The soft, gray light of dawn filtered through the cracks in the shutters, bathing Nimrielle’s modest hut in a dim glow. She sat at her table, a thin journal open before her, the pages filled with meticulous sketches and notes. Her thoughts lingered on the Etherling she had encountered at the scar—a creature unnervingly altered by the forest’s corruption.
'It wasn’t just stronger,' she mused, her hand absentmindedly tracing the edges of a pressed leaf she had collected days prior. 'It was... different, like the corruption itself had reshaped it.'
Her supplies were running low. The salve she had prepared for the scar was nearly depleted, and her garden, once vibrant and full, was showing signs of decay. She glanced out the window at the wilted edges of the marrowthistle leaves, their once robust green now marred by black veins.
With a quiet sigh, Nim rose and began packing her satchel for the day ahead. She tucked in her journal, vials for samples, and the last remnants of her salve. The satchel’s familiar weight was oddly comforting as she stepped outside. The morning air carried a faint chill, along with an undertone of something sour and metallic.
The forest greeted her like an old friend, but one suffering from a silent ailment. The towering trees still stood proud, their canopies filtering sunlight onto the forest floor, but something was undeniably wrong. As Nim moved deeper, her trained eyes caught the signs: patches of grass that appeared unnaturally still, as if holding their breath, and mushrooms with oily caps glistening faintly in the dim light.
She knelt by a cluster of plants, examining the leaves for traces of corruption. 'This wasn’t here last week,' she thought, her fingers brushing the blackened edges. It spread faster than she’d expected. She collected a sample, carefully placing it in a vial.
Further ahead, she reached a small stream she often relied on for fresh water. The surface shimmered with an oily sheen, its once-clear depths now murky. Nim crouched by the edge, her reflection distorted in the polluted water. 'If the streams are affected, the entire ecosystem is in danger,' she realized, a knot of worry tightening in her chest.
Pushing further, Nim’s unease grew with every step. The whispers in the air—those fragmented murmurs she had grown accustomed to—were louder today, more insistent. They pulled at her, guiding her deeper into the forest. She resisted at first, focusing on gathering what she could: silverleaf clinging to rocks, sunroot with its bright, golden hue barely clinging to life.
Her heart lifted slightly when she stumbled upon a patch of Astram Ivy. The plant’s silver-green leaves shimmered faintly, untouched by the corruption that claimed the surrounding flora. She carefully harvested the ivy, placing it gently into her satchel.
As she worked, her fingers brushed against something solid beneath the vines. Clearing the leaves away, she uncovered an old, weathered charm. The runes etched into its surface were unfamiliar, their curves and lines pulsating faintly with dormant magic.
'This doesn’t belong here,' she thought, turning the charm over in her hands. It was heavy with a sense of age and purpose, though its function was a mystery. She slipped it into her bag, resolving to study it later.
The whispers intensified, tugging at her senses with an urgency she couldn’t ignore. She followed them reluctantly, her unease growing with each step. The trees thinned, revealing another scar in the earth—a smaller wound than the first, but no less sinister.
Nim approached cautiously. The edges of the scar pulsed weakly, a sickly light emanating from its depths. The surrounding area was already succumbing to the corruption; the grass curled inward, and the air was thick with the scent of decay.
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She knelt by the edge, her fingers brushing the ground. 'It’s spreading faster than I thought,' she realized. She applied the last of her salve, but the effect was minimal, barely holding back the encroaching darkness. Frustration and despair swirled within her.
'I’m running out of time. Running out of options,' she thought, staring into the depths of the scar.
The journey back to her hut was heavy with silence. The forest seemed to mourn alongside her, its whispers fading to a faint murmur. Nim’s satchel felt heavier than usual, weighed down by more than just the samples and charm she had collected.
When she finally reached her hut, she set her bag on the table and collapsed into a chair. The charm caught her eye, its runes glowing faintly in the dim light. 'You hold a secret,' she thought, reaching for it. 'And I’m going to find out what it is.'
She began sketching the runes in her journal, her mind racing with possibilities. Despite the exhaustion pulling at her, a spark of determination burned within. The forest was sick, the village shunned her, but she would find a way to heal both.
The dawn was quiet, a thin mist clinging to the earth as if hesitant to let the day begin. Nimrielle stirred early, her porcelain form faintly illuminated by the slivers of light breaking through her hut’s windows. The scent of dried herbs mingled with the earthiness of the forest, grounding her as she rose from her resting place. She moved deliberately, each step a conscious effort to stifle the restless thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her.
'I need to focus,' she thought, smoothing out the creases of her apron. 'One step at a time. I can’t let the forest or the villagers down.'
Her first task was to tidy the hut. As her hands worked to arrange the shelves of herbs and restore order to her cluttered worktable, Nim found solace in the rhythm. She pulled Yeva’s old journal from beneath a pile of parchment, its weathered leather cover worn smooth from years of use.
Setting it before her, she flipped through the pages until her eyes fell upon a passage about forest charms. The script was faint, and Yeva’s notes lacked the meticulous detail Nim preferred. Still, there was enough to confirm her suspicion: the runes on the charm she’d discovered matched a forgotten ritual meant to stabilize areas of magical imbalance.
'If this charm could slow the corruption… even for a little while…' Nim’s thoughts trailed off, a spark of hope blooming in her chest.
But as she scanned the recipe for activating the charm, her hope faltered. Several key components were missing: a sprig of Astram Ivy, two petals of Skybud, and the now rare Glowspore Mushroom. The first two she could gather, but the Glowspore? That would be a challenge.
Sighing, she stood and fastened her cloak. The forest awaited.
The Forest of Astram was unusually still as Nim stepped into its embrace. The usual chatter of birds and rustle of small creatures were absent, replaced by an oppressive silence that gnawed at her nerves. The air felt wrong—taut and humming faintly, like a string pulled too tight.
As she walked, her porcelain fingers brushed against the plants she passed. The silver gleam of Astram Ivy caught her attention near the base of an ancient oak. She crouched, carefully snipping a few tendrils while murmuring a quiet thanks to the forest.
But the ivy felt different beneath her touch—slightly brittle, as if the corruption had begun to creep into its veins. She frowned, turning the leaves over in her hand. 'Even the strongest plants aren’t safe anymore,' she thought, her unease deepening.
Further along, she spotted a cluster of Skybud nestled in the shade of a mossy boulder. Its vibrant blue petals shimmered faintly, a sign of its potency. Nim harvested what she needed, careful not to disturb the rest.
The deeper she ventured, the more evident the forest’s distress became. Trees bore gnarled scars, their bark peeling away in jagged strips. The soil, usually rich and fragrant, had a sour tang that made her nose crinkle.
A faint rustling to her left made her pause. She turned slowly, scanning the shadows between the trees. There was nothing—no movement, no creature. Still, the sensation of being watched prickled at the back of her neck.
She shook her head and continued, her steps quicker now.
By the time Nim returned to her hut, the afternoon sun was already dipping toward the horizon. She set her gathered ingredients on the worktable, her hands moving with practiced precision as she prepared them for the ritual.
The charm lay in the center of the table, its runes faintly glowing as if anticipating the magic to come. Nim arranged the ivy, Skybud, and other components around it, forming a careful circle.
She took a deep breath and began the ritual, her voice steady as she chanted the incantation Yeva had noted in her journal. The room filled with a soft, golden light as the magic stirred, curling around the charm like a living thing.
Roll Result: Critical Success (20)
The charm pulsed with sudden brilliance, its runes flaring to life in intricate patterns. Nim shielded her eyes as the golden light surged outward, filling the room before settling into a gentle glow.
When she lowered her hand, she saw the charm floating a few inches above the table, its protective aura radiating warmth. The oppressive weight that had lingered since her return from the forest eased, replaced by a sense of calm.
Nim smiled faintly, relief washing over her. 'It worked. At least… something worked.'
She stood and placed the charm in a small pouch, her resolve hardening. This was just the beginning. If she could stabilize even a small part of the forest, it would be a step toward proving her worth—not to the villagers, but to herself.
'One step at a time,' she thought as she extinguished the lantern and prepared for the night. The path ahead would be long, but she was ready to walk it.