The mountains and hills of the eastern lands of Henosyria were filled with hardy trees with strong roots to break the rocky soil. They were not as towering as the trees from the Southern Wilds nor as densely packed as the majesty of the Orswood, but they were suitable to the purposes of the few villages and towns that made the Eastern hills and mountains their homes. The mountains and hills of the Eastern Henos Range were smaller and wider than the thin lines of mountains that made up the Barrier Ranges that ran along the Western and Northern passes, yet the lands here were more habitable. If not for the lumbar of the Northern Kingdoms and the Orswood, the lands here would be teeming with mills after the decline of the mining operations.

With the abandonment of the region still ongoing Ari was easily able to find abandoned quarries or small outposts left to be reclaimed by nature. He started to use these as the primary locations for his camping as he slowly made his way along the region heading North. The young man was not planning to enter a village until he was far enough away from the region where the kidnapping and banditry was occurring, but he started to tire of using cave or outcroppings as camping grounds. On his fourth night in a row discovering the abandoned constructions, he learned why it was that Ruenr was keen to avoid these locations in favor of camping out in more ‘wild’ locations.

As Ari neared a small stone tower, he noticed torchlight in the waning evening sunset. He noticed this location from a small distance where he originally broke for camp, and decided to press on into the evening for a better opportunity to rest. As he noticed there were occupants, he made the realization of Ruenr’s actions and debated turning around. As he crouched beyond the tower and considered his options, he heard a feminine scream from within and frowned. ‘I guess I will be starting with Ruenr’s directives earlier than I anticipated.’ The young man considered the stone structure in front of him, it was choked out by vines of sorts and instead of windows it had small slits for arrows or observation from within. It would be difficult to ascertain the amount of soon-to-be corpses and their captives, so he considered if he should find if there was a side which contained less observation slits to scale the structure.

Ari crept along the outskirts of the clearing, and slowly made his way to a cluster of trees situated on a small hill that partially melded into the stone tower. It seemed to be the remnants of a landslide, or some other geological phenomenon, but the more Ari studied it the less natural it appeared. ‘That might be a structure covered by mud or dirt, it may even connect to the tower. Maybe I should look for a way in?’ The young man paused and considered his options, when he heard another scream and grimaced. He would have to scale it, he didn’t believe he had the time to try and look for potential openings when the bandits within would not expect an enemy to descend upon them.

Approaching from the Eastern side of the stone tower, where there were less slits visible beneath the choking vines, Ari slowly began to climb up the four-story construction. As he neared the top, he became anxious imagining what manner of look-out would be waiting for him. Ari stuck his fingers into a loop of one of the tower’s merlons, and peaked his head out into the embrasure to find it empty. Climbing fully onto the structure, Ari looked at the trapdoor covered in rubble from whatever seemed to have once barricaded it. As the druid aspirant searched, he came across old bones in decaying fabrics. Ari nodded his head as the picture came together, he now only needed to find a way to clear the rubble silently enough to maintain the element of surprise.

Deciding that the easiest way was to store the rubble away using his spatial tattoos and then place it softly aside, the young man got to work. By the time he was finished, he could make out choking sobs coming from just below the door, and he waited for some cloud coverage before opening the door to descend. Upon entry, the first thing noticeable was the smell. None of the captives were clean and some seemed to be carrying infected wounds that were contributing to the acrid smell and stench of packed bodies. He counted roughly eight people, two women, two girls, a man, and a boy. The man was outside of the rusted and old cages, and was hung up in front of the others as if to display him. From the fresh blood dripping off his chest and back, the screams must have either come from him or the one of the women or girls as they watched him be tortured.

As he crouched just below the trapdoor, he heard the footsteps ascending the stairs and attempted to meld as deep into the shadows as possible. The man that unlocked and opened the door was an older man of smaller stature, like Ari, but unlike Ari’s trained form this man seemed sickly and malnourished. He had a patchy beard, and began to laugh as he gazed upon the tortured man, a hungry smile painted across his face. Ari expected to hear the language or accent of the Southerners, but instead took note of the local accent of the man while he spoke in the low tongue.

“Jareme, do you think the ladies are willing to say yes now?” inquired the torturer to his victim.

“No” spoke the hoarse voice of the man suspended from the ceiling “I told you I will die before I allow you to harm any of them. My blood is-”

“What about you lad?”

The torturer cut off his victim and walked up to the young man in the cage, as he approached the girls and one of the women started choking back sobs.

“My brother’s words are true. Our blood for their innocence to remain.”

“You are lucky I am so amenable to this trade, the men downstairs would just do it anyway. Remember that if you start to regret what happens next.”

Ari had watched enough, so he crept forward, summoning one of his few remaining daggers. He reached out and grabbed the man’s face, covering his mouth and lifting his chin. In the same motion a dagger stuck into the neck deep, scraping against vertebrae. Ari did not slice open the man's throat, he did not wish to spray blood onto the boy, so he instead dragged the torturer back before angling the knife still in his throat up and puncturing his esophagus. After a few wheezing noises, the torturer slumped down dead. Ari looked on at the boy, and gave him a slight smile.

“Willing to offer your own skin for them heh? Good lad. I would probably have asked myself what they prefer, women are strong and I’m sure the adults would rather see themselves be one to protect you from such pain.”

A deluge of gasps and questions were stopped by Ari quickly raising his hand to cut off the words.

“How many are downstairs? Do you know if they send patrols? How long does the skeleton usually stay before someone comes asking for him?”

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One of the women, who had been covering the mouth of another to stop her from screaming, answered Ari first.

“Twelve, they don’t, and usually an hour sometimes more.”

“Armaments?”

The man on the wall spoke up next, just as Ari fished the keys out of the cooling corpse’s pockets. Ari turned to the women to let them out first, but they tried to point him to get the hanging man instead.

“Most of them wear heavy tunics, maybe a gambeson, short swords and spears mostly” was hoarsely intoned by the man behind Ari.

“Thank you,” he turned back to the woman and cut the one who was pointing off. “I will need help getting him down without hurting him so I need you out first.”

Over the next minutes, Ari took note of the injuries and states of the captives as he planned what would be the best option. He figured saving the wounded was more important than hiding his magical ability, so he summoned poultices to rub on wounds and bandages as well. As he helped render aid, he learned the names of those he saved. The oldest of the women was named Annabelle, she was the one constantly on the verge of breaking down. Her sister was the woman that answered Ari’s question, and also seemed to be the most determined of the group aside from the man and boy. Her name was Marie-Claire and was slightly younger than Colette. Marie-Claire was the wife of Robert who was previously hanging from the ceiling. Their daughters were Rose-Marie and Annette who were twins, Cyril was Annabelle’s son and his father, Cyril Sr, was tortured to death before it was Robert's turn.

“He promised to leave the girls alone”, Robert explained “as long as we let him do with us as he pleased.”

Ari thought the torturer was lying, but if the men were willing to offer their lives on the slim hope that no harm would come to the women and girls he was not going to share his thoughts to disrespect Cyril Sr’s death.

Eventually a plan was settled, one where Ari would drag most of the attention on himself. He was to scale back down, along with the twins and Cyril, they would rush to hide in the woods nearby. Ari would simply knock on the door and ask for lodging or try to speak with them, and then the others would make their way down as well. Marie-Claire would first light the upper floor aflame, then she too would climb down and run to the woods as far as they could to the clearing where Ari first spotted the tower. Ari would then see what using his magic on a grander scale felt like.

He figured it was reckless, and he could probably sneak them all out, but he felt the power just beneath the surface, almost taunting him. Before it was just barely out of reach, and after a few days surrounded by the reclaimed structures of kin that fell to nature he was not ready to grasp it. Ari knew it was a mistake, he knew he shouldn’t use it if he wasn’t without any other option; but he could not stay his hand any longer. It called to him and set fire to his nerves, stinking his senses and causing him to break out in hives and sweat. He craved to use his powers like a man lost in the desert. So he created an excuse to do so.

Things appeared to be going well, the twins needed no help from Ari but Cyril Jr was not as dexterous as the older girls. Unlike the two who played outdoors and climbed often, Cyril, like his father, spent more time inside the bakery. Ari waited for the first of the adults, Robert with the rope provided by Ari, was the last of those who needed help that went down and Ari prepared to knock loudly as his signal to Marie-Claire.

“Greetings! I am traveling and asking for refuge here!”

Ari loudly announced as he hammered on the heavy reinforced stone door, and it was quickly opened with a man of his own age staring at him.

“What are you doing out here kid!? Suns, you scared me. Come in, it is just me and my sister inside as we shelter.”

Ari waited until he could no longer hear the sound of the group trudging through the forest, and the young man started to get suspicious of Ari’s silence that accompanied his slowly fading smile.

“Kienet, the fucking roof is on fire.”

Just as the man opened the door further, revealing the spear he started to thrust at Ari, the druid pulled on his power.

It trembled. The very earth shook. Birds ascended from trees and bushes. Ari felt the raw magic pouring out the land heed his call, and like pouring water from a bathtub, he pushed it over to pour against his foes. Time seemed to slow down, as from Ari’s eyes he saw the very color drain from the world. Then went the warmth, and also the feeling of cold. He could no longer smell or hear, nor could he feel the rumbling and shaking of the hills he stood upon. The stars in the sky dimmed until it was just dark, then Ari was no longer standing. Nor was he doing anything, he couldn’t tell what or where for his very sense of touch was taken. Smells, sight, taste, touch, sound, even the ethereal feeling of magic fell to a void. The grasp of oblivion. Ari was unsure of anything, and he slowly forgot, first people and places then names and words all together. But then it happened.

Ari heard a voice that sounded like the breeze in his ear. Then it was the rapids of a waterfall, then the pounding of a stampede. The words meant nothing as he heard them, only knowing that something was being said. It commanded him. It ordered him up, and to move. To come to it, he couldn’t remember where it was but he knew it wasn’t far. He gasped awake as the world shook apart around him, the very earth and trees all around the stone tower were pulled into it and shattered the very stone. Like the opposite of a volcanic eruption, the very earth condensed onto the spot Ari commanded, taking everything with it. Trees cracked and slammed against the slowly rising mountain in front of him. He felt the power still following his command, and he urged it to stop. The earth obeyed. The shattered and fallen trees slowly sprouted new growths as the miniature mountain took the place, utterly dwarfing the stone tower that once was there.

As Ari gawked, he unsteadily rose to his feet and noticed the strange round mass that was once buried now revealed. It appeared to be a smooth round, something, roughly a third of the tower’s height and half its width. Much of it was still buried but he approached it, still somewhat in a fugue. When he neared it he started to make out certain identifiers, scripts flowed across the obsidian protrusion. Scripts that looked similar, but not an exact match, to the writing of Vandron when he got lost in his notes or journal back at home. He reached out and touched the ball-like-structure, his fingers tracing the script of the elf language. He thought this may very well be an artifact from the Era of Magic, back when the entire continent was dominated by the elfkin. He removed his map and marked it down but then had an idea. Maybe he could activate it or somehow store it? It appeared to be hollow on the inside, and he heard that many of the artifacts from that era had anomalous properties.

First he attempted to store it, but the object did not budge. Then he tried to force his magic into the spherical object, but nothing happened. He didn’t speak enough of the elf language, much less this potentially older version. He remembered that sometimes using one’s blood could spark and activate a magical artifact and bind it to one’s service. Ari was tired, and partially delirious. He would never have usually made such a rash decision without forethought if not for his body being both overworked and drunk on the feeling of channeling the magic of nature. He cut his hand and bled onto the obsidian sphere, and the script pulsed a white glow. For the second time in a very short period, Ari lost himself as his consciousness went somewhere else.