“We can go around, if you want,” said Fawkes.
“I’m fine.”
“It will add an extra day to the journey, but at least I won’t be constantly hearing the sound of your teeth rattling.”
“I said I’m fine!”
They’d been on the road for less than a day and she was already acting more like herself. Her sharp tongue was her way of coping with the pain. He was relieved to see her acting like her old self again. If letting her bully him was what she needed to feel better, then he was more than willing to take it.
What he was not as willing to do was pass though the territory of Arjen, the huge bear godling. Arjen had promised them safe passage and protection, in exchange for dealing with the whispers of the eldritch thing below the Vale of Ghosts, and so far he had kept his word. The forest around them was tranquil and their journey easy, as if the land itself revealed the path to them.
Apparently, however, Arjen was also a sworn enemy of Herne, the great spirit Hunter had unwittingly allied himself with. Fawkes had convinced the great bear that Hunter was ae-mai, just an idiot plaything of Herne, and so the godling had spared him. Still, Hunter would feel much better if he never had to come face to face with that ursine killer grin ever again.
“Look, there,” Fawkes pointed at the bed of a dry creek a few hundred feet away from their path. “If we follow that, I bet we’ll make it right back to the godling’s cave. Should we pop in and say hello? What do you say?”
“I say I’d prefer to keep my guts in their place and my spine intact.”
Fawkes flashed him a wicked grin, but dropped the subject. Hunter was silently grateful for that.
They didn’t say much during the next half an hour or so, but the silence wasn’t the uncomfortable kind. They followed an animal path, their steps gentle on the forest floor. The only sound was the occasional rustling of leaves or the distant chatter of birds. Fyodor padded along beside them, his ears perked up and his nose to the ground. Biggs and Wedge soared high above, keeping a watchful eye on the surrounding area. It was a peaceful and serene time, a welcome change from the rollercoaster of bad things happening that the previous week had been.
As their little company made their way deeper into the forest, Hunter couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in the plants and animals around them. The leaves of the trees seemed greener, the roots of the plants thicker and more twisted. The animals, too, seemed to move differently, as if they were attuned to some unseen force. He pointed out the changes to Fawkes, who nodded in agreement. She too could feel a shift in the energy of the forest.
In his experience, that probably meant they were getting near a Place of Power, a locus of the leylines carrying the land’s energy and lifeforce. As if to confirm his suspicions, a notification popped up in the HUD near the edge of his field of vision.
“Do you mind if we take a detour?” Hunter asked. “There must be a Place of Power somewhere around here. I want to see if I can commune with it.”
Communing with Places of Power granted Hunter aether and others boons, but that wasn’t the only reason they were important. In gaming turns, it also reset his respawn point. If things got south and he ended up kicking the bucket again, the last Place of Power he’d communed with was where he’d pop back up.
“We’re in no rush. We might as well make camp for the night while we’re still in the godling’s domain.”
That wasn’t a bad idea. Hunter would have to log out of Elderpyre for the night and leave Fawkes alone. He didn’t like it, but technically he was still on the mend and going against the doctor’s orders. Spending any more time logged in than necessary wouldn’t do his frayed nerves any favors.
“Okay then,” he said and sent out a mental sign to Biggs and Wedge to start looking for anything that could be the Place of Power. “Let’s see how fast we can find it.”
It only took a minute for the two ravens to start bombarding Hunter with their excited chattering through the mental link they shared.
“Hear, hear!” Biggs exclaimed. “It’s here, here!”
“Big hole in ground!” Wedge piped in. “Big power humming inside, yes, yes!”
They led Hunter, Fawkes, and Fyodor to a natural clearing around a rocky outcrop. There were weathered petroglyphs on it, carvings some forgotten hand had put on the face of the stone. Centuries of wind and rain had left them unintelligible, but their meaning was clear enough even so.
“Is this the place?” asked Fawkes.
Hunter walked up to the ancient rock, touched it, and closed his eyes.
“No,” he said. “We’re close, but it’s not this.”
Suddenly, the direwolf’s ears perked up and he let out a low growl. Hunter and Fawkes followed his gaze and saw that he was staring at a large burrow, hidden behind a cluster of dense shrubs.
“Easy, boy!” Fawkes put a hand on the direwolf’s back to offer some reassurance. She turned to Hunter, frowning. “He’s smelled something. Keep your wits about you.”
Hunter nodded and unstrapped his glaive from his backpack. Its heft felt familiar and comforting in his grip. He held it at the ready and stepped closer to the burrow, prepare to deal with anything that came out.
Moments passed.
“Place of Power or no Place of Power,” Fawkes said dryly, “I’m not sticking my head in there.”
Hunter nodded and gave it some thought.
Despite their raven-like appearance, Biggs and Wedge were actually spirits. Damaging their physical form could tire them out enough to revert to their ethereal one for a while, but couldn’t really hurt them. Hunter wasn’t certain how well they could see in the dark on their own, but it didn’t matter. He’d found out that he could share his own Low-Light Vision with them through the link they shared.
“Alright gentlemen,” he told the two birds. “Get in there and make sure there’s nothing nasty ready to bite our faces off.”
Without second thought, Biggs and Wedge took wing and dove in the burrow.
“Nobody here,” the one told Hunter after just a few breaths. “Just big big hole in ground.”
“Smells funny,” added the other.
Hunter looked down into the burrow with a furrowed brow, then turned to Fawkes.
“The ravens say it’s empty. I’ll go down and check whether the Place of Power is down there.”
“Suit yourself,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.
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“What, no dry quips?”
“You’re going to do whatever silliness it is that you want to do, as you always do. I know a losing battle when I see one.”
Hunter found this new outlook Fawkes had adopted a bit alarming, but said nothing. He handed her his glaive, drew his dirk, and started down the burrow’s entrance.
The first thing he noticed was that it was not really a burrow, but a proper cave. Then the stench hit him, the unmistakable overpowering mix of ammonia and fecal matter of… ostriches?
Back when he was in highschool, he’d spent a summer working part-time at an ostrich farm and petting zoo. He could still recall the way the stench of bird pee, droppings, hay, and feathers would cling to his clothes and hair, even after he had left the farm. Well, the very air inside the cave smelled exactly like that. He drew a rag from his pocket and put it over his mouth and nose, and waited for his Low-Light vision to kick in and his eyes to adjust to the darkness further down.
“Everything alright in there?” he heard Fawkes shout from above.
“Yeah. It just smells like ostriches.”
“Like what?”
“Nothing.”
The cave was as big as his one-bedroom apartment back home, with jagged walls that were slick with moisture. The air itself teemed and pulsed with energy. Hunter cautiously made his way towards the center of the cave, directly below where the rocky outcrop stood. There was another set of petroglyphs there etched on the rocky ground forming a perfect circle. Unlike the ones above, however, these hadn’t been ruined by centuries of exposure to the elements. They were intricate and precise, as though they had been painstakingly crafted by a skilled hand. Biggs and Wedge stood at attention on the ground a few feet away, awaiting further instructions.
Carefully, Hunter squatted next to the circle, put a hand on the etchings and closed his eyes. As expected, a prompt popped up before him.
He felt the leylines that converged in that very spot tug at something inside him, connect with his very essence, flood him with the quiet power of the lands and the forest around him.
As power washed over him, Hunter couldn’t resist smiling to himself. Another point of Inspiration meant another new skill. He opened his eyes, and-
Just a few inches from his face, a disembodied set of eyes were looking at him, yellow as amber and large as saucers.
He blinked.
The eyes blinked, too.
As slowly as he could, Hunter stood up, his hand gripping the handle of his dirk.
The eyes followed him.
He took a step back, careful not to spook whatever this thing was, then another.
And then Biggs and Wedge spotted the eyes too, and started beating their wings and cawing like mad, spooking both their owner and Hunter.
“Big eyes, big eyes!” Biggs shrieked over the mental link.
“Out of nowhere!” Wedge added, panicking.
“Shit, keep it down!” Hunter tried to shut them up.
Too late.
Whatever magic shrouded the eyes’ owner washed off it, and Hunter found himself face to face with a creature unlike anything he’d ever seen.
If he had to describe it, Hunter would call the creature before him a cross between a chimpanzee and a great horned owl, only seven feet tall. The feathers that covered its lithe body looked damp and sticky and disheveled, as if it had taken a dip in an oil spill. Instead of proper wings, it had long arms that ended in wickedly sharp talons the size of kitchen knives. It opened a beak as large as Hunter’s whole head and let out a screech loud enough to make his ears throb with pain.
For a moment, all Hunter could do was stand there stunned, watching as the owlbeast pulled itself to its full height. Enraged and wheezing, it raised a long arm to take a swipe at him. Hunter saw the deadly talons come down at him, his body stiff, his mind blank.
The cave was suddenly lit by twin flashes of lime-colored light. Shining blasts of magic blasted the khas-kraz straight in the chest, driving it back a couple of steps. It let out a pained squeal and whirled around to meet the party responsible for the attack, squinting to protect its eyes.
“Thanks, boys,” he projected a thought to his familiars. A notion of acknowledgment echoed in his mind, the only response Biggs and Wedge had the time to offer as they whizzed in the dark, trying to keep the beast in check.
Finally able to shake off the shock, Hunter turned around and bolted out of the burrow, almost tripping over and stabbing himself as he tried to put some distance between himself and the opening.
“Fawkes!” he shouted, “There’s something down here!"
If there ever was a reply, Hunter didn’t hear it. He could barely hear his own voice. His head still hurt as if someone had stabbed him through each one of his eardrums.
Biggs and Wedge shouted a frantic warning directly into his thoughts. A split second later, the khas-kraz materialized in front of him out of thin air, taking him by surprise. In the light of day, it looked even uglier and more disheveled than it did in the dark of the burrow. It took a swipe at him with its sharp talons, missing his throat by a few inches and grazing his shoulder instead.
Out of balance, Hunter slashed blindly with his dirk, trying to create some distance between himself and the owlbeast. Dodging out of his reach with ease, the khas-kraz took a step back and got ready to swipe at him again.
Fortunately for Hunter, it never got the chance to. A streak of russet fur and fangs crashed into its concave chest, kicking up dirt and sweeping it off its weirdly dinosaur-like feet. He breathed a sharp sigh of relief. The direwolf was not as big as the khas-kraz, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in pure ferocity. Fyodor snarled and locked his powerful jaws around the owlbeast’s forearm, biting down.
The impact of the collision sent both animals tumbling to the ground in a cloud of dust and debris. The owlbeast roared in anger and pain as it struggled to dislodge the direwolf's jaws from its arm. Fyodor held fast, refusing to let go despite the owlbeast's thrashing and writhing, buying Hunter enough time to regain his footing and take a few labored breaths.
He started to circle the two roaring beasts, looking for an opening to strike. Thankful as he might be for the mutt’s timely intervention, the last thing he wanted was to see him injured.
Fawkes, however, proved faster.
As the direwolf and owlbeast tussled, she sprang into action, wielding her saber with deadly precision. She moved with a fluid grace, dancing around the flailing creatures with ease. Hunter caught a glimpse of her face and saw nothing but fury and murderous intent.
With a swift, deft strike, Fawkes slashed at the owlbeast's leg, causing it to stumble and lose its footing. As the beast stumbled, Fyodor took the opportunity to sink its teeth deeper into the owlbeast's forearm, effectively pinning it in place.
The owlbeast turned to face her, snarling and snapping its beak menacingly. Fawkes was too quick for it. She darted forward, evading the creature's clumsy attack and delivering a swift, devastating blow to its flank. Red welled from the gash, staining feathers.
The khas-kraz howled in pain and fury, its attention now divided between the direwolf and its new assailant. Radiating pure malignancy, Fawkes continued to dance around the creature. She darted in and out of its reach with her saber flashing, drawing more blood with each cut.
Hunter felt his head get heavier with each passing moment, the excitement putting too much of a strain on his wrecked nerves. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
Blood.
Damn.
Not that he could do much but watch as owlbeast, direwolf and swordswoman clashed. The fight was too fluid and unpredictable for him to find an opening to jump in. Biggs and Wedge circled above and cawed like mad, themselves looking for a clear shot to pelt the khas-kraz with more of their Ill Omen.
Not that there was any real need for any of that; Fawkes and Fyodor were more than capable enough to end the fight on their own. Soon, the owlbeast began to falter, its movements growing slower and less coordinated. Giving it no quarter, Fawkes pressed her attack, driving the creature to the ground with a flurry of precise strikes.
The fight was growing more one-sided with each passing breath. The owlbeast was now fighting for its life. It tried to pull its mangled arm from the jaws of the direwolf and escape, but Fyodor proved to be stronger. Seeing the opening, Fawkes moved in for the killing stroke.
And then they heard it.
As if summoned by the violence, a deep, rumbling growl echoed through the trees. The ground beneath them began to shake, and the branches above them swayed and creaked as something massive moved through the forest.
A voice boomed like thunder, deep and guttural and powerful enough for Hunter to feel it in the marrow of his bones.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?”
From the shadows of the trees emerged a towering figure, standing at least twenty feet tall. It was Arjen, a godling of the Weald, in the form of a titanic bear. His shaggy fur was a deep, earthy brown, its long tufts flowing along the shapes of unseen runes and sigils. His eyes glinted with a fierce intelligence.
Intelligence, and fury savage enough to dwarf Fawkes’s own.