🎵: Dash of the Daring, Rise of the Iron Will, Wellspring of Arcana

As I took my watch, I noticed the moon hanging low and bloated in the sky, casting strange shadows through the twisted branches overhead with its pale light. Exhaustion weighed on me, but my mind raced with thoughts of the day's battle, the cryptic documents we had uncovered, and the eerie, void-forged weapons. Filled with coded messages and strange symbols, the documents hinted at a larger conspiracy, while the weapons seemed to radiate a malevolent energy—relics of some dark power.

I checked our defensive perimeter for the third time, one hand resting on the reassuring weight of my sword. Our camp was well-positioned: wagons arranged in a protective circle, clear sightlines in all directions, escape routes planned. Master Dalen had chosen the spot well.

A sound caught my attention—a soft rustling from the nearby underbrush. I froze, hand tightening on my sword hilt, but it was just a moonweasel emerging to hunt. Still, something felt... off. A sudden chill ran down my spine, and an inexplicable sense of dread settled in my gut. The forest was too quiet, the shadows too deep. Or maybe the void-forged daggers we'd captured were making me paranoid. They lay secured in Master Dalen's wagon, wrapped in blessed cloth, but I could have sworn I felt them pulsing with a subtle wrongness.

"Spot anything?" Old Tom's weathered voice nearly made me jump, my heart pounding as I sucked in a sharp breath, muscles tensing instinctively. The veteran guard moved with surprising silence for his age as he approached my position.

"No, just being thorough," I replied, trying to hide my startled reaction.

He nodded approvingly, but his eyes never stopped scanning the treeline. "Smart. They'll be looking for their missing raiders soon enough. Might even have scouts watching us now." He spat quietly into the darkness. "But they won't try anything tonight. Too soon, too obvious. They'll want us to feel safe first."

I appreciated his confidence, but noticed he kept his crossbow loaded, anyway. We stood in companionable silence for a while, watching the shadows shift as clouds passed over the moon. Eventually, he spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That business with the double mana potions today," he said, glancing at me. "Reckless. Brave, but reckless. Could've stopped your heart." His gruff tone carried genuine concern.

"It was necessary," I defended, though my still-aching head suggested he had a point.

"Aye, maybe so. But we need you thinking clear, especially now." He gestured vaguely at the wagons containing our disturbing discoveries. "Dark times coming, lad. Can feel it in my bones. Same way I felt it before the Blighted Wars started."

A long howl echoed from somewhere in the distance, cutting off my thoughts. We both tensed, but it wasn't followed by others. Still, it was closer than the last one we'd heard.

"Get some rest when your watch ends," Tom advised, shouldering his crossbow. "Something tells me we'll need our wits about us tomorrow."

As he melted back into the shadows around camp, I couldn't shake the feeling that his words would prove prophetic. The night stretched on, each hour bringing us closer to dawn and whatever challenges awaited us on the road ahead.

Dawn arrived with a thick morning mist that clung stubbornly to the ground, making our camp-breaking routine feel somehow muffled and distant. My muscles protested as I helped secure the wagon loads—a reminder of yesterday's battle and my restless watch.

"You look like something a dire wolf dragged in," Lin commented, tossing me a dried apple from her saddlebag. "Did you see anything during your watch?"

"Nothing concrete," I replied, catching the fruit. "But Old Tom thinks—"

"Old Tom thinks we should move," the veteran guard interrupted, emerging from the mist. "These woods have too many ears."

Master Dalen nodded in agreement, consulting her map. "We'll take the trade road through Serpent's Pass. It's longer, but more travelled. Safer."

The morning passed in tense silence as we wound our way along the trade road. The sun finally burned away the mist, replacing it with a sweltering heat that had everyone reaching for their water skins. Around midday, we spotted a merchant's wagon ahead, its brightly painted sides a stark contrast to the dusty road.

The merchant himself cut an unremarkable figure—thin, with graying temples and travel-worn clothes that had once been fine.

"Well met, fellow travelers!" he called out, raising a hand in greeting. "I'm Jarek, purveyor of fine spices and exotic seasonings. Would you perhaps be interested in making your evening meals more... memorable?"

Name: Jarek

Classification: Human

Profession: Merchant

Level: 5

Weight (kg): 65

Description: A travelling merchant specializing in exotic spices. His clothes show signs of frequent travel and past prosperity. His mannerisms and speech patterns suggest experience in trade negotiations. Some say the secret to success is location, location, location. This guy clearly missed the memo about staying on the main roads.

Master Dalen signalled our convoy to halt, her eyes scanning the merchant and his wares. "You're far from the normal trade routes," she observed.

"Ah, but that's where the profit lies, isn't it?" Jarek's laugh seemed genuine enough. "The big caravans get all the common goods. But out here?" He patted one of his cargo boxes. "Out here, I can offer unique items to discerning customers."

He opened the box, and even from several paces away, the rich aroma of exotic spices filled the air. I recognized some—saffron, cardamom, star anise. Others were foreign to me, their scents complex and enticing.

"By all means, examine the merchandise," Jarek offered, stepping back to give Master Dalen space. As she approached the spice box, he glanced briefly over our wagons.

"These are quality goods," Master Dalen admitted, examining a packet of deep red powder. "What are you asking?"

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"For you?" Jarek made a show of consideration. "Given the... current dangers of the road, perhaps we could arrange a trade? I notice your group seems well-equipped for handling such dangers. Any news of recent bandit activity would be valuable to a humble merchant like myself."

The negotiation that followed was subtle, but intense. Master Dalen revealed nothing specific about yesterday's battle, but hinted at enough to make the information seem valuable. In exchange, we got several packets of premium spices at a surprisingly favourable price.

"A pleasure doing business," Jarek said as he packed away his wares. "I do hope you'll enjoy the seasonings. They should make tonight's meal... unforgettable."

He clicked his tongue at his horses and moved past our convoy.

"Well," Lin said brightly, examining our new spices, "at least dinner won't be bland tonight."

The sun was low in the sky when we made camp, its dying rays painting the clouds in deep violet shades. We'd made excellent progress despite the midday heat, and spirits were high as we set up our evening camp.

Lin volunteered to cook, her eyes bright with excitement as she examined the exotic spices. "Master Dalen, look at this one," she said, holding up a packet of deep crimson powder. "The merchant said it brings out the richness in meat stews."

The smell of Lin's cooking soon filled the camp, drawing everyone closer to the fire. It was... unusual. Rich and complex, with an exotic aroma that made my mouth water. Even Old Tom, usually suspicious of anything new, nodded approvingly as Lin stirred the pot.

"Stew's ready!" Lin called out proudly. "Special recipe tonight, thanks to our merchant friend."

The setting sun cast long shadows as we gathered around the cooking fire. Lin served generous portions, the steam rising with that strange, enticing aroma.

The stew was delicious; I had to admit. The spices created rich, smoky layers of flavour, unlike anything I'd experienced in trail cooking before. As I finished my bowl, I noticed an unusual tingling on my tongue. Around the fire, others were going back for seconds, praising Lin's cooking skills.

It started slowly. First, Tomas rubbed his temples more than usual. One of the younger guards blinked repeatedly, as if trying to clear his vision. Lin's usual perfect posture slowly slumped, her shoulders drooping as her head dipped forward. Her eyes, normally so bright and focused, seemed to glaze over, and her movements became sluggish, as if she was fighting against an invisible weight. I tried to stand to get my water skin, and the world tilted alarmingly.

Master Dalen was the first to voice what we were all beginning to realize. She stood to issue evening orders and suddenly swayed, catching herself against a wagon wheel. Her face, usually composed, showed a flash of alarm.

"Something's... wrong," she managed, her voice unnaturally thick.

The realization hit as others began showing similar symptoms. My vision was blurring, and a numbness was creeping up from my fingers and toes. The merchant's too-perfect smile. His pointed questions about our numbers, the "generous" discount.

"Poison," I heard someone gasp, though it was getting hard to tell who through my increasingly fuzzy vision.

Master Dalen, fighting against her own symptoms, checked our supplies. "Three... three cure potions," she announced, her voice strained. "That's all."

We looked around our circle—seventeen affected people, three potions. Two of our youngest members, apprentice traders barely into their teens, were already showing the worst symptoms.

"The kids," I forced out through numb lips. "Give it... to the kids first."

Through blurring vision, I watched as Master Dalen administered two of the precious vials to our youngest members. Colour returned to their faces almost immediately. That left one potion, and fourteen sick people.

One potion left, and fifteen suffering faces in the firelight, each second ticking away precious time. Master Dalen's hands shook as she gripped the final vial, her eyes finding Old Tom. The veteran guard was fighting the poison better than most, but even his weathered frame was betraying him.

"Old Tom," she started, moving toward him with the potion. "We'll need your strength if—"

"Wait," I called out, my voice rough from the poison's effects. "Master Dalen... give it to me."

She turned, disbelief clear on her increasingly pale face. "Brendan, we need Tom's experience. His sword arm—"

"Trust me," I interrupted, forcing myself to hold her gaze despite my blurring vision. "I can... I can help everyone. But only if... if you trust me with that potion."

Old Tom himself spoke up, each word clearly an effort. "Boy's got... something planned. See it... in his eyes."

Master Dalen looked between us, precious seconds ticking by as she wrestled with the decision. Around us, more of our companions slumped against wagon wheels and each other. Finally, she knelt beside me, her expression stern despite her trembling.

"Don't let us down, bard," she whispered, pressing the vial into my hand. "We're all counting on you."

From the treeline came a sound that made my blood run cold despite the fever now gripping me—the quiet laughter of someone who thought their plan had worked perfectly.

The potion burned, going down, but clarity rushed back like a wave of cool water. As my head cleared and strength returned to my limbs, it was time for me to step up.

Hush now, venom, be still and sleep,

Your wicked grasp, I shall unweave.

Winding coils of poison deep,

Settle now, in shadows creep.

Darkness fades, let pain unwind,

Venom's bite, release, resign.

Calm descends as shadows part,

Lift your poison from the heart.

Your toxic situation has hit a 'high note', composing 'Serpent's Lullaby'?

Do you want to replace a song with it?

[YES] / [NO}

You have selected YES

New Song Acquired: Serpent's Lullaby!

You have replaced Wellspring of Arcana with Serpent's Lullaby!

Name: Serpent's Lullaby

Musical Instrument: Wind

Effect: Removes one poison counter from a single ally.

Target Type: Single Target

Casting time: 2 turn

Range: 5 meters

Cost: 5 mana per cast

Requirements: None

Duration: Poison removal is immediate when poison counter reaches 0

Description: The melody of "Serpent's Lullaby" is soft and soothing, like a gentle lullaby meant to calm even the most venomous of creatures. Your voice flows with a tranquil charm, removing poison from the victim and coaxing the venom to release its hold. Who knew snakes were such suckers for a bedtime song?

I stumbled theatrically across the camp, groaning loudly for any watching eyes. Falling against Lori, I brought my mouth close to her ear and sang, so softly it was barely a whisper.

You sing Serpent's Lullaby!

The melody flowed smoothly, wrapping around her in gentle, invisible threads of sound. As the gentle notes of Serpent's Lullaby wove their magic, I watched in fascination as tiny wisps of black vapor began seeping from her pores, drawn out by the song's healing resonance. The poison had no choice but to surrender to the music, dissipating into the night air like dark smoke caught in a breeze.

"Keep groaning," I murmured as colour returned to her face. "And get ready." She gave the slightest of nods, maintaining her pained expression while her hand slowly crept toward her weapon.

Three more guards received the song's healing touch as I wandered the camp like a drunk man. Each casting drained my limited mana. Old Tom and the twins, Pak, and Lin—our best fighters, now secretly alert and ready.

"Master Dalen," I slurred, loud enough to be heard. "Need... need a mana potion. The poison..."

She caught on immediately, fumbling as if barely conscious to pass me a blue vial. Every movement was exaggerated, a performance for hidden eyes. The potion restored enough mana for four more healings.

I focused on our archers next—we'd need ranged support. One by one, they received the song's cure while maintaining their facade of illness. Eight people cured, five to go.

My mana was now completely depleted. Each new casting would require a minute of regeneration. Groan. Stumble. Heal. Wait. The minutes crawled by as I moved through the camp, each cured person adding to our secret strength while maintaining the illusion of helplessness.

Eleven people received their cures after three more agonizing minutes. The last two received their cures as I felt sweat beading on my forehead—not from poison now, but from the strain of continuously bottoming my mana pool.

You sing Serpent's Lullaby! (x13)

Everyone was cured, but I needed at least three more minutes before I could gather enough mana for what was coming. I could feel eyes watching from the darkness, growing more confident with each staged moan of distress from our camp.

Just a little longer, I thought, putting on my best impression of a poisoned man while catching Old Tom's subtle hand signal. Let them think they've won. Let them come closer.

The trap was almost ready. Now we just had to sell the performance for a few more minutes.