and that everything was going to be alright.

Even though the three of us knew that it was a lie.

I cleared my throat again to get their attention. "I will admit, you must be pretty desperate to contact me. Your buddy over there--" I dismissively gestured at the robed elf "--he seems to be aware of what I'm capable of, and at the very least, aware of some actions in recent memory that may or may not be attributed to said capabilities." I took a few steps over to the glass on the crate that I had previously taken a sip from. I tilted it with the tip of my finger to find that it was empty.

"But," I continued, "perhaps desperate times call for desperate measures. I don't know why there's the sudden interest in curing the forest of the Curse; but if you can follow through on your promise to give me anything..." I locked eyes with Duffy briefly. I felt a pang in my stomach, a hunger of sorts for the power that the Curse could grant me. "Then count me in."

[Duffy]

Part One - East of the Lindequalme

A woman’s word, to Duffy Bracken, was worth its weight in gold. Even if the woman in question was on the top of a very small list of ‘potential future Forgotten Ones’. A necessary evil would always be required in order to lay low the nemesis of the Thayne themselves. Tit for tit. This for that. Deal with it tomorrow.

The bard pointed west.

“We should be able to see the Lindequalme extremes over the rise.” He dropped his hands to his sides.

Fortunately for him and his elven companion, Madison Freedbird had been swayed to their collective. Unfortunately for them all, the magic of the Wanderers, and of the Thayne Tantalus did not stretch so far as to provide transportation into the heart of the Red Forest. The fort had dropped them out of the space between two leagues to the east, where the high elves decreed long ago that no living being should wander.

“I didn’t agree to mosquitoes,” Madison replied bitterly. She swatted her brow, for what seemed like the hundredth time on their journey.

Duffy chuckled.

“If you claim so highly to be a ‘mistress of plagues’, you should know all too well on what ground you’re unfortunate to stand.” Alistair, forgiving of the woman’s presence, but not inclined to be nice turned away and walked on. His cloak to her back, he did not see Duffy’s glare of contempt.

“The Alye Duina,” Madison said, matter of fact. "Yeah, I've already done my research on it. I've thumbed through enough tomes by the time you sent your little letter."

Duffy rolled his eyes. Whilst he had no doubt Madison’s knowledge was extensive as she, or any other crier of her talents and sins claimed, now was not the time nor the place.

“Yes. The Alye Duina. The perilous, mortal, deadly swamp,” he said with haste. The speed of his words implied caution, and his gesture for Madison to follow Alistair’s sense of direction towards their destination did its work in keeping the trio moving.

They advanced, elf, half-elf, and toxicity onwards. Boots, greaves, and moccasins skirted certain tricky ends and cruelly poisoned barbs poised threating on vines and bramble. Even miles out from the very heart of Pode’s corruption, the long lost fortress of Carnelost, the Forgotten One’s corruption scarred Raiaera beyond recognition.

“We make the tree-line by nightfall and we may survive.” Alistair’s blunt tone carried through into his every word. Stoic and unremorseful, the Wanderer began to blur the lines between hatred of Madison, and hatred of all things. His home land loomed before him as they crested the ridge. Granite crumbled away to the fetid plains below, and his heart panged with regret at the crimson tapestry before him.

Duffy came up on his left. He sighed again, a reaction he relied upon all too readily of late. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders tighter, feeling the cold set in as the sun set and threatened to plunge the ochre sky into abyssal oblivion. He looked over his shoulder, and gestured to Madison.

“As promised, the source of Raiaera’s woes.” He turned away and waved over the treeline a mile ahead.

There was no view like it on Althanas. To the south, the trees grew tall and withered. Red leaves, bright despite the growing end of day cut off the sea that lapsed the poisoned shores of their home. To the north, the last lines of defence between elf and blood beast fought an eternal war. Far, far west where the mountains met wood – the secret order of the Grunda defended stone with the last glow of Dwarven magic.

“From here on, Madison…you lead the way through the madness that waits.” Duffy stepped to one side and shot Alistair a dagger glance before he spoke up. His companion followed orders, and let the poison queen take the lead.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I have decided that Duffy's elf buddy is a dick, and that I do not like him.

Alistair, as I learned his name was on our journey by listening to the redhead constantly scolding him, has been doing nothing ever since I had shown up in the Waypoint but give me side-eye and venom. The elf had a serious chip on his shoulder for some stupid reason. It's not like I had been the one who waltzed into his homeland, waved her hand, and then whoops your people are suddenly plagued and your beautiful countryside is now home to a terrible blight. I am not responsible for the curse that had been laid upon the Red Forest. There's only one half-pint half-elf that has the right to bear such a grudge against me.

I have also decided that I do not appreciate all these sardonic titles that he's been addressing me with. Mistress of Plagues? Please. Farrow? Fuck off. At least he hadn't called me Briarheart. I've accepted that I've become one and all; but the word carries such a negative connotation for me ever since my encounter in a small Salvic city with another of my... kind, I guess you could say. Maybe I should make it a note to refer to me as a plaguesinger. I bet that would ruffle his bastard elven hair a bit.

As the three of us walked the twisted, dangerous path that lead us through the Alye Duina, I found myself daydreaming about what would happen if Alistair were to simply... lose his footing on a log and fall into the thick, dark waters of the swamp. Just long enough to have the poison seep into his clothes and gear, or to have some of the vile creatures lurking underneath the surface to nibble on some painful parts or take a finger or two. Just to give that bitter little fuckwad something legitimate to gripe about.

We were soon at the treeline of the Red Forest proper. Myself, Duffy, and a still-wholly-intact Alistair paused, as if stopped by an invisible barrier. I took a deep breath and felt as if the gnarled, twisted limbs with their red leaves were suddenly encasing my very soul. I could very much feel the presence of Podë's Curse all around me.

It was a power that was... well, frightening kind of goes without saying. But it was also very intoxicating. I felt as if I were being called...

I furiously shook my head, drawing some sarcastic side-eye from Alistar. It drew Duffy's attention as well. "Are you alright, Madison?"

I tried my best not to sound distracted by the incredibly odd sensation that washed over me. "Yeah, I'm good. Let's keep going for a few hours, while we still have a bit of light overhead."

And so we did. The three unlikely allies began their trek into the cursed Lindequalmë. Surrounded on all sides by blood-colored flora and bloodthirsty fauna, we kept moving forward in our quest to... gosh, I honestly have no idea what. For all my knowledge of diseases, poisons, fungi, and other such malady-inducing things, and for all the books that I thumbed through in my own quest to understand what exactly was going on here before I received Duffy's letter, I still had only the faintest idea of the true enormity of what we were up against. Not to mention, I had absolutely no clue what my traveling companions were intending to do in an attempt to free the forest from the curse that had stricken it ages ago.

The sun had slowly begun to set overhead, offering us very little precious light. We had managed to make it a solid mile, maybe a mile and a half into the woods. With each further step into the red-stained wood, it felt like the oncoming darkness was beginning to smother the three of us. A slight feeling of unease nipped at my heels. Something was amiss, and I had the feeling we were not alone.

My fears were suddenly verified when some bushes to my left rustled, and something very angry burst forth. I did not bother to try and identify what the beast was, or check to see if my companions were going to come to my aid. I immediately turned towards it and fired off a volley of acidic shards.

[Duffy]

Before Duffy could draw his blade, the adversary thrown at them by the wicked wood was wayward to the grave. Its corpse, horned and fickle, twitched and writhed on the ground as the acid continued to burn away flesh long after soul and spirit was scoured from existence.

“Oh,” the bard said. His tone was flat, but the flat of shock, not condescension. “Well.”

His elven companion turned to Madison and frowned. His distaste for the toxic vixen (despite her being neither of things, not truly), was plain for all to see. Yet, somehow, he found it in himself to smile a thanks and bow politely as customary to the Wanderers. Well. It was customary to thank anyone who saved your life, regardless of their potential for world domination.

“It’s a Trillian,” Alistair confirmed. He approached the beast’s body and prodded it tentatively with a well stitched boot.

“For those not in the know,” Duffy clarified, turning to Madison, “a Trillian is a…”

“Sentient spirit that uses nature to hurt its foes in the absence of limbs of its own?” Madison continued.

Duffy forgave himself the assumption that he was the only person amongst the party that knew the Red Forest enough to name its dangers by name and know the weaknesses of his foes. He smirked.

“That’s why Madison is the only person that can help us, Alistair.”

Seeing the bard’s warming to her, and the thawing to the elf perturbed Freebird. The trip was getting complicated, and that was before you calculated the presence of cannibal conifers and bloodlusted hydrangeas. She took a moment, just one brief reflection, to compose herself. Her gloves hisses as acid flecks reminded her that she was immune to the toxicity, but the world was not.

“I can tolerate her presence, Lysander…because you do.”

With vitriol thick, the elf returned to his cold and unwelcoming self. He turned to face the treeline from whence the Trillian lunged. Bowstring pulled, arrow notched, he hummed a ditty that long ago had heralded the forging of three unique artefacts, and the end of a war against enemies unforetold. Though young by the standards of the gods, Alistair was as old as the ground on which he walked without sound.

“I can see why you don’t like him.” Duffy mumbled in Madison’s direction. He winked at her. It was a sort of ‘I get you too’ acknowledgement that probably would be taken the wrong way. Despite his pointed ears and respected stature amongst the remnants of Raiaera’s broken heartland, beneath the façade, he was still the cocky little street urchin he had been five hundred years ago, before fate got in the way of death and made a thespian of a tired young thief’s heart.

“We tolerate the strangest of friends,” Madison replied. She appeared by Duffy’s right hand side, staring down at the strange creature. Spirals were etched into the bark, magic burning its potency into nature’s slow, slow encroach. She pointed to one of the larger acid burns. “And ignore the most normal of enemies.”

Duffy examined the spot she was pointing at. Not a burn. He gasped. Piercings, in gloom of the eve’s last light glinted. He drew his sword forcibly, and whistled and cajoled Alistair with a flurry of elven curses and commands. He was a fool to forget that a Trillian, one small branch of a greater tree, never hunted alone.

“Get down!” he roared at Alistair.

Arrows, not quite blocking out the sun, flew into the treeline. Alistair loosed his fifth in ten seconds, a blistering song spell giving him speed and accuracy, before three more creatures burst into the last dying light. Three more followed, six in total, before the trees stopped dancing and quivering in fear, and battle anew broke out on the broken and windswept scrubland that served as a border between Raiaera’s sorrow, and Pode’s buried hatred. Swords swung, toxins flung, a malady unfurled.