The war against Zidhas rages on, and the Xuleon-Esuth alliance has sent the Heroes of the League to find the long-lost Tower of Flows, where an ancient spirit rests. The only problem? A forest lies between them and their objective, and it seems to be cursed. What will our heroes do?
Do Not Enter: An Oddly Specific Quest About Whether Or Not We Should Cross This Forest
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Chapter 1
Gabbie
That One Writer
- Location
- Italy
- Pronouns
- They/Them
DO NOT ENTER
Thick letters, bolded. It seemed they'd been painted on the sign with rust-colored paint using a wide brush, the kind you'd use for coating entire walls. It also appeared the sign was ancient - it was missing a chunk from one corner, and the paint had frayed at some point. In another hundred years, the paint might well become invisible to the naked eye on that color of wood.
"Well, that's foreboding," Haara decided, standing akimbo as she stared at the sign.
"Very," Airden drolly agreed, from beside her. His face was sullen, the handle of his holstered dagger in his hand tightly gripped. "More foreboding is that I can't see past the treeline."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Even with your special eyes?"
"Don't call them that," he snapped, "but yes. Even True Sight cannot pierce whatever enchantment holds this forest in its sway."
"That's very foreboding." Even Brimer was forced to agree with them. The barbarian's arms were crossed, but he raised one hand to cup his chin. "Do we go through?"
The question was asked to the empty air, almost as if he wasn't expecting an answer, but despite that, Alyin started weighing the pros and cons of the decision quickly. They had roughly six days to reach the presumed location of the Lost Tower of Flows. It was the resting site of an ancient, wish-granting spirit. The Maritime League's Grandmaster considered it to be a potential strategic asset, deadset in the middle of Xuleon-Esuth Alliance territory. Its recovery was considered absolutely critical.
If they went through the forest, Alyin estimated, it'd take approximately one day on foot to reach the Lost Tower. If they went around it, though, it could be as long as three or even four. They hadn't accounted for the fact that this random forest on the map could be cursed in some unspeakable way.
On the other hand…
Alyin half-turned, to glance at the village of Crasmere behind them. The peasants here lived their lives as they might anywhere else, but obviously, it was them - or one of their ancestors - who put up the sign. There had to be a reason, so an investigation might yield them well. Maximize the effects, minimize the risks.
The forest could well be deadly. Passing through might cost one of them - or all of them - their lives, but it'd carry them across in a day. They could also burn up to four days for a safe path. It was a balancing act. If they decided to investigate, they would be unable to stay for longer than two days before it started to become inefficient. And staying for too long, only to find out that going through it is a fool's errand, would be worse still, costing them critical time.
The forest itself was rather nondescript; lots of different kinds of trees, some tall, some short. The very roof of the forest reached up at least three stories in height, casting an ominous shadow over the wood's floor. Looking down, strange flowers and oddly-colored vegetation rose from the dirt - there was one flower that stood out, which looked like an uncomfortably-shaped hand.
Alyin found that trying to look deeper in the forest only warranted the faintest glimmer of an approaching headache, not too dissimilar from the sensation one got from trying to crack an archmage's strongest illusion with mere willpower - a fool's errand.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Brimer asked impatiently, starting to tread for the forest's entrance, completely ignoring the sign.
Brimer was the strongman of the group. A muscular, tall and handsome goliath, with long red dreadlocks. He was shirtless, his bare skin littered by the scars of many battles. The most prominent one was a large gash in the center of his eight-pack - he got that while battling Urreor the Mighty, an Elder Wyvern up in the Dragon Mountains.
He was a prominent user of the Superior Art of Death, a martial art that mixed physical combat with magic - it consisted in using condensed magical energies to strike at the weak points of a target.
In most cases, those weak spots were physical, but if someone was particularly durable but not in the best mental place, a Death Artist could reasonably punch suicidal thoughts into them. The only downside was that it used a lot of mana, and led to complications really quickly.
Brimer was also very strong even without his abilities, and that led him to being a little arrogant and way too reckless. Hence why he had been stabbed through the midsection by Urreor's tail.
Airdan stood in his way. "Wait," the elf said.
Airdan was, quite stereotypically, the sorcerer-rogue with a troubled past. Slim in build, with pearlescent, semi-translucent hair and steel-like eyes; quick on his feet, and reportedly the most proficient archer on this side of the continent.
His pale complexion was littered by blotches where the skin was partially see-through - it was, as Airdan explained, a prerogative of his particular elven sub-type: Wind Elves. Just like Fire Elves had flaming cracks in their skins like ruptured basalt, the body of a Wind Elf was a fourth spiritual, even more so than other elves'.
This led him to being somewhat decent at every school of the Codex Arcaneum, mastering Illusion and Scrying magic over his modestly long lifespan of three hundred and counting. 'True Sight' was an Intermediate-level spell that allowed one to superimpose the spiritual plane over the physical one, often enough seeing through illusions and often walls.
The fact that True Sight couldn't see past the darkness cast by the trees was definitely worrying.
The halfling grabbed Airdan's and Brimer's clothing and tugged at it, drawing their attention and throwing both of them slightly off-balance.
"We should definitely stop to discuss before we plunge in the forest," Haara said with a touch of irritation, focusing her gaze on Brimer, who was growing restless.
Haara was a halfling girl that the team found on a mission. She had long blond hair, blue eyes, and a body curvaceous enough she might've looked like a twenty-year-old if she wasn't barely four and a half feet tall.
A village had been exterminated by Zidhas' soldiers, and the only few survivors either left for the safety of Arthrion or joined the Maritime League - Haara was part of the latter group, and decided to join the party that saved her life.
The heart and - often enough to call it a pattern - brains of the group, Haara was a Paladin. She fought in the name of Ryean, God of Strength and Honor. Despite her small size, those little arms of hers packed the strength of ten orcs combined, although drawing on it all at once would break all of her bones in naught but a single blow.
That leaves me.
"She's right," Alyin said, placing a hand on Haara's head and ruffling her blond hair. Haara pouted, but the faintest glimmer of a smile appeared on her face.
Alyin was the leader of the group, the one that brought them all together. Short-cut hair, a well-toned body hidden away by layers of plate armor and a pair of hazel eyes; it seemed as though she was trying her hardest not to look feminine.
Once a lieutenant in Arthrion's army, she abandoned the armed forces when she realized Arhtrion was doing nothing for the war effort. They were content with staying back, researching their magic, while good people died on the frontlines, fighting back the undead hordes of Zidhas.
Her specialty was blades - shortswords, longswords, claymores, daggers, axes. If it had a blade, she could pick it up, swing it a few times, and gain the experience of a veteran with the weapon in the span of a few hours. It was thanks to this peculiar skill that she managed to climb the ranks of the army.
"What do we do, then?" Haara asked, expectantly turning to Alyin.
"Yeah, right," Brimer echoed, folding his arms.
"Let me think," Alyin said to the group.
[] Investigate the edge - Take a stroll around the forest's outermost edge, try to get a better understanding of what might be inside, while also investigating the outside. May yield no results other than the obvious.
[] Interrogate the villagers - Who better to question if not the people who live by the forest? The local inn's backyard leads directly into the forest, and the hand-shaped flowers grow there as well.
[] Get a room in the inn - The party is tired and hungry, they had been traveling for more than two days before getting to Crasmere. Some rest will do them good.
[] Go through the forest - Fuck it, no point in waiting. The Tower of Flows awaits, and the war cannot be allowed to go on! (Game-changer.)
[] Write-in.
Thick letters, bolded. It seemed they'd been painted on the sign with rust-colored paint using a wide brush, the kind you'd use for coating entire walls. It also appeared the sign was ancient - it was missing a chunk from one corner, and the paint had frayed at some point. In another hundred years, the paint might well become invisible to the naked eye on that color of wood.
"Well, that's foreboding," Haara decided, standing akimbo as she stared at the sign.
"Very," Airden drolly agreed, from beside her. His face was sullen, the handle of his holstered dagger in his hand tightly gripped. "More foreboding is that I can't see past the treeline."
She quirked an eyebrow. "Even with your special eyes?"
"Don't call them that," he snapped, "but yes. Even True Sight cannot pierce whatever enchantment holds this forest in its sway."
"That's very foreboding." Even Brimer was forced to agree with them. The barbarian's arms were crossed, but he raised one hand to cup his chin. "Do we go through?"
The question was asked to the empty air, almost as if he wasn't expecting an answer, but despite that, Alyin started weighing the pros and cons of the decision quickly. They had roughly six days to reach the presumed location of the Lost Tower of Flows. It was the resting site of an ancient, wish-granting spirit. The Maritime League's Grandmaster considered it to be a potential strategic asset, deadset in the middle of Xuleon-Esuth Alliance territory. Its recovery was considered absolutely critical.
If they went through the forest, Alyin estimated, it'd take approximately one day on foot to reach the Lost Tower. If they went around it, though, it could be as long as three or even four. They hadn't accounted for the fact that this random forest on the map could be cursed in some unspeakable way.
On the other hand…
Alyin half-turned, to glance at the village of Crasmere behind them. The peasants here lived their lives as they might anywhere else, but obviously, it was them - or one of their ancestors - who put up the sign. There had to be a reason, so an investigation might yield them well. Maximize the effects, minimize the risks.
The forest could well be deadly. Passing through might cost one of them - or all of them - their lives, but it'd carry them across in a day. They could also burn up to four days for a safe path. It was a balancing act. If they decided to investigate, they would be unable to stay for longer than two days before it started to become inefficient. And staying for too long, only to find out that going through it is a fool's errand, would be worse still, costing them critical time.
The forest itself was rather nondescript; lots of different kinds of trees, some tall, some short. The very roof of the forest reached up at least three stories in height, casting an ominous shadow over the wood's floor. Looking down, strange flowers and oddly-colored vegetation rose from the dirt - there was one flower that stood out, which looked like an uncomfortably-shaped hand.
Alyin found that trying to look deeper in the forest only warranted the faintest glimmer of an approaching headache, not too dissimilar from the sensation one got from trying to crack an archmage's strongest illusion with mere willpower - a fool's errand.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Brimer asked impatiently, starting to tread for the forest's entrance, completely ignoring the sign.
Brimer was the strongman of the group. A muscular, tall and handsome goliath, with long red dreadlocks. He was shirtless, his bare skin littered by the scars of many battles. The most prominent one was a large gash in the center of his eight-pack - he got that while battling Urreor the Mighty, an Elder Wyvern up in the Dragon Mountains.
He was a prominent user of the Superior Art of Death, a martial art that mixed physical combat with magic - it consisted in using condensed magical energies to strike at the weak points of a target.
In most cases, those weak spots were physical, but if someone was particularly durable but not in the best mental place, a Death Artist could reasonably punch suicidal thoughts into them. The only downside was that it used a lot of mana, and led to complications really quickly.
Brimer was also very strong even without his abilities, and that led him to being a little arrogant and way too reckless. Hence why he had been stabbed through the midsection by Urreor's tail.
Airdan stood in his way. "Wait," the elf said.
Airdan was, quite stereotypically, the sorcerer-rogue with a troubled past. Slim in build, with pearlescent, semi-translucent hair and steel-like eyes; quick on his feet, and reportedly the most proficient archer on this side of the continent.
His pale complexion was littered by blotches where the skin was partially see-through - it was, as Airdan explained, a prerogative of his particular elven sub-type: Wind Elves. Just like Fire Elves had flaming cracks in their skins like ruptured basalt, the body of a Wind Elf was a fourth spiritual, even more so than other elves'.
This led him to being somewhat decent at every school of the Codex Arcaneum, mastering Illusion and Scrying magic over his modestly long lifespan of three hundred and counting. 'True Sight' was an Intermediate-level spell that allowed one to superimpose the spiritual plane over the physical one, often enough seeing through illusions and often walls.
The fact that True Sight couldn't see past the darkness cast by the trees was definitely worrying.
The halfling grabbed Airdan's and Brimer's clothing and tugged at it, drawing their attention and throwing both of them slightly off-balance.
"We should definitely stop to discuss before we plunge in the forest," Haara said with a touch of irritation, focusing her gaze on Brimer, who was growing restless.
Haara was a halfling girl that the team found on a mission. She had long blond hair, blue eyes, and a body curvaceous enough she might've looked like a twenty-year-old if she wasn't barely four and a half feet tall.
A village had been exterminated by Zidhas' soldiers, and the only few survivors either left for the safety of Arthrion or joined the Maritime League - Haara was part of the latter group, and decided to join the party that saved her life.
The heart and - often enough to call it a pattern - brains of the group, Haara was a Paladin. She fought in the name of Ryean, God of Strength and Honor. Despite her small size, those little arms of hers packed the strength of ten orcs combined, although drawing on it all at once would break all of her bones in naught but a single blow.
That leaves me.
"She's right," Alyin said, placing a hand on Haara's head and ruffling her blond hair. Haara pouted, but the faintest glimmer of a smile appeared on her face.
Alyin was the leader of the group, the one that brought them all together. Short-cut hair, a well-toned body hidden away by layers of plate armor and a pair of hazel eyes; it seemed as though she was trying her hardest not to look feminine.
Once a lieutenant in Arthrion's army, she abandoned the armed forces when she realized Arhtrion was doing nothing for the war effort. They were content with staying back, researching their magic, while good people died on the frontlines, fighting back the undead hordes of Zidhas.
Her specialty was blades - shortswords, longswords, claymores, daggers, axes. If it had a blade, she could pick it up, swing it a few times, and gain the experience of a veteran with the weapon in the span of a few hours. It was thanks to this peculiar skill that she managed to climb the ranks of the army.
"What do we do, then?" Haara asked, expectantly turning to Alyin.
"Yeah, right," Brimer echoed, folding his arms.
"Let me think," Alyin said to the group.
***
[] Investigate the edge - Take a stroll around the forest's outermost edge, try to get a better understanding of what might be inside, while also investigating the outside. May yield no results other than the obvious.
[] Interrogate the villagers - Who better to question if not the people who live by the forest? The local inn's backyard leads directly into the forest, and the hand-shaped flowers grow there as well.
[] Get a room in the inn - The party is tired and hungry, they had been traveling for more than two days before getting to Crasmere. Some rest will do them good.
[] Go through the forest - Fuck it, no point in waiting. The Tower of Flows awaits, and the war cannot be allowed to go on! (Game-changer.)
[] Write-in.
[X] Interrogate the villagers
The Bird
tEM IS GUD...RITER!
- Location
- In that den of villains and scum, OKLAHOMA
[X] Burn down the forest - Obviously, the best way to ensure that a forest isn't cursed is to make it to where there isn't a forest. Plus, apparently occasional fires were good for nature, so really, there was no downside.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
[x] Go through the forest - Fuck it, no point in waiting. The Tower of Flows awaits, and the war cannot be allowed to go on! (Game-changer.)
First go through with it, then start doubting if you should have done it. I thought that was the adventurer's way!
Plus, we have five whole days to stop being lost and/or eaten by giant spiders and get to our destination in time. If we tarry, it's going to be less... and something tells me we'll end up in the forest anyway, only this time knowing how bad of an idea it is.
First go through with it, then start doubting if you should have done it. I thought that was the adventurer's way!
Plus, we have five whole days to stop being lost and/or eaten by giant spiders and get to our destination in time. If we tarry, it's going to be less... and something tells me we'll end up in the forest anyway, only this time knowing how bad of an idea it is.
Last edited:
NinetyNineLies
Memento Vivere
- Location
- Dreamland
- Pronouns
- Any
[X] Burn down the forest - Obviously, the best way to ensure that a forest isn't cursed is to make it to where there isn't a forest. Plus, apparently occasional fires were good for nature, so really, there was no downside.
I agree with this course of action. Besides, some controlled fire could be good for the environment.
I agree with this course of action. Besides, some controlled fire could be good for the environment.
[x] Go through the forest - Fuck it, no point in waiting. The Tower of Flows awaits, and the war cannot be allowed to go on! (Game-changer.)