Once again, you returned to the innards of kherees watchtower - the bubble of relative stability and sanity encircled from all sides by the seeping darkness of the Limbuse's Midnight Sun. Just like before, the visible tendrils of darkness seeped through the cracks in the tower's walls, creating an illusion of the ocean of chaos outside continuing to make its way into this humble sanctuary. And just like some minutes ago, Ankhbar - the new prisoner of this tower - sat in the same confused and helpless pose in which you left him to decide his fate. However, this scene had a novelty - the lad's face changed from
wild, almost animalistic fear to mighty confusion. What seemed like dozens, if not a hundred, questions were hidden behind his grimace of helplessness and, perhaps, even shyness.
Effortlessly reading the situation, you decided to proceed softly. After all, you should not add to the hardship of coming up with the decision to which you left this man. So, you sat on the staircase against the poor victim, registering his anxiety to take the initiative and sending the "Something you would like to know?" signal yourself.
A weak flash of relief crossed the poor soul's face as his eyes darted to the floor and back to you. Then, hesitantly, he began to spell out his first inquiry, which weaved into a simple "Where do the dead go?"
You anticipated this question and had an answer (or at least a semblance of such) at the ready: I don't know. But I'm confident there is another side. The side from which the soul sparks seem to come and then return.
"Where exactly are we? Is it safe?" you managed to read from his lips. Your answer appeared only to create more pressure on the wayward spirit.
This was also within your predictions, triggering the "You are in the Netherrealm - the plane of memories, spirits, concepts, and dreams. As the mentioned things can sometimes be dangerous, so too can this realm" response. Shortly, you added, "But, just like some older spirits do, you can try staying here, If you so desire or can't let your past go."
Your last remark made the man frown pensively, taking him a few long moments to digest the new intel and produce a follow-up question: "What would happen to me if I move on? And how can I do so?"
Your soul's core - your very being - would move on to another place with limited memories or without them altogether. Voluntarily or not clutching to the weave of lifetime recollections is what keeps you here. I can help you cross the threshold, though.
A wave of visible anxiety struck the specter sitting right against you. At first, you could only assume why your answer rattled him. Still, Ankhbar gave away the reason shortly by starting to fountain with more and more questions such as "what would happen with Kherees? Who hunts us? Would I be able to see how all of this ends?" to which you patiently explained how you are helping his guild to get to the bottom of this and avoid further victims like himself. When you finished with the answers and elaborations, an awkward silence filled the interior, indicating Ankbar's struggle to produce the hardest decision of the afterlife.
After a couple of minutes filled with anticipation and focus on the interlocutor, the visage of the departed man finally spoke, albeit a bit too fast and not sufficiently emphasized for you to lip read it, warranting a "Come again?" signal from you.
"I want to stay," was the repeat of the answer, with the man showing mild signs of nervousness likely caused by the nescience regarding your reaction and a possible response.
And you weren't exactly happy to hear it: even with your limited knowledge of the netherworld ecology, an assumption for a newly-bounded and unaware spirit to have higher risks in Limbus was omnipresent.
By staying in Limbus, you expose yourself to its effects and dangers, which are many. You transmitted a signal to Ankhbar. Your sanity and memories are now your only defense line. If you lose them, you will either dissipate or become a semblance of what killed you.
In response to your less-than-optimistic outlook, the man shifted his pose, now falling on his knees before you and trying to explain himself. And that he did, frantically trying to explain how crucial it is for him to see the outcome of the Kherees' plights from what you managed to parse. If only you could hear him better through the veil of Limbus, you'd probably hear his desperation, but even then, you had to inform him of the consequences.
Should you get contaminated by the void aethers which consumed your killer or otherwise lose yourself, you would become a menace to the living, including those you care about. Informing this poor soul of such scenarios did not feel as easy as you imagined, but you had to do it. In such a case, you will have to be exorcised by me or other spirifiers, or have this place razed along with the last memories of you. Do you still wish to take this risk?
Your latest revelation rattled Ankbar even more, causing him to gesture desperately, clap into his chest and almost yell out his reasoning. If only he were alive, you'd think he was a moment away from crying and tearing down his voice. Of all the snippets you managed to capture and parse, there was a specific one, sounding along the lines of "What's worth of my life if I don't get to know if the reason behind it endures?" Somehow, it burned into your mind, making you digest it for a long, quiet moment.
This message may have called out your experiences or provided an extra clue to understanding people - something you have always been after. Regardless, after letting the phrase sink in, you quietly crouched before the spirit, standing on his knees, ridding of the torturous suspense with a faint smile and the "Then I will honor your decision" message. Slowly, like the thawing of a handful of snow, Ankhbar's visage showed signs of relief. He was still on his knees, his shoulders hanging powerlessly, but on his face was written the complex expression of bitterness and yet alleviation from not encountering the final end.
At first, you stood up and turned around to leave the departed in peace, but the surge of thoughts stopped you in your tracks. After all, this might be the very last meaningful interaction Ankbar would have with anyone in this realm, or maybe at all. This idea prompted you to clear out a question of the significance of which you could not have predicted in a different set of circumstances.
Inga told me that the remains of all the victims, including you, would be given proper last rites, but do you want me to inform Kherees of your current state? Or, perhaps, there is something else you want me to relay on your behalf? You reapproached the kneeling spirit's side, weaving an intricate message using the recollections from the first experience of delivering an otherworldly missive by Bartholomew Dalgaard's request.
The question puzzled your interlocutor greatly, as no answer followed immediately. You could see his faintly glowing shape sinking into the deep musing, possibly weighing whether or not disturbing the wounds of those likely grieving for him was worthwhile. Then, after what felt like a couple of minutes, he lifted his face towards you and spoke out his decision: a confirmation and a plea to tell Inga that he always found her bowstring fastening method more intuitive and reliable than Loїс's. After slowly pronouncing that, the specter attempted to smile merrily, but it was perhaps the most bittersweet grin you have ever seen.
Maybe it did touch you, or, possibly, you just felt obliged to make what could be this soul's last meaningful exchange with anyone as pleasant as it could be, so you nodded and tried to smile back. Also, you weaved the parting message roughly: "Stay safe, remember why you decided to cling on, and don't linger for longer than necessary." Spontaneously wishing to supplement these parting words with something else, you reached with your hand towards Ankbar's sunken shoulders, conjuring minuscule amounts of arcane energy if only to give him an illusion of a friendly rub. And once you did so, the time had come to leave Ankhbar for his devices. On your way down the stairs, you threw one last gaze over your shoulder, registering the hunter's spirit following you with a glance. A glance now filled not with dread and confusion but with a certain degree of acceptance and even gratitude.
________________________
Rubbing the Limbus-induced soreness from your eyes upon exiting the watchtower, you scanned the perimeter for the soul sparks. Karl and Sephie were by the main gates, probably loitering. Meanwhile, Inga - your next target - was in the inner yard, sheltered between the barrack's side wall and the yard paling. Which was fortunate as what you decided to tell her about additional privacy would likely come in handy.
"Hey," you initiated the exchange softly upon approaching the gvuroth huntress from a side, "How is it going with the last missing person?"
"Somewhere between poorly and a total sheit," she frowned and shook her head, "I'll go with the next group if the one out would return with nothing or take too long." Mildly frustrated, she lightly kicked the wall she's been leaning on with her heel. "And what's on your side? Did you folks find anything new?"
She is not beating around the bush, is she? You diverted your gaze sideways, hoping she won't notice you phasing out while contemplating. Pondering how exactly to coat everything you were about to reveal. A tiny voice inside of you was hinting there might be issues with the low believability of the hypothesis you were about to voice and, also, with not knowing on which side of the kheree divide Inga was. However, after thinking about it again, you settled down on revealing everything as your group did not have a hand in kherees internal conflict, meaning, at worst, you will be called crazy and not a malignant agent.
"It's not something technically new since the main version remains," you began right before Inga's patience began to run out, "but I might have got enough clues to theorize this chain of murders might be, in a way, an internal work."
Inga's expression darkened about as swiftly as nature does minutes before a storm's approach. "Wh... What drivel is this? Didn't you just spend half the day telling everyone how the murderer is one of those possessed things?!" Her voice sounded more confused than angry, but a dash of aggression lingered.
"That I did," you answered calmly, doing your best not to flare up this conversation more, "but you are taking out of the frame that this thing very well knew who is it after and where exactly it could find them. That alone implies either an obsessive interest in your guild or the inside knowledge of it."
"Well, excuse me," Inga wasn't even half as good as you in keeping it professional (although, it's debatable she even tried to), "you may think whatever you want about our standards, but they are not low enough for us to harbor murderous lumps of meat and crap!" You felt like she wasn't as much trying to mock you as refusing the tangential idea you tried to convey.
"But of course, you don't - it doesn't sound either clever or pleasant," You retained the calm demonstratively, "But it does not mean your community has its finger on all of its members, both current and former. If what I was told is true, some of your members abandoned the ranks or disappeared without a trace during the internal conflict around kherees isolationistic stance last Fall. This thing that hunts your brethren might as well be what remains of your former colleagues. Same in principle as the entity that kidnapped Altanm - the corrupt remnant of the family that sacrificed people for the sake of bountiful harvests."
"Wh... Who told you that?" Inga inquired after taking a few seconds to manage her shock and alarmingly recoiling from you. "Who was it, and what else did they say?!" She assumed a somewhat threatening stance which, in fact, did look intimidating to you.
You held an equally lengthy pause before answering, staring Inga in the eyes while letting your expression grow somber. "It was Ankhbar," you finally replied, "and he did so minutes ago - in this outpost's watchtower. Among his other confessions was the statement that he saw his whole life built around kherees, that there was a time he took a liking to you. Also, he asked me to tell you that, in his opinion, the bowstring fastening method you taught him was more intuitive and reliable than Loїс's."
If a few moments before your response, Inga looked at you with suspicion and maybe even hostility. But the signs of an abject terror began manifesting in her body language and expression after you carried out the wish of the deceased hunter. As big and intimidating as Inga was, she now stared at you with fear and incomprehension in her gaze. Not the kind of terror one would experience in an overwhelming or life-threatening situation, but the kind one would be a subject of from observing something uncanny - something that could not and should not exist.
"He wasn't even aware he had already been dead when I caught a whiff of his soul clinging to this place. The shock, coupled with the guilt for failing to do enough for his extended family, which he saw in kheree hunters, must've been what prevented him from passing on. He told me what was happening in your society, and, just like you, he discarded the idea that the voidling might have been one of you once." As you began to explain yourself, you sensed a mild decrease in Inga's internal tension, taking this as an opportunity to take a step closer to her. "My confidence behind the theory of the killer once being one of the kherees stems from the testimony of another person: Rene - the self-appointed guardian-spirit of Tevon-Talab that resides in the ruins of the old bell tower. I had to run some of his errands in return for his knowledge and advice, and among other things, he told me the killer who slaughtered your patrol was a former hunter overtaken with the concept of vengeance. I realize this sounds wild, but I have no other answers to your question."
"What are you?" was the only thing Inga managed to mumble. And, in truth, seeing someone going down from trusting you to questioning the normalcy of your existence did hurt you somewhat.
"There's hardly a day going by without me not asking this myself," you grinned sadly and looked under your feet for a flighty moment, "But in this particular instance, I am a mage who sees things I would never wish others to witness." You took another pause to recover composure, continuing shortly after: "I don't know "why?", "how?" or "why me?", but what I do know well is how is it to have a motley pack of friends for a family you never had and how utterly terrifying is the thought of losing them, let alone going through the loss. To that bhiroth with whom you ventured on a hunt, I owe everything; the daeva who helped you retrieve Elgar's mentor also contributed a great deal to the fact I now stand before you, living and breathing. I dread even the assumption of losing any of them, not even mentioning going through it as you do."
As you spoke, Inga kept staring at you silently but with a stare so intense that you could almost feel the weight of her confusion transmitted via it. She did not speak a single word, but the look in her eyes and body language hinted that your little attempt at finding common ground in the situation at hand saw at least some success. She now listened to you intently, seeking a solution not as much to the "if" but to "why" she should believe you. Successfully deciphering her state of suspense, you called upon your earlier impressions of her and decided against beating around the bush, taking a few small steps toward her, gently touching her elbows, and looking up into her perplexed face.
"It would be hard for me to look my friends in the eyes and let them know how much I value them should I not offer help to someone in whose situation I might eventually wind up," was your soft-spoken elaboration. "Not only that, but I also find you sympathetic enough to be offered such help as from the short time since we crossed paths, you have demonstrated a lot of care for Elgar, Loїс, and others," you elaborated further, "and if you disregard such reasons as too sentimental, do know that my pack has a friend in Tevon-Talab, and so, just like all other residents, they are dependent on the integrity and functionality of your group."
Inga's reaction was delayed but gradual and irreversible - like a windmill catching a newly-stirring wind into its vanes. After clutching to that intense steely grimace, it felt like something inside her broke down, letting out the poorly-brindled mixture of emotions with the dominant tones of anxiety. Losing the ability to keep calm while her breathing became irregular, she threw you a hurt look that could only be translated as: "why are you doing this to me?"
Witnessing the breach of her defenses, you gently tugged her hands, saying: "Indeed, it is embarrassing when one has to tittle-tattle about one's circles, but if it would make it feel fairer, what about I gossip with you about my side after we deal with the threat to your compatriots?" You gave her a faint, barely noticeable smile, which replicated on her face for a flighty heartbeat, albeit in a lopsided form that still signaled the established rapport. "I sincerely want to help you, Inga, but to do so, you must first tell me about the conflict among Kherees from earlier, about those members who left, and who might benefit from your group's hypothetical collapse. I need you to help me help you," was the closure to your point.
For whatever reason, your words stopped her from spiraling into an emotional wreck, causing her to slowly step back from you and look to the sides as if checking for onlookers; when she retrained her emerald eyes at you, she looked noticeably drained compared to the version of Inga from mere five minutes ago: she looked a few years older; a few very mean years.
"I..." she was about to give you her answer, but it felt like the right words stuck in her throat at the very last moment. "I'll tell you, but please - not here: too many ears around," her words came out way too quiet for someone of her build, but you could not blame her. "Let us meet by the old mills East from Tevon's town wall tomorrow night," although she spelled it like an offer, it didn't feel like a negotiable one, and you learned why when she finished it: "And please, if you were honest with what you just said, then come alone. I am prone to trust you but need to know that it's mutual."
This may not have been something you expected from her, so your acknowledging nod was somewhat ambiguous. Still, it was enough for Inga, and she somewhat eased up for what looked like the first time in a day. Yet, her composure was still different from when she entered this exchange. She no longer had that energy of outrage and denial that she demonstrated when you offered your version but seemed exhausted and wistful - the doomed kind of melancholy. It is as if you left her no choice but to consider something she might have put a significant effort into insulating from the array of her thoughts. While in this stage, she did not disengage you, and you did not dare leave her alone with her thoughts.
"If... you say you had a word with him, then do you know what's next for him and whether we can..." She failed to stutter at the end of her question, referring to nodding in the direction where the conversation subject's body was still lying.
"His spirit is now bound to this outpost, so it is likely safe to give his remains proper last rites." You answered, interpreting her question and receiving a tiny nod before you continued, "But as for what awaits him, he expressed the desire to linger on until he witnesses if kherees preserve through this chain of crises. Although it is not entirely safe to leave a soul wandering in Limbus, and I could've pushed him through the threshold, the right choice would be to let him see the fate of something he cared about so much. Or so it felt like."
This time, Inga's face did not change, suggesting she still expected more information for you.
"With him now bound to this outpost via his last memories being focused on it, I'd recommend your folks against initiating extensive construction or razing works, as there's no guarantee he would still be able to cling to this world if the place stops resembling the one he remembered." You proceeded with revealing more technical knowledge, "Doubt there's an easy way to communicate with him now, but, at the very least, you'd be aware of his presence if the air around gets chilly. If you'd like to deliver a message anyway, leaving something symbolic or meaningful to him would probably do the trick, as he might not yet be able to interact with it but won't fail to notice its appearance."
"I... see," Inga commented quietly, seemingly planning something.
"Oh, another important trivia: with how the netherworld works, spirits are way more active during the nighttime as the sunlight there looks like a pitch-black void. Which means our night is their day and vice-versa." To this comment, she merely gave an acknowledging nod instead of replying.
"Would this be it?" she inquired after the second awkward pause that stretched less than the one before it. Even though you felt like she did a good job taking hold of herself, it would've been way too optimistic to think she moved away from the emotional edge you put her on.
"Yes - that'd be it for now," you concluded politely and sympathetically, "but if there's more you'd need of me, I will certainly oblige."
To this, she looked at you intently and seemingly reached down into her mind for a question. A question that, from the looks of it, concerned you in particular. But she swallowed it the moment it nearly dropped from her lips, replaced with "Thank you. But let's catch up later."
"Sure," you decided against poking her further, "and take care." You tried to give her a smile, but it came off rather sad, causing her to give you back a replica of it before proceeding back to her comrades and leaving you to yours.
But while she left, you still thought you might have overdone the revealing and convincing parts a bit...
_________________________
Once you depleted the relevant topics with Inga (along with her emotional resilience), a peculiar sense of finality settled in as you buried her under more intel than she ever bargained for. In her turn, even the air around her hinted she would not reveal anything of the essence before she'd get to a more secure scene; you would pass her trust test or, most likely, the fulfillment of both requirements.
You traced her pacing and motions with your cautious glance, observing her and unfamiliar kherees attempts at lining up the scattered bodies of the victims and the inescapably suspended hesitation of the gvuroth huntress before entering the now-haunted watchtower. This surveillance was accompanied by a peculiar sense of guilt. After all, you burst her unsubstantiated bubble of imagined stability about as abruptly as those mercenaries stole away your home and the sentiment of security it granted. This feeling of fault spiked when Inga left the watchtower seemingly without obtaining what she sought and intercepted your gaze with hers, filled with poorly-suppressed melancholy and hesitancy.
As a matter of distraction, you shifted your attention to your companions. In his more traditional manner, Karl pretended to not pay any attention to the events and details unfolding after he was done with his part investigation, blankly staring into the skies and smoking like a chimney instead. Perhaps, he wasn't pretending, and in such a case, you might have felt a bit envious of his ability to ignore the decorations and situations that would give nightmares to those with less indurate hearts.
The oh-so-needed distraction came with Sephie, who grew so bored from idling while waiting for Ren's return and the expected team debrief that she opted to test her mobility in the new armor set instead of searching for more clues or discussing theories. She went so far with it that the dissonance between the despondency of the scene and her carefree stretches, scales, and turns began to give off the tone-deaf at best and disrespectful at worst vibes. This called for your intervention, which took the form of you sniping Sephie with a pebble and angry look when she appeared to be going overboard with her eccentricities. And then doing it again when she thought hiding from you behind the barrack hut would save her from scolding. There was no third occurrence, but she did stick her tongue to you in an infantile act of defiance and reinforced a suspicion of her looking older than she is.
As if slowly frying on an oiled pan (albeit for different reasons), Inga and yourself grew pretty antsy, with the former getting to the verge of gathering those few unfamiliar Kherees still prowling the grounds of the outpost, grabbing your teamies under her arms, and venturing after the previous searching party. However, this was not meant to be, as the distant yet audible shriek of what sounded like a lander male rattled everyone still present at the outpost. Hastily scrambling for a response, you found yourself rushing out with Inga and the rest of her entourage toward the sound's origin, which turned out to be the missing search party, Ulren, and a wild-eyed, dirty, and frantically screeching man whom Ren was apprehending like some senseless panicked goat.
Your mental assemblage of people in various states of distress wasn't small already, but this day, it got a new exhibit - the fear-induced mental breakdown that stripped its victims of everything human. What you saw was a freelander male of young-ish age, caked in a day-old layer of mud, with the total absence of reason in his eyes, and screeching like a wild animal that was about to be put down whenever Ren tried to carry him closer to the crime spot.
You attempted to read the survivor's soul spark out of some morbid curiosity. Yet, it fell flat almost immediately: the liminal state in which the victim has solidified the layers of his spirit, obscuring most of the details from your inner gaze. The only conclusions you could carry out were that whatever experience the victim survived through has enacted their primeval preservation mechanisms and that the degree of damage inflicted upon them and their possible testimony was yet to be estimated when (or perhaps if) they stabilize.
After an odd moment of processing, all the present people - including you - seemed to come to the same conclusion, with Ren ceasing his attempts to drag the afflicted and handing them to Inga instead. If only you were a practitioner of the mind or emotions arcane aspects, there might have been a chance to harvest some insights from this poor man, but your options were depleted.
With nothing more to add or to do, your group informed Inga that it might be the right time to return to Tevon. Even if dryly, Inga appreciated your collective efforts in reconstructing the event at the outpost, offered one of her compatriots to escort you back to the settlement, and gave an inescapable "see you soon" stare to you in particular. With Sephie's silent approval, Ren commented that escorting all of you back won't be necessary as the route has been memorized, and Inga might need all the manpower to secure and manage the event scene. And so, with the gvuroth's affirming nod, you parted ways.
_________________________
For the first couple dozens of minutes since departing from the ill-fated outpost, no one from your group had spoken a thing as the uncanny kind of silence hung in the air. You did not doubt that Ren and Sephie have seen a lot of disturbing scenes and situations, but it wasn't far-fetched to assume that everyone was processing the sight of a man reduced by fear of the state even less than an animal. Well, everyone except for Karl: his unresponsiveness seemed to result from his favorite "pretend I'm not with them" game... which he was now playing in the middle of nowhere.
Fortunately, this eerie silence did not stretch for too long: Sephie was the first to shrug it all off via burst into juvenile-ish interrogation of Ren, prying out why the damn the search took him so long, to which he responded with the about as enthusiastic rant mentioning how the group made at least three full circles of the area and located the burrow in which the lunatic hid only after giving up on assuming he could be alive and in one piece. This uncharacteristic surge of Ren's and Sephie's enthusiasm around a shared task was a novel sight. Yet, it left you out in the cold with all the gathered clues, trivia, and suspicions you've collected and intended to share.
Deciding against butting into your older groupies' dynamics, you resigned to silently following the group, observing the landscape, and enjoying the gentle springtime sun. The scenery was invigorating as the trees woke up from their slumber, some already blooming; the songbirds were singing their trills, and a pack of feral elasmores was pasturing far in the vast sunlit grazing, looking like islets in the middle of a vast green river. The nature around you was brimming with life even more than it did just a few days ago, and everything felt fresh and juicy. With only the memories of cultivated vegetation at Dalgaard's greenery and estate, this was your first spring. Or at least the first one in your memory. The coming of it filled you with a certain sense of elation and wonderment. You quietly guessed if this sensation is why so many people anticipate spring's coming so actively...
... Or you would've guessed it if not for Karl's husky baritone yoking you out of your musings' cozy cocoon.
"Pardon me, Lucifina, if I interrupt your rituals, but I don't believe you mentioned what transpired to that special tower-bound witness whom you wanted to interrogate."
"He's dead, obviously." You answered not without some perplexion, simultaneously registering Ren and Sephie still bantering about the teamwork and clues and surmising why did Karl bring this out of the blue.
"Oh, but of course they are. Yet, you have an exotic array of options when dealing with this type of company, do you not?"
You felt that recurring troubling undertone behind this inquiry of his. You did realize that he wanted to know what you have done to the spirit; you did not understand why he wanted to know it so much that he even dropped his trademark "I'm not with them" act.
"I... did nothing," you answered, "Ankbar - that's his name - refuted my offer to guide him to the other side in favor of staying and watching over his collective, even if in such a limited capacity. And, after clearing out the questions at hand, there was no reason not to oblige."
"Oh, how quaint!" Karl's tone changed just a little and not in a sincere way, "But have you considered the odds of the poor fellow succumbing to his condition and causing issues of varying degrees of damage?"
... Did he just try to guilt-bait you into submitting to his scrutiny? Or is he trying to provoke you?! A very tiny part of you wanted to bash him with a wing a couple of times for good measure, so he won't play these games with you again, but this wasn't the first time you found yourself in such a situation, so you knew what to do.
"But of course, I did consider the probability of a roaming specter corrupting and turning into my or someone else's problem, but as an alternative, there stood a certainty of becoming closer in principle to the entity which, following whatever internal reasons, just brusquely robbed a whole lot of people of their lives. Sounds way more destructive if you'd ask me," You answered in an unapologetic, dry, and even coldly unamused tone, lifting your chin for a better effect, "Of all the people, I thought you would be the last one to be haunted with this sort of doubts."
The thinly-veiled jab at his disastrously rowdy youth, bundled with an actual answer, mined a moments-brief and rapid kaleidoscopic surge of emotions crossing the man's face: many shades of surprise, a speckle of insult, a grain of melancholy, and, finally, the widening grin of a cat that got the cream. You've got the feeling that he got what he wanted to hear from you before returning to his "absent" mode, not even with the standard acknowledging nod this time. Yet, you've kept your persistent piercing stare on the mage as if expecting him to look back to measure your reaction, which didn't happen. Instead, you've caught a whiff of else entirely: the tirade between Sephie and Ren ceased, with both of them silently staring at you and Karl over their shoulders like a couple of very confused (and oversized) owls...
Great - they might start to suspect something... flashed in your mind, instantly followed by the registration of an opportunity to finally lay out all of your findings.
"Ah!" You've clapped with your hands, using the chance to intercept everyone's attention for more productive ends. "So... Perhaps it would sound a bit surreal, but you'd love to hear what I've dug out."
____________________
The last leg of the stroll back to Tevon Talab passed over the intense speculations over what are the properties of the infamous "Tevon murderer," what their motifs can be, and which powers stand to benefit from the hypothetical dismemberment of Kherees or chaos in Talab in general. Engrossed in the collective speculation, you regained the awareness of your surroundings only when Sephie strongly suggested refraining from the topic while approaching the settlement or navigating its streets.
While crossing the kissed by the golden sunset rays town gates, you suddenly got an odd tingle - a flighty, heartbeat-long vibe of something not being quite right, something that made you stop in your tracks. This intuitive, momentary gut feeling contrasted with the idyllic picture of the town and its folk going for its ultimate daylight hustle, disassembling stalls with the knickknacks, ushering a few husbandry animals back to the steads, and riding the empty carts after a busy day. Did you forget something? Or was it about the case on which you were today? Finding no answers, you shrugged the caprice off and resumed the stride, catching up with your teammates.
However, this sense came back in force when your group crossed the threshold of Hjorn's yard and witnessed Amalia threading in circles in the yard. The moment she heard the creak of the gate opening, she burst to meet the arrivals, but as soon as she combed through your pack with her glance, her face gradually changed from expectant to disappointed.
"I... don't believe you have met Jory and Isaac?"
This phrase took Sephie and Ren aback, wiping away their previously enthusiastic expressions and casting a spell of heavy, uncomfortable silence. You felt too busy processing the news and what to do about it to speak up and dispel this steadily rising alarm sensation.
"Where are they, and for how long have they been away?" Sephie's voice sounded uncharacteristically serious, way too severe for comfort.
"While cooking around noon, I caught a glimpse of them packing. They told me they needed to get something from the town and will be back quickly, but..." She did not finish the sentence as it was apparent what came out of it. "I..." she diverted her eyes from the group, "I waited and waited, and when it became unbearable, I slinked out to the town to search for them. But there was no trace of them around the market. Questioning locals also did not help as most didn't know Pherinian, while those who did recalled no sightings." When Amalia looked back at you, she wasn't even trying to conceal her anxiety. "Can... Can it be that those who infiltrated Dalgaard's mansion have figured us out?" She almost shivered while muttering this.
"What was on them?" Ren injected coldly.
"Ah! While waiting for them, I dug through our stash, and it appears they took with them two large bags, two medium ones, some of their alchemical contraptions, some money, and spare footwear."
Ren and Sephie looked at each other, with the latter picking the torch of Amalia's interrogation: "Do you know what they were up to in the last days? Something irregular, perhaps? Or maybe they told you anything about their plans?"
To this, Amalia shook her head. "N-no. I haven't noticed anything unusual - they were fiddling with their potions and solutions and other alchem-ey thingies just as usual. Well, maybe they did so a bit messier than before, but that's about it."
"I believe Isaac tried telling me something in this regard a few days ago," You invaded the conversation, "he mentioned Jory was carrying out some "project," with which he could've used some help but felt too alienated to ask for it directly." You shook your head at no one in particular, "and, apparently, their patience ran out before we sorted out the more pressing matters..."
Sephies eyes ignited with thoughts the moment your comment slipped from your lips. "The scamps may or may not have gone out of town but they likely tried to butter some of the locals for the intel on alchemy-related baloney before doing so."
"You suspect they might've gone to pester Kherees?" Ren diverted his attention to Sephie.
"Not excluded, but with everyone from the raid to the cursed stead investigating the murders at the outpost with us today, I doubt they had much success in saucing the wrought-up by a mass murderer on the loose militia for directions. If anything, I'd bet on them seeking out the local medicasters instead."
"Any ideas where those might be?"
Sephie nodded, "Yes - I mentioned the guest alchemist from the Ars Islands shopkeeping at the local tavern's cellar. If we hurry now, we might dodge the need to break in and glom the dandy from his booze-soaked bachelor den."
"And that's if we omit the worst scenarios..."
Sephorah shrugged vaguely instead of replying while Ren took a moment to process the circumstances over staring at the sunset.
"Mage - you stay here on guard with Amalia and Hjorn. Keep an eye out for any strangers and make half the town would know about it should you see such barging into the yard."
"Why, thank you for not draggi..."
"Amalia - you sit here and look after the mage and Hjorn," Ren unceremoniously botched Karl's snark with further decrees, "Lu - you go with us as we'll need your senses to spot the fools if they're still alive."
The last word gave Amalia and you an unpleasant shiver. So much so that she grimaced as if she had eaten something rotten. As for you - there was no time to ponder or question anything as Sephie and Ren burst out of the yard after giving each other a nod, leaving you to yell at them and haphazardly try to catch up.
_________________________
You caught up with your besties only by the doors to the local tavern's cellar after observing Ren nearly trampling some poor pedestrians, rattling what felt like half of all the dogs in Tevon-Talab, and almost demolishing a vendor stall in his stride. Not only it taught you just how scary charging roths can be, but your pride was also injured by the fact you failed to outrun a bhiroth. A heavily-armored one, at that. But in any case, the situation at hand left little room for tomfoolery, with Sephie checking the tiny cellar windows and listening to the doors even before you approached the building enough to scan the soul sparks in it.
"Our lead is still here," She commented, nodding at the doors leading below the busy tavern, "I'll do the talking while you stay here and turn around possible visitors - I need some... creative space. If you'd hear me raising my voice, it would mean I need some extra arguments for persuasion. Sounds easy enough?"
"Wait, what if this "dandy" of yours hasn't seen any of our scamps?"
"Then we'll apologize and call a favor from your kheree pals instead, just like you offered back when we had to get that haunted ring. After all, why else would one bother making friends over wantonly slaughtering local beasts~."
"Hey, it went rather well, and don't tell me you didn't like the spoils!"
She replied nothing, treading to the door as time was of the essence. Yet, her face was that of a satisfied imp.
"... And what do you mean by "apologies"?!" Ren tried inquiring more, but his words were left unanswered as daeva's posh mane had already disappeared behind the door. Flabbergasted, he looked at you and raised his hands in a "did you see that?" manner.
"I'll... keep her in check," you muttered awkwardly while slinking after Sephie, leaving Ren to the bouncer duty he was bestowed with.
The innards of the cellar were anything but what you expected: neatly placed shelves with bottles of different shapes and sealed pottery. Some containers with what looked like floral mixes stood on the makeshift tables, and a pyramid of barrels stood by the wall, flanked with herbal wreaths. There was even a counter and a pair of cabinets on the opposite side of the cellar, which, supplemented by the incessant sounds of mass hustle on the tavern's main floor above, brought you back into the memories of Kirhol's busy shopping district. It was an odd place to feel nostalgic and even stranger timing for such, so you shrugged off the atmosphere, focusing on your companion, who was not unaccustomed to getting into trouble.
"Oh my goodness!" The man - a brunette alvizian of presumably middle age, in a loose white shirt, and with bright orange eyes - initiated the conversation, spreading his hands in a welcoming gesture aimed at Sephie. "I was about to close up for today, but it would be an unforgivable sin to do so with such an exotic visitor. Please, how can I be of service?" You noticed him eyeing the armor set Sephie was wearing; he did not look scared or suspicious: enthused, rather.
"Oh? I don't believe you might have something to help with the local night chills and the need to adapt to all of your day-dwellers' hours of activity?" Sephie picked up the act playfully, although you noticed her single angry twitch of the ears preceding it, probably coming in response to the notion of her being "exotic."
"With the chills, I'm afraid you've missed the floor: the potion base distillates may be a solution too expensive compared to local beverages unless you can no longer stomach them," he replied while watching Sephie imitating deep interest in the displayed goods with a grin on his face, "But as for the sedatives, may I recommend you the decoction with chamomile and passionflower, or would you like the hop-based one more?"
"Hmm... Perhaps I'll get one of those. Or a few. Or even half of your stock when I get some time to rest after dealing with the root of the issue, which you may probably also assist with." While she talked, you noticed that Sephie repositioned herself in the shop closer to the alvizian alchemist.
"I'm all ears!" the man replied, probably anticipating a lucrative gig for a custom potion.
"It's troublemakers, of course!" Sephorah spoke, supplementing with exasperated - almost theatrical - gesturing, "Some Lyflander rascals are running around and causing troubles. One lanky blonde and a stocky mute brunette with a thin old scar on his head. They do so by dabbling into alchemy, and I believe you might have seen them..." she looked up distracted, faking an attempt to recall the time of the day, "around this afternoon or a bit later. Maybe even in this very cozy atelier of yours."
A long pause in the exchange ensues, accompanied by the contrastingly careless sounds of commotion and merriment from above. Perhaps it was your imagination, but you could bet that in this uncharacteristically tense, short-lived moment, Sephie had grinned faintly, and her eyes sparked characteristically.
"I'm afraid I have no idea of the people you're talking about." The man uttered, "But... is there some other way I can help you?"
Instead of responding, Sephie sighed demonstratively and softly took a few steps towards the alvizian alchemist, who only now noticed that she blocked his way out and, for some reason, began to backpedal.
"This town has around three thousand habitants, excluding those living in the hamlets - quite a handful for a single alchemist but also pretty profitable, as the previous medicaster played the bucket game a year or so ago without leaving any apprentices, and you, being a traveler, spotted a nifty financial opportunity to settle. Most of those unwilling to attend the witch-doctors of the clans around end up flocking to you, and aside from the profits from the consumers, you are the go-to man whenever any other alchemist travels by. And those are rare enough to leave a lot of witnesses." As Sephie advanced, the man found himself blocked out from escape by daeva's figure towering over him and the counter. "I've done my homework, so please, don't make it harder for any of us."
"I-I don't know what you're talking about, madam! What's the meaning of this?!" The merchant almost squealed.
Sephorah stopped in her tracks, feigning a half-injured and half-surprised grimace. "Do you... do you say I wasn't... fluent enough?" To this, the man weakly shook his head, but it was already too late: "Fine then. Perhaps, you would find my partner more articulate."
The eyes of the increasingly scared alchemist landed on you, as there was no one else besides the three of you in the cellar. And, truth be told, you were about to invent something to defuse the situation. But then, Sephie loudly pronounced with an unpleasant voice: "Some assistance here, please?"
What followed next ruined any hope for de-escalation you might have still harbored: nigh-immediately, a couple of mighty punches at the door followed, the second of which tore the door deadbolt off and sent it flying with a swirl past the yelping you at some innocent bottle. Then, right after the noise of a glass shattering, the door opened so slowly one would suspect it was just wind on a breezy evening. However, the screeching door revealed a massive armored roth figure in the doorway that was tilting its head and silently glaring at the alchemist with the eyes of a rabid stallion.
If you did not know Ren and this whole ploy, you might've been genuinely unsettled or even scared. But even then, his grimace was so uncanny that you missed a series of sounds indicating a little hustle, a muffled slap, and the thud of a body against a solid surface over staring at your companion. By the time you retrained your eyes on Sephie and the vendor, the latter was pinned to the wall like those bugs at Rosaline's study, except instead of the needle, the victim was pinned by Sephie's stretched armored leg digging into his guts. As she sat in a domineering (if not sassy) pose on the counter, her prey tried to wriggle out and even scream. However, all these desperate attempts at liberation were met with sephie's sabaton trampling over the man's lungs and stomach, rudely thwarting them.
"Are you done?" She eventually broke the silence after the vendor gave up on trying to get away and was just limply hanging on her feet, scared and staring. "This should not have gone this far, so let's try again, shall we?" She continued, assuming a more relaxed (if not overconfident) pose, loosening the pressure on the man's torso and playfully dangling her other leg suspiciously close to his crotch. He remained motionless, but his face paled like that of a cadaver, aside from the red palm-shaped spot on its side.
"You are a middling alchemist who moved to this settlement over a year ago once the news of the previous hermetic perishing reached your ears. Despite being unremarkable in size, this town offers no competition, has a lot of reagents available, and stands at the region's crossroads, guaranteeing customers among both the residing locals and the passerby enthusiasts." Despite the exoticness of the interlocutors' poses, Sephie's voice was serene and polite. Very polite, in fact.
"You are likely to agree that alchemy is more prestigious than tailoring or carpentry, making its adepts fewer in numbers and easily trackable. Two of such graced your humble shop today, most likely spinning you a story of a project they're working on and asking for advice, deals, or favors, which makes you the last one who saw them and who most likely has an idea of their whereabouts." Even though retaining a vulnerable and uncomfortable pose, the pinned alvizian's shiver subsided.
"Needless to say, you are also perfectly aware of how dangerous alchemy can be when unchecked, which means you - as the last witness - are culpable for whatever those two will or will not do." Sephorah feigned a sweet smile and tilted her head, "Please, think carefully about your situation. If it would help you, I can assure you of two things. First: we - and by we, I also mean him -" she nodded her head back in Ren's direction, "are the most pleasant people who will visit you regarding this case. And second: I really just wanted to get an answer, be a good customer, and get a sedative potion or two before going my merry way~."
A few moments passed, with the man's face turning from porcelain-white to almost blueish from the lack of air. Before turning purple, though, he pointed to his mouth, with Sephie hesitantly obliging his plea to breathe and leaning her leg from him. "Th... The... They w-want.. wanted some ni.. nit... nitrate. So-o I offered to b-barter some o.. of mine f-for s-s-some f-f f-fresh plants from the western f-forest glade off the l-lake," the man uttered. By now, you felt genuinely sorry for him, even though you did not understand why he didn't reveal it outright.
Sephie's mercy was strictly dosed, as she pinned the man back to the wall with the same force right after hearing his testimony. "Do you know that place?" She addressed Ulren with a dead-serious voice, to which he nodded after a couple of moments of pondering. Then, the daeva looked back at the man, who was close to breaking up by this point, taking a few more moments to stare him in the eyes before gracefully releasing him. Seeing the alvizian slumping and nearly collapsing to the floor, she lifted him up like a housewife would do to a mischievous tomcat that overturned a pot with milk. Then, after scanning him up and down, she fixed his shirt's collar as if such a courtesy would undo the experience she had just pushed her victim through.
"See? It wasn't difficult at all!" she said with a cheery voice, "Now, I'm afraid a purchase will have to wait until I deal with my situation and come back to confirm it. So, for now, the best I can repay you is with advice, deal?" She asked in a playful tone, to which the man weakly nodded in not so lively "just end me" manner.
"Herbs are nice and everything, but if you'd do laundry more often, you might get to see more customers~," saying that, she smiled at him innocently before finally releasing her victim, turning around, and proceeding to the exit with a springy, hasty gait.
At that moment, you registered yourself standing with the pried open in shock mouth, and the poor alchemist noticed your presence amid his coughing and gasping spree. "I-I'm sorry you had to... see this," he addressed you directly, not suspecting you were with his tormentors, "Is... is there *cough* something I can help you with?"
Flabbergasted by the play as you were and sensing the distancing signatures for your teammates, the poor vendor's attention towards your persona was truly ill-timed as you had no time to spare.
"P-pardon me! I'll... uh... come back the other time." While recovering from the mild shock, you babbled, "I-I... gotta run!"
"Please, this doesn't happen normally!" The alchemist made his last-ditch attempt to persuade you, but you had to crush his waning hopes for a normal customer, chasing your companions before they would cause even more trouble.
_________________________
Through the western gates with its small packs of townsfolk coming back after another day of hard labor, past the suburban steads with their adjunct farm plots and orchards, your exotic-looking squad rushed toward the dark shape of the western lakeside forest. Through the segment of the path that once took you to the haunted farmstead at the lake's northern shore, you, in vain, tried your best to catch up with your physically stronger companions, missing the mesmerizing panorama of the crimson sunset reflecting against the lake's black tide. Even if the thought of the landscape's beauty crossed your mind, there was not a vestige of it when your teammates came to a standstill by the forset's vanguard belt of trees.
"Why did we stop?" Sephie inquired Ren, maintaining that springy stance, not unlike those of the gracious hinds, ready to bolt away from the predators in a fraction of a heartbeat.
"We can't go in like this," Ren stated.
"We have Sparkling with us to detect the scamps, and you said you know where that glade is, right?"
"I do, but so did those kherees in the search groups seeking that last survivor who went daffy. And we don't have that much time because, for all we know, they might be anywhere in the forest, beyond it, or there might be nothing for Lucy to sense them by."
As you finally lined up with your friends, realizing what Ulren meant in his last sentence made you recoil strongly. The mere assumption of Jory and Isaac being dead by now felt like a building collapsing at you, and doubly so because you failed to find an argument why such an assumption can be reliably discarded.
"So, what is your plan?" Sephie mumbled while tracing the direction of Ren's silent stare: he looked straight behind you.
"Are you sure? It may be late, but some foragers might still be on the outskirts of it."
Wait, does he mean...
"Normally, I'd agree, but we have no time to afford cautiousness: night predators are to go on a hunt soon, if not already, not to mention the total darkness to fall in less than an hour."
"Huh... Atypical of you, but 'tis hard to argue there," Sephie commented over getting behind you and pulling off the faux rucksack that concealed your wings for the entire day. The sensation of momentary soreness and the traces of relief washed over your wings' shoulders; your knees twitched from experience, and your eyes widened from the surprise.
"You... you need me to fly above the forest and seek out the boys?"
"Mhm. You're faster on your wings than we are on foot, especially with the rugged terrain. You also have that sense of yours for living things; the light tricks may come in handy with the nightfall. Also, don't know how, but try not to be seen by locals."
"I can do it!" the answer nearly burst from your chest.
"Unless Tevonians did something drastic, this forest should stretch further along the shore, widening the further it reaches from the town. The mentioned glade is in its depths, breaking in halves by the rivulet feeding the lake. Try cutting circles to capture the margins while the rogue and I go through the thicket. Should you find them or any clues - do your light magic tricks to guide us to the site."
Ulren was squatting before you, clutching your shoulders while elaborating on his plan. Getting the gist of it, even planning how to conduct the flight and do the signaling, you gave him an understanding nod.
"I... I will try flying low - barely above the treetops - and some distance from the forset's edges. Both to conceal behind the branches and to have a higher radius of souls' sense!" You chirped enthusiastically, itching to fly and prove your worth, "With the coming dark, my light conjuring can be useful for signaling and coordinating at a distance - you wouldn't miss them! Let's say short bursts if they are found or a continuous beam if there's some sort of trouble and I need help."
Hearing your enhancement suggestions to his plan, Ulren grinned and gently tapped you on the shoulder, reassured of your willingness and capacity to do your best in this situation. Meanwhile, Sephie offhandedly
pulled off that hideously oversized and infuriatingly repressing backpack decoy that tortured you and your precious wings for nearly an entire day. She could've at least warned you so you could brace for the wave of relieving sensation that, for a few moments, weakened your knees so much you nearly fell on then.
"Remember - short bursts for recovery and continuous beam for trouble!" you repeated the instruction while moving in for a lift-off, catching Sephie's nod with the edge of one's sight. And then, after a deep breath and a short pause, you took a run-up before beating with your wings. The residual soreness in them, coupled with the rustiness of the lift-off technique caused by the scarce practice, nearly resulted in you failing to gain the needed lift and falling into the bushed like a sack with spuds. Thankfully, some extra effort and muscle memory allowed you to correct the take-off and soar into the purple skies, only shedding some loose feathers instead of crashing into wild raspberry bushes spectacularly.
But then, almost like a commiseration reward after the preceding humbling experience, you felt the cool evening air on your skin and the gentle spring wind playing with your hair. Beating with the wings against the air, the irritating soreness in their shoulders turned to the pleasant kind of it - just like after a long-delayed yet finally satisfied itch or a light exercise. Behind you was the distancing silhouette of Tevon-Talab, composed of its outer palisade wall and the dark roofs of its many huts. To your right was an exquisite sight of Tevon lake's black mirrory surface reflecting the last red glitters of the sun's crown almost hidden behind the horizon.
If not for the sense of urgency, this nothing short of invigorating experience would've felt like a reward, but the occasion did not permit any degree of leisure. Not entirely unlike the sea waves from your imagination after reading those books about naval curiosities, you zipped your way barely above the wavy sea of top branches reaching for the skies, putting all of your focus into what dwelled below this "surface." Birds, small animals, large animals, Ren and Sephie, scaring off all these beasties whenever you flew ahead of them for the next shifting circle - there were no signs of either Jory's or Isaac's soul sparks; even after the third "lap" around the rest of the team pushing through the center of the forest.
But then, in the middle of the fourth circle and relatively far away from the mentioned glade, a familiar soul signature entered the range of your senses, erratically threading through the dark woods: it was Isaac, with no sign of Jory nearby. Acock and yet increasingly worried, you flew closer to the spot, guided by your supernatural sense. There, after a couple of moments suspended in the air and spent verifying it was indeed Isaac. You then conjured three unstable light orbs, sending them one after another up into the skies to blast and inform the land party of your location. With that done and your presence announced to Isaac and, hopefully, Sephie with Ren, you attempted to land, which went slightly less graceful than expected due to constraints all the surrounding tree branches were making.
You hadn't even regained poise after a rough landing when Isaac clung to you for dear life: it was hard to tell whether the lad shivered like an autumn leaf from the shock of the experience or the relief of having you find him. With you summoning a speck of light to see the details, his eyes were wild with terror, his face was caked with sweat and dirt, and his clothes looked just about as "neat" as his general appearance. His fingers dug into your shoulder as he vainly opened his mouth without a sound leaving it and gestured chaotically in an attempt to deliver a message across.
You had to fight fire with fire and shake him a few times with whatever humble strength you had just to snap him out of it. To reinforce the effect, you unfolded your wings in a shielding manner to isolate scared Isaac from the outside disturbances.
"You are safe now - Ren and Sephie will be here shortly to help you," you squeezed his palms tightly while speaking calmly. And your treatment of him apparently began to take effect: while his breather was still a chaotic mess, sparks of sanity and comprehension began to emerge in his eyes.
"Now then, what happened to you, and where is Jory?" You inquired after ensuring the worst of Isaac's shock had passed, to which the healer lad, after a noticeable delay, pointed at the shining spark you conjured, weaving with gesture something that might've meant expansion or growth. You obliged, pumping more arcane force into it and increasing its brightness.
"We went to gather herbs and stumbled at predators." Isaac scribbled on his dirt-stained wooden tablet. "Jory distracted them so I could flee and call for help." He wrote with a piece of coal on the opposite side of his tablet with a noticeably pained expression, after which he lifted his full of shame and fear eyes to look into yours.
"Are you hurt?" You asked him a rather appropriate in this situation question, to which he slowly shook his head, hiding his eyes. Even if he didn't "tell" you the truth, he appeared intact enough to retain full mobility.
"Can you show me the direction where you have seen him the last time?"
Your request perplexed Isaac a little. However, after briefly evaluating the surroundings and watching up to the moons, he pointed toward the forset's thicket, albeit not with much confidence.
"Good. I'll fly and see what I can do," you commented, "As for you, remain at this spot at any cost and wait for the coming of help. Understood?"
He nodded at you, even without much enthusiasm due to having to stew in uncertainty, darkness, and loneliness even after you found him. It was a shame you did not carry any torches on yourself due to being able to provide near-unlimited light - Isaac could've really used one. And the sudden idea of giving him your sword just in case was also discarded almost immediately: he doesn't know how to use it anyway, not to mention his enormously anxious reaction to any prospect of being a part of violence, even in self-defense.
You took off into the air, not without feeling guilty for leaving him alone and afraid on the spot. This guilt was part of why you conjured and burst two more luminescent spheres before adjusting the course and flying away in the direction Isaac pointed - you felt like becoming extra sure Ren and Sephie would know where to find the poor lad.
But you did not have to stew in this feeling for long: in under three minutes of flying, your senses range stumbled at Jory's soul spark. The place where it happened was about a minute of flying southwest from the now moonlit forest glade mentioned by the alvzian alchemist and then Ren, implying even if the boys had any business to do there, they had to flee it. With this notion, you made a mental remark of being fortunate to find Isaac before cutting more laps in the wrong direction.
But regardless, it was the wrong time for pondering. You dived toward the tiny clearing where Jory's soul spark was located and circled around it while estimating the situation. The layout was... complicated: Jory was sitting on a tree with his spirit showing signs of volatility within tolerable margins. He must have been shaken and increasingly desperate, but not to the degree of that poor mentally-shattered kheree sob Ren and the hunters' search group found earlier. On the ground around the tree, you counted five readings of bestial spirits: two by the said tree, probably waiting for Jory to drain and fall down like a ripe pear, and three more clustered over a dark mass, most likely feasting on some carapace of sorts.
With no time to waste, instead of going for the second lap, you corrected your course to make a landing, clutching to the sword's hilt and amassing the arcane energy in your palm to conduct the said landing with the maximal possible suppression of the beasts below. As you prepared and flew closer to the designated spot, the noises made by two creatures near the tree became louder: they were an odd mix of alarmingly-loud chirping trills and barks. And then, once your feet hit the ground and a seizable ball of light flew off your palm and exploded with the dull, crackling-filled blast, these noises turned into a loud, sharp, chirping whinge.
Two monsters gnawing from the carapace and one from under the tree scattered into the surrounding spinney in panic. But alas, the largest of them all - the one overwatching the tree for the moment a 20-something chunk of fresh Lyflander bacon falls down like a ripe pear - crouched on its paws and bristled at its new immediate threat - you.
To get a better view of what you'll have to deal with and with a faint hope to give it some extra scare, you conjured a cone of light and briefly shone it at the crouching beast. What was revealed by the spotlight was somewhere between the farmstead demon and a mutated worg in terms of hideousness: the creature resembled a mix between a large hound, a boar, and a bat. The beast had a dark gray bristle hide, was the size of either a lithe worg or a pretty fat dog, its front legs were almost comically elongated in elbows, and more reminded wings on which it crawled for whatever nefarious reason, and its head was triangular, with a three-way petal split instead of a typical horizontal mouth gap yet filled with knife-like teeth. Judging by the unsettling, shrill, whistle-like trill it vocalized and the foul saliva dripping from its cross-shaped maw split, it wasn't happy about your presence in the slightest.
"Are you fine up there?" You yelled out to Jory, not as much hoping to hear the "yes" answer as to estimate how bad it was for him; when the reply took the form of his half-confused and half-pained whinge, you realized the answer to be closer to the latter than the former. But you had no chance to assuage him as the beast took a gamble on your momentary distraction to attack!
Even more gross details of this creature's mouth became known to you the moment its opened maw collided with the luminal barrier you conjured just in time to prevent the monster from gnawing on your face. Despite its grotesque build, this predator was unexpectedly swift and potent, with you barely managing to retain the straight poise against the force of its collision with your magic shielding. Considering it was only one (even though seemingly the strongest) of the pack, instead of finding Jory and getting out, you found yourself in the same pickle with him.
Wasting not a single precious moment to hesitation, you aimed the light beam emitted from your right palm into the skies, beaconing your location to Ren and Sephie as agreed earlier while maintaining a luminal shield with your left palm and starting to count in your mind. The beast's pack leader reacted predictably aggressively, taught by the collision with what Karl called "luminite." So, instead of leaping straight at your neck, the beast referred to flanking tactics and attempted to bite your wings or sides with its disgusting maw. But with the help of conjuration and some propulsion from your unbounded wings, you managed to maintain the exemplary initiative and distance balance between you and your target, occasionally peppering it with luminous shrapnel whenever the distance allowed you to disperse and reform a new shield safely.
Yet, not only did this beast remain implacable despite the punishment you subjected it to, but it grew more frenzied the longer you kited it. And not only that: by the time you counted "fourteen," the monster's other packmate also threw itself into the fray, angling and synchronizing its movements with what you presumed to be its alpha packmate in hopes of either tackling you down and then rending to bits and feathers. Instantly, this "dance" became much more challenging, with you now having to account for the attack trajectories of the second hostile with but a limited ability to counterattack and fight for the offense initiative.
"Twenty-two" flashed in your mind while you were energetically strafing, side-stepping, and dishing out glowing shards of thaumaturgic magic at your berserk belligerents. If only you could reach for your sword and go on the attack, things would've gotten much easier, but you had to keep it up a little longer, just a little more of this frantic dance macabre. And so you did, going as far as reaching for your spellcasting practices and conjuring luminite bursts via your wings to substitute for one occupied hand. And, as limited in efficiency compared to the primary spellcasting nodes' usage as it was, the tactic proved viable, helping you to stall the beast's aggression.
"Thirty!" Your inner voice spelled the coveted number, and you dropped an explosive light orb to the creatures' feet while using the last strengths of your temporarily-numbed wings to propel you backward, offering a second-long window to unsheathe the sword and to conjure three more luminal ones, ready to lob them at the monsters. After recovering from the distraction, the latter decided to go all-in, sprinting forth with the clear intent to pincer-hop at you. It wasn't meant to be, as the first swirling luminal sword sunk into the side of the already-battered alpha predator, the second one missed yet forced the smaller beast to slow down in an attempt to evade it, allowing you to blast it with the shards of the last remaining thaumaturgic blade point-blank and to piece the reeling pack leader with your sword Holly in the former's last derailed jump the next moment.
After the meaty chaw sound, the frenzied alpha beast flopped to the ground in agony while its junior scurried away from you in a hurt manner. But before your near-triumphant mind could calculate the fastest way to get rid of the remaining opposition, the elder beast pulled out the last trick you weren't expecting: with agony, it raised its bleeding, almond-shaped snout and emitted a disgusting, shrill, wet, and obnoxiously loud howl before its head dropped to the ground. Not even a couple of moments later, you began to sense readings of beasts' soul sparks rushing to your position through the dark thick of the woods.
Even though you won yourself enough time to safely take off into the skies, it felt wrong in more than just one way to reintroduce the tree-stranded Jory to the risk - not after what you've just gone through. Hence, you used the golden opportunity before the upcoming unfavorable confrontation to conjure a circular wall barrier around yourself and the tree on which Jory sheltered himself.
"So this is it?" You heard Jory finally making a noise, "You shouldn't have come here. Why, even?"
"In your place, I would've saved my strengths before explaining this whole dumb escapade to Amalia," You threw back at him coldly while maintaining the barrier, "If you thought these beasts are savage, you haven't seen the state in which you put her with your stunt."
A pained, laugh-like cackle receded from the tree behind you, "That's if these things won't get to us first," Jory snarked.
"If you haven't noticed in almost a season, we are a team, Jory, and a proper team always bails out its members, whether out of misfortunate events or the results of their stupidity." If only your hands weren't busy pumping arcane force into the wall of solid light, you would've considered throwing a rock at him. "Speaking of help - others are on their way to aid us. So you better behave."
"Others, you say..." if it wasn't for an uncommonly severe and earnest tone in which he said that, you would've considered it a sign of his petulance leaking out. But regardless, no response was provided by you for the sake of him waiting and seeing for himself.
At first glance, the situation seemed to support Jory's grim outlook: one surviving and three more freshly-summoned predators were cutting circles around the glimmering wall, screeching at the barrier, and waiting for the power that feeds it (aka you) to run out before having their belated feast. But this scenery had a disruption: flocks of nocturnal birds scattering from their perches chaotically as a telltale sign of something else approaching the misfortunate lonesome tree besieged by bloodthirsty mongrels.
Your lips cracked in a relieved smile when you recognized the cluster of soul sparks entering your perception range. The heinous vultures - so focused on what they thought to be their prey - hadn't caught a whiff of them before it was too late: stampeding like a frenzied elasmore, Ulren popped out of the bushes, drawn to the light of your barrier and preparing a strike of his oversized glaive on the run; Sephie was just behind him, using her larger companion as a ram against the cluster of enemies. Meanwhile, Isaac opted to stay at the edge of the clearing, keeping his distance from the inevitable scene of violence.
And quite a good call for him: caught at a disadvantage, the pack of beasts did not have much time to react, sealing their doom. Ren's strike landed first, sending one of the beasts' dissected pieces flying straight at your shimmering wall, colliding against it so hard that you nearly lost concentration to the arcane shock, then witnessing a gory splatter half your size at the impact spot. This strike was momentarily chained into a long-reaching, descending follow-up, which made a crushed truffle out of another beast that tried to escape the killing ground; the force of the blow was so high that you might have felt the shockwave through your boots, registering the instantaneous snuff-out of the critter's soul. Sephie wasn't slouching either: the lesser beast you injured earlier sustained a dirty kick first, with its head coming right off to a following diagonal blow made not without daevish night vision precision. However, the last of the vultures was lucky enough to be sufficiently distanced from your teammates to flee the slaughter grounds propelled by primordial fear. Sensing no more immediate threats, you grinned and dispelled the defensive ward.
With the vanquishing of the beasts, however, the problems did not end as you soon found out Jory not only was stranded on a tree but ended up out there with untreated injuries. As Sephie climbed up the branches to investigate his state and the best way of getting him down, you walked around the gory scene, revealing details you missed behind the struggle: at a distance from the badly-damaged corpses of the worg-bat beasts, there was a carapace of a regular wolf, with a half fragment of what you recognized to be Jory's travel cane sticking out of its bloodied underbelly. He... actually fought it. This hypothesis found another piece of evidence: a thin trail of blood leading to a spot with an empty potion flask resting in the young springtime grass. A bag with freshly-picked herbs was lying not far away.
"Are you unscathed?" Ren's voice, accompanied by a gentle tap on the shoulder, startled you, thwarting your attempts to reconstruct the events.
"Yes. It was pretty intense at one point, but I'm unharmed," you answered with a faint grin, "Thank you for not taking long to get to us."
Ren shook his head slightly and trained his eyes on the corpse of the angriest beast you fought: "Your doing?"
"Yes..." your voice carrying hints of hesitation, "What... were these things?"
"Locals call them "nokhtolgs." Some pesky nocturnal bastards they are - essentially faster, uglier, more devious wolves and basically their natural enemies. They feed on smaller critters and carrion when solitary but prefer to bunch up in packs and go for the larger game - from cattle to people and even elasmores. They aren't precisely the local apex predators but have quite deceiving looks and are dangerous in high numbers."
"That I noticed."
"Although, these ones look a bit larger than the average. And I also heard stories of the flying type. If they exist, then Craven was lucky not to run at them. Speaking of: can you devise something with your magic for us to get him down?"
"Not sure. Like, even if I somehow manage to conjure a large enough and stable slope, do you think that he - of all the people - in his current state would trust me enough to use it?"
"Eeeh. Perhaps you are right," Ren did not sound confident.
"Hey, ya gawkers!" Sephie's voice drew your attention, "He's been bitten plenty in all the funny places, so the only way for us to get him down in one piece is to, basically, catch him. Mind giving some extra hands?" Hearing that, Ren gently ushered you to follow him to the unfortunate tree.
After a few minutes filled with frantic attempts to make an improvised mat out of everyone's intertwined hands and one nearly missed body forward, the prodigal alchemist was finally at the disposal of his teamies. Sephie's previous evaluation turned out to be somewhat diminishing of the damage that he sustained: a whole bunch of bite marks on his legs, thighs, and hands, a couple of moderate gashes on the torso and rear, and a pale look due to the poorly-controlled blood loss. Even though his wounds did not look severe, should he coddle the tree a couple hours longer or not chug one of those diluted healing potions made out of the mutated manticore's ichor, this escapade of his might've ended tragically.
Thankfully, Ren's habit of always carrying bandages came in handy, with Isaac quickly isolating his friend's injuries and stabilizing his vitals through arcane means, at least until the group would be in enough safety to provide more thorough treatment.
However, the bhiroth looked annoyed by the situation all this time, jumping on the chance to grab Jory by the collar once he was n stable condition and give him a minor shake. You thought Ren would start yelling at him or give in to the temptation to give him a slapper or two, but instead, he simply assumed: "Not fit for some marching, aren't you?"
At that, Jory attempted to stand up, which failed after a faint hope he could still walk. As he fell down on his fanny, the lad stared back at Ren questioningly, to which the latter just shook his head.
"Aren't you going to... holler or demean me?"
"Pfffft, like I have time for this nonsense," Ren grumbled while standing up and brusquely putting Jory on his shoulder like a sack with beetroots. "You better concern yourself with finding words for Amalia while we're on our way, for she would dish you a mouthful and a handful for what you did."
To your further surprise, Jory did not bicker back - just muttered with a weak voice: "the bag - don't forget the bag."
You obliged, picking up the reason behind this whole conundrum. At the same time, Ren and Isaac tried to configure the best way to carry Jory, with the latter stealing a peculiar look of you over Ulren's shoulder. It wasn't any sort of emotionally-charged glare, the likes of which he gave you plenty whenever he thought you were not looking, but rather an unsure kind of wariness - something novel in his repertoire. Did this experience change the way he saw you or himself? You decided not to dwell on it as it could've been just shock or fatigue. All that mattered now was that you were heading back to your temporary home and that your weird caravan family roll-called all its members at the end of the day.
_________________________
"Jorgen Ostgard! If only it wasn't a waste of others' efforts to unplug you from the butt of the world you stupidly crawled into, I would've snapped your oafish neck right this instant!"
Lia is a sweet girl, so patient and lovely that making her mad is no small feat. Yet, she was positively livid that night, verbally lashing Jory and sometimes Isaac even though the former testified to go on this whole escapade to procure needed materials for more experiments to prove himself useful. Elaborations on how everything was more or less smooth until they ran into wolves, who were then jumped by what you learned to be nokhtolgs, prompting him to hold the beasts so Isaac could escape seeking for help, did not placate Amalia in the slightest.
"Oh? Is that so? If you were so desperate to prove yourself useful, you could've started with cleaning after yourself or even amassing enough courage to ask me if I could use a hand with the day-to-day of managing half a dozen people and a heckin' draft horse!"
Ho-ho-ho, she wasn't pulling punches, did she? You made another large sip of soup from the pot, using a levitating luminite-based improvised ladle, which you temporarily conjured instead of messing with the conventional kitchenware. The angry noises from behind the hanging cloth separating the boy's part of the shed kept on coming, distracting you (perhaps in an entertaining manner) from laying down in your journal all the numerous events, thoughts, observations, and impressions from today.
You could only remember one instance when Lia was even remotely this furious: it was back when Copper - Rosaline's pet draglyn - tore half the curtains in his mistress's office, most likely annoyed by her prolonged visit to Draslyn. Back then, Amalia threatened the reptile to make shoes out of it should it not behave, which she absolutely did not follow up on when the winged lizard took her threats for an invitation and littered into people's shoes that same day. Something similar was happening again: Lia helping Isaac patch Jory up while fountaining with frustration.
You sighed and made an attempt to attend your journaling routine yet again. It wasn't easy, though: not only did all the information from today wage an all-against-all warfare in your head for the privilege to be documented first, but after everything that transpired, some entertainment and then rest were the only things you internally sought to complete this day.
And, apparently, not just you: mild chill scattered on the floor, tickling your bare feet, with the shoulder bag with herbs that the boys gathered dangling on the doorknob seemingly on its own - the supplementary clues to your supernatural senses, which were indicating Mia's invisible mischief taking place. Distracted from your leather-wrapped journal, you stared at the "paranormal" occurrence with mild amusement.
But it wasn't enough for you just yet: recalling your earlier experiments to augment thaumaturgic light by the arcane spirit aspect's effects and using it on Hjorn's smithy hut, you wondered what if... you try shedding that spirit-filtered "light" onto your mischief-absorbed pet. With a crafty grin, you conjured a shimmering speckle desaturating its aspect spectrum to only spirit and thaumaturgy. After that, you fold your palm with this speckle in it to create a concentrated beam, aiming its cone at your unsuspecting fellow critter. And then...
The ghostly-colorless light of the beam revealed the familiar iridescent fluffy shape of a feline, with two pebbles of void with tiny glowing vertical slits for its eyes aimed at you in surprise. You did not even notice how your face cracked in an astonished grin from having to witness Mia's spectral form without glimpsing through Limbus. Judging by her behavior, she was also pop-eyed, triggering at the twitching ghostly spotlight and attempting to "catch" it with her puffy spectral paws when she noticed its shiver caused by your pulse. Soon, you were giggling uncontrollably, teasing the ghost cat with the irritant she could not snatch, training it all around the premise, and observing her frantic yet awkwardly hilarious attempts to seize it.
But as suddenly as this opportunity for distraction appeared, you, on a reflex, dispelled the ray once you heard Ulren's approach. You turned your head and witnessed unarmored Ren staring at your giggly face.
"And here I thought you might be in the mood to steam off the impressions from today's events." He tilted his head after saying that.
"Thank you!" You chirped back merrily, "although I'm always up for company, you know."
Ren lightly shook his head with a smirk before treading closer and squatting by you, just not to overhang, if nothing else. "The day's been long and hardly pleasant, especially the first half of it. So... how are you holding up?"
"Maybe I've seen a bit too much violence, but it wasn't the visual morbidness of the scene at the outpost as the experience of interacting with the remnant spirit and seeing the signs of Inga's extended family coming apart that dejected me the most. Experiences like that can make one question the priorities and values one has, yet I'd rather pay homage to those braving their misfortunes by gaining lessons from them and putting them to use. Or, at the very least, this feels like the best way to handle the bleaker side of this world."
"I see," Ren commented, putting his hand on your blonde crown and giving it a gentle rub.
"Oh, and I'm undoubtedly glad we managed to get Isaac and Jory back in the nick of time. Even though both of them are safe just a few steps away, My mind still refuses to process how everything would've turned should we fail that."
"You did great back then, finding the scamps, giving us signals, buying time, and everything."
"I would've never done that without you coming up with the plan and hints of the aerial search and Sephie wresting out the boys' location in the first place."
"Eeh. Despite what Rosie put into your head, you don't need to always be this humble."
"Oh? Then can I instead be spoiled and ask for something?" You inquired in a playfully-cheeky manner.
"Go on - surprise me."
"I want..." you held a theatric pause, pretending to ponder on your desires with some exaggeration, "A big townhouse, a fancy dress, and a month's supply of chocolate cakes! Ha!"
While you giggled, Ulren said: "Huh, is that so? Well, I also miss Kirhol and Rosie. But perhaps there's something I can actually get for you?" With him putting it like that, it did feel like your jesting request wasn't entirely divorced from your longing for home...
"Perhaps there is," you picked up this sentiment, "I know we've discussed this before, but is there any possibility for me to... fly a little more frequently?" You looked up at him with more seriousness to your glance, "today, I felt almost guilty for how exciting it was to finally put my wings to use after an entire day of having them constrained. I know why we are cautious about it, but maybe, there's at least some way? Flapping them behind the fence without taking off from the ground simply doesn't cut it."
Ren sighed at your plea, possibly suspecting what you would ask of him. "I know, Lu. And I'd like you to be able to fly to all your heart's content, but that's still impossible considering our situation. I pondered over it a few times, but the only way to at least partially grant what you want would be to have a day or two-day-long trip to the plains in a small group, away from the local's eyes. But to have such an opportunity, we'll have to first make sure the kherees won't be breathing down our necks in those days and that it would be safe to leave the rest of the group in town for the duration."
This idea cheered you up, adding some ringing to your voice: "So, you suggest we have a picnic?"
"That's one way to look at it, yes."
"Ahh~ Imagine: a day in peace, just us, some roasts or other goodies, some tomfoolery in a river or lake, should it be warm enough by then, and an extra boon!"
"And that being...?"
"That being no outsider ears anywhere around to embarrass you when Sephie or Lia inevitably wangle you to sing more of those roths' thos.'' You supplied this elaboration with the broadest, most beaming smile you could put on.
Suddenly, Ren looked to the sides in a distracted manner, staring at the doors first and swiping the floor with his gaze, resting it somewhere under the banausic table you were sitting at. "Why would you look at this cheeky chipmunk over here. I'd have to remind others to remember to close the doors so the rodents don't get in and eat all of our stocks, apparently."
"Eh, a chipmunk?" You leaned closer, simultaneously activating your spirit sense to locate the trespassing critter. "I don't feel or see any chipmunks..."
When you did so, Ren suddenly locked you in a squeeze, proceeding to playfully mess your hair and feathers with a truly impish ardor. It was so out of the blue that you barely believed you fell for this ploy. At first, you laughed and tried to wriggle out of his grasp, even trying to lightly bonk him with your wings in retaliation. But then, after the recollection of Ankbar's fate suddenly resurfaced in your mind, you took the opening this moment of light-hearted tomfoolery provided to hug Ulren back tightly. If there was anything you carried out from today's events, it was recognition of the preciousness of the presence of dear people and the moments like this.
"Thank you, Ren," without specifying for what exactly, you murmured the phrase that felt repeated not frequently enough and buried deeper into your closest person's embrace.
"Just stay as sunny as you are, Lu," he mumbled back, letting you indulge a little longer and softly stoking your nape.
Warm and pinky-cheeked, you hesitantly set him free. After all, he was probably going somewhere before hanging out with you, and there was still plenty of intel you hadn't yet put into the pages of your diary.
"Don't stay up too late," Ren said while approaching the barn's gateway, "we'll have to carry out the decision of what to do in regards to Inga and kherees tomorrow, not to mention Hjorn would like to take some additional measurements of yours since he came up with some new idea for your projected armor set's sabatons."
You acknowledgedly nodded to his advice, noticing his stare directed at the frantically dangling shoulder bag. As if understanding that she's being watched, the invisible feline culprit pounced at Ren's boot, probably trying to chew it, recoiled from it by jumping backward at the stack of sacks, making one of them fall with a dull thud, and then ruffle the window shutters before hiding in her silver locket resting on the table. While you sensed all the motions of the whiskered bandit, Ren could only track the chaos it left before reoccupying its "hidey-hole," staring at you questioningly after.
"Never mind it: that's just Mia being... especially playful tonight," You explained while suppressing the growing grin, "I'll actually show you her when she feels like leaving her ambush den again." It appears you had rattled the critter and let it go wild while getting distracted.
To this, Ren pried his mouth open in the "oh?" manner and tilted his head backward, pretending to understand what you had in mind before leaving the shed.
As he did that, you were left one-on-one with the view of your opened diary, almost pleading to be fed with its daily fill of your abridged life experiences; even Amalia ran out of her anger fumes and was now quietly minding her business in the girls' bedrolls section. To be fair, after three consecutive distractions, you felt about as enticed to commit to the recording duty as chomping on a day-and-a-half-old sandwich: not enthusiastic in the slightest, but still healthier than skipping it entirely. After about a two-minutes-long staring game with what writers would describe as the "demon of the blank page," the angst of letting some minor but potentially crucial detail evade documentation like sand grains slipping through fingers took over and, begrudgingly, you committed to your nightly ritual.
"Unwinding after the day?"
"Yes, not without it; the nights are finally getting warmer, so it is as good a reason for a chillout as us somehow managing to keep things together today."
"So, what are your opinion on today? I may be wrong, but you seem to have something to say."
"Well, yes: while comparatively chaotic to how we usually get by, it didn't have boredom in stocks. Some brainstorming there, some tongue-lashing elsewhere, and then some dash of action - a stark improvement compared to us constantly dancing on a razor edge, with the most hideous monstrosities on the continent by each of its sides trying to crunch on us."
"Aye - felt novel, almost to the point of giving odd vibes. By the way, you did well today. I mean, with the trader, the clues gathering, and with helping to navigate in the forest after dark."
"...Oh? Erm... Ah, you know: you're not half-bad when you want to, either. Or were you fed the other day correctly, perhaps? Maybe, I should ask Amalia what she did so you woke up on the right foot today~."
You caught yourself overhearing Sephie and Ren's traditional evening banter (again!) ensuing in the yard while completely forgetting to finish the journal entry. Biting your lower lip in guilt, you made an effort over yourself to get back and mind your business, even though stalking their unusually amicable conversation felt horrifically tempting. You dipped a freshly-hollowed feather into the ink pot and clenched your teeth, trying to refocus on your musings and inner voice.
"... But what are your thoughts and impressions regarding the kherees situation? In general, I mean."
"Honestly? I bet this mystery murderer was one of their own and probably not even acting alone. My experience tells me that no group goes without a skeleton or an entire cemetery in their closets - how it was with my former "employer" captors. So, if what Sparkling told us about these demon things occasionally popping out like mushrooms that feed on strong residual emotions is true, then our friendly local militia wasn't just about order-preserving and resource-gathering... This also gives me a wicked kind of hope that the den of misery and broken fates in which they held other girls and me is now overrun and razed by the incarnations of atrocities the Syndicate committed without a second thought."
"Erm... yet, we are closer to getting to the nitty-gritty of this whole ordeal now that Inga offered to spill the beans, are we not?"
"Listen, you may have your opinion, but if it was me to whom she told to "come alone," I would've absolutely started a fight the moment she suggested to come at night to some backward place I don't even know. Again, speaking from experience, if I didn't buy into this crap once, I might as well have been living a happy life somewhere in Eiborea by now. With that, neither I approve Sparkling fancying the thought of going into what can be a trap tomorrow, nor do I trust that Inga girl."
"Aside from your personal reason not to trust her or be suspicious of the situation, think about this: her group is shrinking by the day and cannot stop the cause of it due to internal reasons or the lack of clues. Then comes an outside group with no vested interests aside from the town surviving while they stock up on the way to their destination and probably on the return route as well. Where is the benefit of acting against this group, knowing that their goals align? If I were in Inga's place, I would've hopped on this opportunity without hesitation and special conditions if only it meant a chance to save my men. What's the worst she could attempt pulling off? Try using us in their internal squabble at the risk of losing our cooperation and potentially failing in both tasks?"
"You asked for my opinion, and I gave it to you... As unreasonable as it may be, I still don't trust Inga, and I won't let Lucy go alone out there."
"Well, Lu knows I wasn't joking about not letting her out on her own, and we don't really need to breathe down their necks at the same spot to be able to intervene should things go south, as today's events show."
"But what if they somehow catch her by surprise, and she doesn't give us a signal?"
"Then we instruct her to be cautious of such possibility before taking the risk. Reasonable, no?"
"...Fine."
Wait, why did you overhear that again? Just as you finished noting down the impressions and trivia from the "investigation" part of the day - the important stuff, with just Jory's and Isaac's rescue episode remaining to be described. Perhaps, the outlooks of your companions gave your brain cogs some extra spins concerning how to handle the kherees situation. Still, you proceeded to document the second half of the day regardless.
"You know... you've changed. A little."
"How so?"
"For one, you seem to ease up with the others, as evidenced by us not playing that stupid answer-for-a-question game, and I was pretty astounded you did not even threaten to abandon that alchemist kid in the woods in the same vein you did when we barely departed Dalgaard's mansion. Like, I thought you despised his guts."
"In my lifetime, I met some people who only showed their true colors in the face of seemingly insurmountable circumstances. As stupid as his decision to go without any combatants to watch his back was, he did scramble enough courage to try to save Isaac, who got into that mess out of friendship, at his own expense. It was his own decision, which says something, despite all his flaws and mistakes."
"So..." You heard Sephie initiating a reply but then hastily swallowing her words for whatever reason. Ren remained silent, too. Actually, it drew your attention from writing the closing lines of the journal entry: both of your closest companions were standing still in this tense silence behind the barn's wall, not even making a move or a gesture. You weren't there to assess the situation, so them just standing like that for at least a few minutes made you raise an eyebrow.
"Sorry. I'll go catch a nap... Goodnight," Sephie's uncommonly soft voice finally broke the spell, followed by Ren's audible exhale that sounded disappointed when she opened the doors to the shelter.
"Goodness, don't tell me you are trying out the schedule of my people," she caught you still tormenting both yourself and your journal, "I'll be disappointed if my favorite cuddle pillow dozes off away from beds after the day like this~."
"Oh! I'm almost done and was just chilling out. Meditating, you can say."
"Don't get too deep in your meditations as the coming day has all chances to turn as busy as the one that passed."
"Sure," you shone at her with your smile. "Umm, Sephie? Are you alright after today?"
"Yes. Why?" she inquiringly tilted her head to the side.
"No reason, really - just making sure."
After about two seconds of processing your answer, she smiled back at you before stealing a pat on your head while passing by your table toward the girls' designated "bedroom" section. Her grin did appear genuine enough.
You breathed out, reassured. Although the fatigue from the day began to catch up with you, pressing down on your eyelids.
As busy as the one that passed, huh? (pick one)
[] Meet Inga as agreed
Sure, her offer to meet one-to-one at night might have sounded suspicious, but she did look pretty candid about how painful it is for her to lose her comrades and how much she wants to put an end to it. After all, she hesitantly agreed to give you all the information regarding kherees fractures, so such an exotic meetup might be for her safety first and foremost.
[] Don't meet with Inga
You can't risk it. It just sounds too suspicious. Yes - her attitude toward you will be utterly demolished, but perhaps seeking out a less capricious informant would be a safer bid in the end.
And as for how to kill time... (pick one)
[] Practice and study your magic disciplines! (For thaumaturgy: current level 7 (+3/7 of the next level), above hard wisdom attribute (18), above hard intelligence attribute (18), hard arcane skill (24) each yields 1/x of the next level + 1/x default for investment. For soul aspect: current level 7 (+0/7 of the next level), above hard wisdom attribute check (18), above hard intelligence attribute check (18), hard arcane skill (24) each yields 1/x of the next level + 1/x default for investment, Mia's +1/6 yield applies after hard (18) charisma check)
-[] Practice thaumaturgy
-[] Practice soul aspect
-[] Experiment with the merged aspects spell-weaving?
[] Targeted skill training
-[] Melee combat
-[] Ranged combat
-[] Defense
-[] Objects usage
-[] Willpower
-[] Balance
-[] Sneaking
-[] Reconnaissance
-[] Persuasion
-[] Intimidation
-[] Haggle
-[] Performance
-[] Cultural and social lore
-[] Daily craft
-[] Weaponsmithing
-[] Armorsmithing
-[] Artificeiry
-[] Pharma and treatment
-[] Tailoring
[] Routine attribute training
-[] STR
-[] END
-[] MOB
-[] PER
-[] COOR
-[] MICR
-[] INT
-[] WIS
-[] CHA
(Repeatable, each round raises an attribute by 1/4 if the base attribute is X < 14, by 1/5 if the base attribute is 14 =< X =< 17, and by 1/6 if the base attribute is X => 18.).
[] Spend time and bond with someone
-[] Ulren
-[] Sephorah
-[] Karl
-[] Amalia
-[] Isaac
-[] Jory
