As the three of us are walking along the glowing trail that presents a path towards the Enochian Enclave, I risk retrieving the phoenix-roc egg. Its heat poses no risk to me, and the acid rain does not reach into the Hidden Heart. It’s such a curious thing. It’s not fated to hatch. It definitely contains life, or a life force though, sort of. No soul has been generated for it, not yet. Will one spring into existence at some point? I fish about for one of the many, many enchanted leather pouches that Teuila snagged from Berinon’s shop, the smallest one I can find. I want to know, the instant that something happens to this egg, in case something ever does happen to it.
Using what seems to be a universal enchantment that lingers on any magic object from Can’Z’aas, I gently compress the egg. Sure enough, it shrinks down to the size of a jawbreaker. I place the shrunken egg in the enchanted pouch, lace the pouch tightly, and tie it to the pure-air neck-chain. There, now the egg hangs heavily just over my heart. Fitting. It has no timer, it has no being existing within it. It simply has an abundant life-force. We could have spent that life-force to save one of us back on Can’Z’aas, possibly. It might have been able to take place of one of the book-wielders in the critical catalytic reaction to jump-start our world’s life-stream. I’m glad none of us were willing to do that though. I can’t imagine the heartache that might come with trying to return home while the rest of the Shellcracker Adventuring Party had perished in the Temple of Time. Ugh. Heavy upon my heart indeed.
Several robed figures appear to be heading approximately where our glowing trail leads, so these might very well be Enochian Enclave members. Then again, why are they thumbing latches on weapon sheathes upon approach? I nudge Teuila and flick my eyes towards the belts partially obscured beneath fluttering cloaks on the three figures. Teuila’s gaze follows mine, and she nods with understanding. I check Dawn’s attention, and Dawn nods, already having perceived the same thing. Dawn vanishes as if in to thin air. Hell that’s impressive.
Let’s see how this plays out. I pick up the pace as Teuila sweeps wide. She intends to beat us to the enclave in order to await the arrival of the armed strangers. I fish out a water-skin from my hyper-dimensional haversack, and take a swig. Pretending that I’m sloshed on alcohol, I intentionally stagger about as I near the three figures creeping up upon the enclave.
Calling out, drunkenly, I ask, “Eh, Eh! Izzat? Nah who’s y’buddy. Nah. Nuh uh. Izzat yous? Heyy. Lessgo git celebratory with them Enochees. Ol’ Queen Bassie said so. Right, right right? Hic. Hey, how you doin’? Buncha, bunch o’, bunch of bunches. An’, an’ don’t give me no lip! Just gotta, hey, who’re you pushin’ around?”
My largely over-the-top display caused the three cloaked individuals to delay a moment as I stood before them, addressing them in a slovenly manner. At first they simply tried to walk around me, but I walked slowly backwards as I staggered side-to-side. Eventually they tired of my antics and laid hands upon me to toss me to the side. I can sense Dawn and Teuila lying in wait within, so I make no more efforts to block the individuals.
The tree-residence that makes up the enclave is more intricate than the residence that we’ve made into our own temporary home base. Its insides contain a spiral staircase, which likely continues throughout the entirety of the massive tree in which this headquarters is housed. It only has this entryway, and one landing far, far above. I have a feeling I know why Lil hung around here. The high balcony probably felt like a comfortable roost, especially if it gains entry to a level with a cushy room for Luni. Or it could be that Lil and Luni simply made friends. Perhaps even our lovable lug Lucky. I heave a shuddered sigh as I recall that we created Lucky to be Laomati’s hunter hound, a protector for the family for when we can’t be there. But here he is, with us. Well, with Lil and Lu, on another planet from Lao entirely.
I stagger along after the trio of hooded weapon-wielders as they infiltrate the ground floor of the Enochian Enclave. Teuila and Dawn have the good sense to maintain their ambush potential by either hiding nearby, or retreating up the spiral staircase. I’m immediately dismayed at what I see upon entry to the Enochian Enclave headquarters. There are short individuals, possibly children, wearing fluffy robes, and embroidered tabards. The insignia embroidered on the tabards is that of feathery wings that appear to wrap around, and possibly hug a great sphere. My dismay is that this may now turn into a hostage crisis.
Sure enough, one of the cowled individuals draws their blade as they approach the back of some short individual with bushy, coppery hair. A dark-haired lass points over the shoulder of the boy being approached, perhaps a moment too late. I’ve casted my ghostly hand from the staff, and had it silently wrap the cloak of the assailant around her own legs. As she’s about to take another step, to begin her assassination attempt, she stumbles, and my translucent hand floats in the path of the blade, preventing it from falling upon the copper-haired boy.
The woman, apparently the leader, hisses something in a brain-melting tongue, and her two men draw their weapons as they turn on me. I hoarse-whisper, “Go!” to the young individuals who’d been inches from death. Thankfully they have the good sense to take off running up the spiral staircase. Crap, pay attention Reggie! Whew, thanks danger-wraps. This is too close for comfort. A scimitar is centimeters from my face, and only my palms are preventing it from finishing its slashing arc. Thankfully the Valkyrie gauntlets have plates along the palms, or this thing would have just torn through my hands like butter and finished me off.
I flick both of my wrists to the right as fast as I can. The creak of bending metal is accentuated by the sheering sound of metal beginning to break. That sound is further accompanied by the resounding snap as the blade breaks halfway towards the hilt, far away from where I’d grabbed it. I guess that makes sense, fulcrum and equilibrium points and such.
Where the hell are Dawn and Teuila? I’m being circled by the woman with a broken scimitar, and her two men armed with short-swords. Each of them reach a free hand beneath their cloaks around behind their backs. This spells trouble for me, I’m sure of it. I free my Valkyrie dagger from my belt, and prepare to deflect what I’m sure will be six simultaneous attacks. Sure enough, at some signal too sly for me to notice, the three assailants lunge at once, leaving me only one direction to dodge. They fill the space I’m about to dodge to with thrown knives however. I really wish I had thought to get the telekinesis spell up and running before heading here. This is going to hurt.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
I’m able to deflect several knives. One on my buckler to my left, two from the front with my Valkyrie dagger, but the attacker on my right manages to strike me, his knives drive their way home into my shoulder past my armor as if it were tissue paper. Crap, I hope those weren’t poisoned. What would Lil say? Probably were Reggie. Actually, I’m fairly sure they’re enchanted to specifically phase through armor, but any poison would also have to have that same enchantment. That could get expensive, or be difficult, or even impossible. Alright, for now though, let’s just get these out from my right shoulder blade and armpit. I need to be able to use my arm for fighting. Having these things digging in further with every motion would be too distracting an agony to keep fighting through, and possibly risk severing tendons.
The sounds of battle above clue me in that this isn’t the only group of assailants. Dawn or Teuila must be dealing with similar fights of their own up above. Teuila doesn’t know the stakes, so she’s likely struggling to pull her punches. She doesn’t want, or need, to take someone’s head off and end up getting us kicked out of town if we misread the situation.
Seeing me still alive, in a perplexed manner, the leader asks me a familiar question, “What even are you!? Tabardless drunk, heavily armored spellcaster. Wherever you hail from, prepare to meet your maker.”
I burst into laughter at her ridiculous threat during her outburst. I continue to laugh for only a moment as I jam my own dagger up through the armpit of the man who’d landed two blows on me. My dagger slides easily through his armpit, and exits beneath his right shoulder joint, nearly severing his entire right arm. He howls in pain as his left hand now clutches his limply-hanging right arm. For good measure, I toe-kick his groin with my heavily armored boots. The man crumples, whimpering in pain. I grimace, but return my attention to the rest of the fight barely in time as my danger wraps warn me about incoming attacks. A pair of lunges.
Swiveling on my dominant leg, I rotate counter-clockwise as I let the leader’s attack pass me by. I guide her strike along her outstretched arm, then grip her elbow and armpit as I double over in the direction of the strike. In an instant, she’s hurtling through the air towards the wall, and I’m basically coiled around the arm of the other man. I somersault over his arm, grip his wrist and armpit, then bring my knee up hard into his elbow as I’m dragging his arm down to meet my knee. A sickening snap has me nearly vomiting as I destroy this man’s right arm. As he screams in pain, I kick his dominant leg sideways at the knee, and am met with another squelching crunch.
Before the leader can recover, as she’s still landing, almost as if in slow motion, I disengage the two men and prepare to stomp where her hand will land. Oog, gruesome popping and snapping noises as she screams in pain. Hrp. Oh wow, that was a bit more brutal than I intended to be. I’m not quite sure what came over me. That’s not my usual fighting style, even discounting how difficult it is for me to do nonlethal take-downs usually.
As I fish rope out of the hyper-dimensional haversack, I order, “Tie yourselves up, unless you want me to finish the job.” I toss the rope at the attackers, each one with a non-functioning right hand or arm. One is bleeding viciously from my stab wound through his armpit, one can’t stand on a leg whose knee sits at a sickening angle, and one is now cursing me under her breath in some alien tongue.
Figures that aren’t Teuila or Dawn approaching from the spiral staircase set my apprehension on edge. I take a hop backwards, away from my trio of attackers and prepare a readied stance. The three rolling in pain on the floor look at me like I’m an idiot. Perhaps I am, but better a cautious idiot, than a dead scholar. What descends from the stairwell however is a trio of individuals wearing the same tabards as had been worn by the three apparent children.
The one at the fore is an ageless seeming elder man. This man’s gaze conveys the look of a crazed lunatic. It might be the way the thin hair of his brows sits in a, err, permanent furrow of displeasure, or it might be the constant flicking of his gaze as he takes in the scene. He glances about with rabid fascination in his deep-set royal purple eyes. Though bald, he's got a beard and a thick mustache that seem wildly out of place on his face. His tall frame and slender build leaves his silhouette firmly in the uncanny valley. His half-open robe, heck, his whole outfit is coordinated in a green and purple color scheme.
Behind and to his right is a small, wary, lovely woman whose build is tightly compressed. She doesn’t appear to have dwarfism, her proportions are simply unlike most humans that I’ve met, or imagined from Fakeworld memories. This woman with almond-shaped eyes radiates an aura of calm, of peace. Her gaze carries the care and concern of a mother for all that she meets. Her eyes alight with the color of coffee with cream. Her thick, straight, hair is worn in a style reminiscent of flower petals. Her delicate, slightly-pointed ears peak out beneath her luxuriously styled dark brown hair. Her wardrobe is flattering as it rests upon her short, extremely compact frame.
Behind and to the elderly man’s left side is another gangly man. This debonair gentleman brings to mind a clever stage magician with his flattering well-tailored attire. His round gray eyes are like two windows looking out on an overcast sky, the gentle cloudcover of Can’Z’aas, not Rayileklia of course. His sand-colored hair mostly hangs forward, shrouding most of his forehead and half of his face. The hair doesn’t hide his rounded, wide-sitting ears at all as they frame his face though. He’s only slightly taller than the woman, but the minor height difference, and thinner build are telltale signs of his fae heritage despite the lack of the usual sign of lengthier or pointier ears.
As this new trio approaches the landing, they survey the scene, as well as my bleeding yet at-the-ready self. I puff a sigh of relief when Dawn and Teuila arrive from above. The three of us reunite, and now a trio of trios is gathered in this lowest floor of the Enochian Enclave. There’s a tense silence hanging in the air at the moment.
The sandy-haired man’s eyes take in the three of us, up and down, bottom to top. His gaze is licentious. I immediately feel him undressing all of us with his eyes, and I reflexively recoil, clutching my chest much like Dawn had previously done back in The Brook, and is doing right now. Dawn obviously senses the same thing. Teuila just wears a wicked sneer and flexes in his direction as she cracks open a walnut between her forearm and bicep. After she tosses the nut into the air in order to catch and eat it, she cracks two more walnuts. One in each hand, simply by balling her fists. The suave sandy-haired fellow cringes at Teuila’s display, and makes as if to be focusing on straightening his hair while avoiding eye contact.
The leader, the person I’m almost certain to be Jarrah Bettergrove takes a small vial of clear liquid from his billowing sleeves. He pops the stopper, and splashes the out-of-commission attackers in their faces, one at a time. I raise an eyebrow towards Teuila who shrugs. Glancing at Dawn, she joins Teuila in shrugging as well.
Jarrah speaks, “Be freed, whomever led you from the forest, do not follow them out again. Perhaps take some time to recover from your, hm, intriguing injuries.” Jarrah glances my way as he examines broken limbs, and a knife-wound with an entry and exit point through a man’s armpit and shoulder.
I blush and chuckle nervously with chagrin as I scratch the back of my head, avoiding meeting his gaze for a time. This isn’t exactly the impression I was hoping to make on a group that, by their name, I was hoping contained scholars.