Felix yawned. His eyelids were heavy and his body felt sluggish. Yet he didn’t miss a beat as he slipped into the crowd of marketplace goers. He wore his peasant clothes, the ones he wore outside his duty as guard captain. It consisted of a muddy brown tunic and black breeches, along with a scarf that doubled as a hood. It was all cheap, torn, and in desperate need of some sewing. Yet he wore it, as it kept him inconspicuous among the rest of the townspeople and traders.
Felix Arlo was in his mid twenties. He had recently turned twenty-four not too long ago. Yet his eyes were sunken and his cheeks were gaunt. His hair was losing its luster and color. He had even found a gray hair last week. While he was younger than even James, the guardsman looked like he was in his forties. It helped whenever he tried to blend in with the townsfolk, as his rundown look helped sell the look of someone not important. Still, as young as he really was, Felix felt too old for this shit.
The guardsman felt the crystal in his hand heat up, signifying to the tired man that Dahlia was trying to contact. He raised his hand to his mouth, making it look like he was coughing or covering his mouth.
“I have my eyes on him,” he yawned out. In front of Felix, across the sea of people, was Bartheny. Better known as Falrick. “He’s heading south of town, near where the tent stands are set up.”
“Good. Keep me updated.”
“Got it,” Felix murmured. He trailed the disguised Wizard, making sure to keep himself at an unnoticeable distance. Felix could feel a bit of unease whenever Bartheny interacted with vendors and townsfolk. The illusion of Falrick’s disguise was so real that it made Felix question everything he knew about magic. Everything, from the way he smiled, talked, and even the glint in his eyes. Bartheny looked real. Sounded real. Talked real. Yet Felix knew better. He had seen the Wizard’s illusion fall, even for a split second.
It had been early morning when the guardsman saw it. Felix had been camping outside Bartheny’s hovel. He had waited on the roof of one of the nearby houses, drinking from his waterskin and watching with a spotting glass. For hours, Felix had debated whether the Wizard was real. He had even packed up his scouting spot before he saw it. Bartheny leaving his home. Felix had witnessed as the Wizard collected herbs by the town’s border, even venturing out into the forest. Felix still had his doubts until he witness Falrick’s illusion falter. Bartheny had been walking back from the forest before it happened.
Bartheny had cast a spell. Not a huge one, but a small candlelight spell. Felix wasn’t familiar with the spell, but he had seen visiting ships use it to guide them through the night. It was the same type of magic. Only then did he see Bartheny’s face falter. It had flickered and for a split second, Felix saw it. The face of an elderly man, bloodshot and haggard. Felix couldn’t believe his eyes. The Wizard was real, and he had witnessed it.
Felix now knew of the importance of bringing Falrick to light. Gods knew what he was doing in Yorktown. While it could very well be a harmless reason, the town had seen enough action to not afford to take any threat lightly.
As the guardsman stewed in his thoughts, he grew careless enough to stare at Bethany for too long. Before he could lower his gaze, he accidentally made eye contact with the target. Bartheny furrowed his brow at Felix, who had just realized his folly. Felix quickly changed direction and broke eye contact, but he already knew it was too late.
“The wolf’s seen the crow…” He muttered into his hand. Felix knew better than to outright say what happened, as the Wizard could have any buff active to listen in to conversations.
“Damn! Helen, do you have an eye on him?”
“Aye. He’s already spooked. He’s heading to New Aldren, where the rebuilding is.”
Felix cursed to himself. There was no way Falrick was going to brush this off. This was their one chance and he had possibly blown it. It was all up to the others now. The only thing Felix could do is to regroup.
He just hoped Haggard wouldn’t cause trouble.
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“He’s heading up the street. It’s clear that he’s trying to get to his hovel.”
“Can you intercept him?”
“No. If I start running, he’ll get desperate.”
Haggard listened in to the conversation between the two women. He smiled a little. It seemed as if a confrontation was inevitable.
“Haggard, can you—”
“Say no more,” Haggard spoke to the spell crystal. “I’ll intercept.”
“Haggard, you need to lead him to the planned spot! Don’t stray from the plan!”
“Understood.” The drifter was already heading to the street that connected to the eastern part of town. His part in this was simple. Get the Wizard to the ritual spot, where Dahlia will restrain him. Haggard knew that force wasn’t necessary, as a fight would only drive away the target. He needed to be cunning. He needed bait.
Haggard made a turn onto the street, doing his best to look part of the locale. This part of the town was ripe with people, making it easier for him to blend in. He even whistled as he gently pushed past a couple. Soon enough, the target made his appearance. Bartheny looked flustered and nervous. He wasn’t running, but he certainly wasn’t taking a calm walk through town.
Bartheny fidgeted with his waist, where a belt was visible. Haggard focused in and saw what the disguised man was checking up on.
‘Ah, there it is.’
He had just found his bait. Haggard kept walking calmly, making sure not to stand out among the bystanders. He even hunched a little, making sure his tall stature wasn’t noticeable. He eyed the belt on Bartheny, his hand making practiced motions. Haggard had done this a million times beforehand. It was a useful skill that kept him fed and moving in his younger days. While he rarely had a use for it now, Haggard could still perform the act like it was second nature. Old habits die hard.
Haggard slowed his walk, avoiding all eye contact as he paced himself. He waited for a moment to present itself. As he grew closer to the target, he witness Bartheny look behind him. It was at this moment that both his hands were off his belt. Haggard smiled. He picked his pace up and bumped into the cautious man, his quick hands unhitching the pouch from the belt. In a mere moment, Haggard had pickpocketed the bag from Bartheny.
“Sorry!” the nervous man exclaimed as Haggard passed by.
“No worries, friend,” Haggard responded happily.
The drifter continued his walk with a whistle. He slowly counted the seconds.
‘...2…3…4…5…’
“Uh, excuse me!” Bartheny’s voice called out.
Haggard stopped. “Yes?” He turned around.
“I believe you have my coin purse, sir,” Bartheny chuckled nervously.
“Do I?”
“Yes. I would appreciate it if you return it.”
“No clue on what you’re talking about.” Haggard shrugged and turned back around, ready to head off. Before he could take a step, Bartheny’s hand suddenly rested on his shoulder.
In any situation, especially this one, Haggard would have kept walking. In this context, he would have led the confused man to the planned spot. Yet he couldn’t. Haggard felt a presence, one that he never thought could affect him. He turned around. Bartheny was smiling, his right hand extended into an awaiting palm.
“I’m not asking. Return the pouch.” His demeanor had changed. There was still the unmistakingly shaking behind those words, yet Bartheny’s tone was that of an angry calm.
Haggard debated on if he should engage. Every fiber in his body begged for a fight. Yet the drifter held it back. This was not the time to indulge in his instincts. Haggard instead shoved the other man’s hand off.
“I have no clue what you’re on about.” He even turned away from Bartheny. That wasn’t the end. He had only taken two steps before he heard the words.
“Thunder Flash!”
Haggard barely had time to react as a white light blinded him.
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Dahlia lined the salt up in the ritual circle. It didn’t need to be perfect, only serviceable enough as the ritual called it. Still, she was obsessing over every little detail and amount. She needed this to work, or else they would deal with a very pissed off Wizard.
“Is it done?” Lowe asked from the sidelines. He watched in anticipation. He was more than nervous, as shown through the beads of sweat on his forehead and the gnawing of his thumbnail.
“It’s ready,” Dahlia breathed out as she carefully laid the piece of cloth in the center of the circle. She grabbed at her spell crystal, ready to contact Haggard. Dahlia was halfway through speaking the keyword when she stopped herself. Was it wise to notify Haggard? There was a good chance that the spell crystal could give the drifter away. Falrick could sense the magical object for all she knew.
Dahlia gripped onto the crystal, unsure of what to do.
‘Contact Felix and Helen, see if they have eyes on Haggard…’
That sounded like a good idea. Those should keep their distance, making it a safe bet to contact their crystals. Dahlia opened her mouth to speak out the key word, ready to contact the archer and ex-marauder. Before she could get the words out, a loud crack of thunder filled the sky.
She looked up to the source of the loud sound, confusion and dread filling her chest. In the clouded sky, were the remnants of a thunder strike, magical judging from the traces residue of its bolt. “What the…”
“It’s him,” Lowe interrupted the shaman.
Dahlia looked at the gnome. “Is it who I think it is?” She asked cautiously.
Lowe nodded. “There’s only man I know of who can cast that spell.”
Dahlia looked at her crystal. “Haggard!” She called out the name with haste, hoping to connect with the drifter’s crystal.
She needed to know what was happening and why Falrick had gone insane enough to cast rank three spells in the town. Dahlia’s heart sank when the crystal instead turned gray. It was a clear sign that the receiving crystal could not communicate. It only happened when the crystal was compromised, or in this case, destroyed by a powerful thunder bolt.
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Haggard coughed and spat out the dust that had formed in his mouth. He punched at his chest, hoping to get his breathing under control. He was in some shack, its wall now in pieces as particles of dirt floated in the air. The drifter forced himself to sit upright, his eyesight slowly coming to. In front of him was an older man, his beard a mix of gray and black. His eyes were bloodshot and his head had only a few wisps of hair left.
“Give the pouch. Now,” Falrick called out. Haggard took his breaths for a couple of seconds, his mind going back to what had happened. After the Wizard had blinded him, Haggard attempted to swing blindly at the other man. Falrick had then struck Haggard with a thunderbolt spell, which had sent the drifter flying. Which led to this.
Haggard chuckled. “Oh… It has been too long since I’ve felt this kind of pain.”
He grabbed at his flask, a precaution he had always brought whenever the possibility of a fight was near. Haggard took the swig of the potion-alcohol mix as he forced himself to stand. He grabbed at his hammer right after the swig, now ready to fight.
Falrick formed a look of disgust. “You’re some fool if you think you can take me on!”
Haggard didn’t waste time. He rushed the Wizard, bent on hitting him with full strength. His hammer swung at the old man in record speed, its bulky head whistling as it flew through the air. Just as the steel made contact, however, golden light shone out of nowhere. It blinded Haggard and sent him stumbling back. When his sight came back, he saw Falrick’s figure engulfed in a glowing barrier that hugged at his body. It looked as if it was made with yellow sand, its glistening grains moving continuously.
“Golden Carapace,” Falrick revealed. “It’s useless to try to destroy it with blunt force.”
“Fun,” Haggard coughed out. He grinned as he hefted his hammer once more. “That makes it all the more interesting!” He rushed at the Wizard again. “Power Strike!”
Haggard’s hammer gained a red hue as it sped towards Falrick. The Wizard quickly raised his hands, forming the runes necessary.
“Temporal Parry.”
Those words struck Haggard like a knife, his heart dropping like a stone in water. He quickly tried to redirect, using all of his strength to avoid clashing with the glowing runes. Thankfully, he managed to avoid a grisly fate from that counter-spell. Unfortunately, he left himself open.
“Shock Paralysis.”
Electricity filled Haggard’s body, causing his muscles to lock up and his breathing to turn short. He fell to the ground, his body twitching.
“I’ll give you my acknowledgement. Your spirit is admirable,” Falrick’s voice called out. The Wizard came into view, his hand holding the pouch Haggard had snatched earlier. Haggard tried to speak out, but his body refused to move. The Wizard looked down at the drifter, his face contorting into what looked like regret and guilt.
“I’m sorry. This wasn’t supposed to go this way.” Falrick turned away. “The spell will wear off in half an hour. Until then, endure the pain.”
Haggard gritted his teeth. His thoughts screamed and pushed at his nerves to move and react once more.
Out of sheer will, Haggard forced his lips to move. “G-Get b-back here!” He yelled.
Falrick stopped. “You truly are determined for a fight, aren’t you?” The Wizard muttered.
“Y-You! Answer for—for—!” Haggard forced his mouth to move. “Your cowardice!” He finished barely. “Yorn Halvorson! Left him… to die!”
The Wizard blinked, his eyes widening. “How did you know…?” Falrick turned fully to face Haggard.
The drifter only laughed. “Y-You’ve hidden here for what? Four months?” Haggard could feel his strength and motor controls return slowly back to his body. He stayed still, doing his best to stall for time. “You should’ve known that Seamus was here… It would be impossible to miss!” Haggard strained. “How do you know he didn’t tell me about it?”
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“Impossible. Seamus… Seamus doesn’t know. He was—” Falrick stopped himself. “Who told you?”
Falrick stepped up to Haggard.
“That’s a secret,” Haggard chuckled.
The Wizard furrowed his brow. He was about to say another word, but was interrupted by a voice.
“Haggard?!” Helen had stepped in, her hands wielding a spear. Felix was behind her, his own hands carrying a short bow.
Falrick aimed his hands at Haggard. “Get back! I don’t want to hurt any of you!”
“Then surrender yourself!” Felix shouted. “There’s no need for violence, Falrick!” The guard’s captain had his bow half drawn, the blunt arrow resting on the drawstring.
“I can’t give myself up,” Falrick said.
“Why?” Helen asked.
The Wizard clenched his fists. “I cannot face the son of the man I failed to protect,” he muttered. “Especially after what I saw what he did that night.” Falrick raised his hands, forming the runes appropriate for his situation. “He will kill me.”
Those words struck everyone around to hear it. Felix blinked as he lowered his bow. Helen faltered her spear. Falrick’s words shocked even Haggard.
‘Is he talking about Seamus? There’s no reason to think that he would kill him!’
Haggard knew Seamus had killed men, but the kid had done so in self defense and out of necessity. The way Falrick was putting it, he was describing Seamus as a bloodthirsty killer.
“Falrick, there’s no reason that—”
“Of course there is!” The Wizard shouted. “You don’t know Seamus. You don’t know who he really is! What demon that hides underneath his skin? Once he finds out my cowardice, he will kill me. I cannot allow that to happen!”
“Calm down! We can talk this through!” Helen inched close to the Wizard, her spear raised. Falrick aimed his hands at the blonde woman, his lips already moving to utter his spell.
Haggard was another step ahead, however. He had stalled enough to move.
“Thunder Fla—!”
Haggard interrupted Falrick’s casting by grabbing at the pouch that was hanging from his belt. Haggard felt pins and needles stab at his muscles, but he didn’t care. He could move now. He turned to Helen and Felix, his hand already in motion.
“Catch!” He shouted. Haggard threw the valuable bag at the bewildered duo. Luckily, they grabbed it. “Run!” Haggard forced out.
“How?!” the Wizard yelled. He moved to run after the two, but Haggard held him back. He was still holding onto the Wizard’s belt. “This is impossible. How are you able to move?!” Falrick exclaimed.
“You forgot to factor in the potion I drank earlier,” Haggard grinned at Falrick. “It wasn’t vitality.” He gestured to the flask on his hip, which had been filled with svidka and a resist potion prior to their confrontation. “Never hurts to be careful…”
Falrick’s eyes widened. “Damn you! Thunder Flash!”
Haggard braced himself as Falrick’s spell struck him at point blank. Thunder Flash was a simple spell, focusing on blinding and stunning opponents. However, if shot at point blank, the spell could have a shocking effect on the target. Haggard only laughed as electricity passed through his body like a conduit.
It wouldn’t take much for his body to lock up, his tolerance reaching a clear limit.
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Helen sprinted through the streets of Yorktown and New Aldren. She pushed herself to keep running, her legs burning with effort as she took sharp turns and narrow alleyways. Felix was right behind her, his heavy breathing being the only thing she could hear.
“Helen?! What’s happening?!” Dahlia’s frantic voice pulsed through the spell crystal.
Helen brought the glowing crystal up to her mouth. “Falrick! Chasing! We’re heading to you now!”
“What about Haggard and Felix?”
“Felix is right behind me! Haggard is–!” Helen was stopped when the ground in front of her rose suddenly. Before she knew it, she clashed with a wall that had appeared out of nowhere.
“Stop!” Falrick’s voice sounded out. The Wizard stood at the entrance to the alleyway Helen and Felix took. His hands were forming runes faster than Helen could process them.
“Mudfloor!” He shouted. Helen still reacted quickly, her feet moving to climb the nearby wall.
“Felix!” she shouted at the guardsman. It was too late. Felix was already knee deep in the ground, his hands desperately trying to get his bow drawn.
Falrick formed another set of runes. “Shock Paralysis!” Felix had barely loosed his arrow when he was struck with the clump of electricity. His body convulsed before going limp. The arrow went wide, hitting the wall next to the Wizard.
“No!”
“He’s not dead,” Falrick revealed as he turned to Helen. “But you will be if you do not listen! The pouch. Give it to me!”
Helen clenched her jaw. She could easily climb this wall, but she knew the Wizard could strike her down with a spell. Dahlia was so close, and Helen only needed to run a little more before reaching the ritual site. Still, the risk was high. Can she fake giving Falrick the wrong pouch? Helen felt where her coin pouch was. Would he be able to tell the difference?
Before she could make a choice, the situation was interrupted. “Hey! Stop right there!” The voice caught everyone off guard. Even Falrick turned around. Helen took this chance to climb the wall she was on, careful not to slip and fall. Once she got to the rooftop, she turned to the source of the voice.
It was none other than Kate. Helen could see how the guardswoman approached Falrick with caution, hands tense on her spear.
‘Dammit! She can’t get caught up in this!’
Helen watched as the Wizard faced Kate, his hands already moving. The ex-marauder made her choice.
“Hey!” Helen shouted, her hands waving at the Wizard. Falrick turned to her, his scowl visible. Helen raised the pouch to show him before she sprinted off.
“Thunderbolt!” Helen felt the hairs on her arm stand up as white noise filled the air. Lightning struck down next to her, the magical bolt enough to make her stumble. Helen rolled and slid on the roofs, her hands trying to find anything to grab. She settled for a plank that was sticking out, her hands gripping onto it fiercely. Unluckily, it broke under their weight. Helen landed with a thud on the ground. She groaned in pain. The smell of singed hair and sweets filled the air.
“What is that smell…?” Helen muttered. She knew spells had fruity scents, but this one was unlike anything before. Perhaps it was the electricity that gave it its citrusy scent.
As the blonde woman stood back up, footsteps sounded out from around the corner. “Shit!” Helen hissed. She forced herself to run, her hands clutching onto the pouch.
“Get back here! Now!” Falrick screamed out hoarsely. Helen only pushed herself further. She could see the forest ahead, showing that she was close.
“Thunder Lance!!”
Helen dropped as soon as she heard the spell’s name. A lance of electricity shot above her like an arrow of the gods, its point hitting the border wall ahead. Splinters flew everywhere as a result, all while smoke billowed from the opening. Falrick wasn’t playing around anymore.
Helen pushed herself back up, her eyes glancing behind her. Sure enough, Falrick was there, his hands forming another rune.
“SURRENDER! NOW!” He roared with anger. Helen ignored him. She squinted at the hole in the border. Helen felt her skip with relief. Falrick couldn’t have had a better shot. The blonde woman pushed herself a little further, hoping that her voice would be loud enough.
“THUNDER FLA–!”
“Dahlia! NOW!” Helen interrupted Falrick’s spell, catching him off guard as she dived to the ground. She even curled up in a tight ball, making herself as small of a target as possible.
Falrick stopped at Helen’s actions, his eyes blinking as he looked to the opening in the palisade. As the smoke cleared, realization seemed to have dawned on the Wizard. Helen recalled one thing Dahlia told her about the ritual. Falrick did not need to be in the circle. Dahlia just needed a line of sight. The shaman’s form was visible in the dust and crackling smog, her hands bleeding as they clasped together. It was clear that her ritual was reaching its climax. Falrick tried to form a rune to counter it, but it was too late.
“I call upon the spirits of Hel! Lend me your strength! SHADOW BIND!”
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Wisps of blackened smoke shot forward with blinding speed, their tips sharp as spears. Falrick braced himself, his hands trying to form the rune necessary to block it. Yet his numb fingers failed to cooperate, a result of his constant spellcasting. It had been too long since he had exerted himself like this. The Wizard watched helplessly as the tongues of dark matter sped towards him. He closes his eyes, expecting for them to pierce his body like arrows. However, there was no pain. Instead, Falrick felt a sort of weight hold his hands and feet down, forcing him to fall on his knees.
He opened his eyes. Falrick was met with the sight of the black tendrils holding his body in place, the burning runes on the ground signifying that this was a stationary spell cast by experienced hands. At least, that was his first thought. The Wizard looked at the shaman, who had shouted out her words of power. He had only caught bits and pieces of what she said, but he never imagined that she could cast a Shadow Bind. The smoke around the palisade’s hole cleared little by little and Falrick was soon met with the sight of his opponent.
She was young, too young to be casting spells on this level. Falrick couldn’t help but feel impressed by her feat. Shadow Bind was a casting few spellcasters knew of, let alone capable of learning. Then again, the Wizard only had to look at the glowing circle she was standing in.
‘Ritual magic…’
Falrick had heard of shamans and priests being able to perform high-level spells with only rituals, but this was something he had only witnessed a few times in his lifetime.
Falrick tried to resist his bindings, to no avail. The shadowy tendrils tightened their grip, his ley lines unresponsive to his muttered castings and forming fingers. He couldn’t even cast a level one spell.
“Azlene’s mercy,” he whispered. All of his anger and emotions were washed away, now replaced by wonder and shock. He looked at the shaman once more. Her hands were dripping blood, a sign that she had cut her palm to give her blood for the ritual. The blisters on her fingers signified that she had practiced for this particular moment for a while. Shimmering heat surrounded her, her red face and shaking body showing that she was at her limit.
“Lowe! Shackle him!” The shaman shouted out.
“Lowe?” Falrick blinked.
‘The gnome? He’s here?!’
Before the Wizard could say anything, the gnome made his appearance. Lowe sprinted out of the destroyed palisade, his hands carrying shackles. It didn’t take Falrick long to recognize the runes imprinted on those cuffs. What Wizard wouldn’t?
“Shit!” Falrick desperately tried to break from his binds, forcing all of his will into it. He could break the ritual, he just needed to push harder. The shaman was already about to break. Falrick had a chance.
The Wizard screamed as he resisted the ritual’s binds. He willed as hard as he could to get his ley lines to work. He formed the same rune over and over, hoping for his body to react. All of this didn’t seem to work at first. Until he saw the shaman struggle and strain in her ritual. Falrick’s plan was working. He fought harder, focusing on his hands and castings. Lowe was getting closer by the second, his shackles open and ready to trap Falrick. The Wizard would not let that happen.
Falrick struggled and fought, his own vision getting blurry. Yet he could feel the spell weakening. Finally, he saw his chance. The shaman faltered, her hands separating for only a moment. Falrick took it. He forced all of his will into the moment; the act breaking the bind on his hands. The Shadow Bind momentarily dispelled, allowing Falrick to form a rune at the running gnome.
“Flare!”
Bright light flashed in a moment, blinding the gnome and sending him tumbling back. It seemed to affect the shaman as well, but her resolve remained. Falrick moved to cast another spell at the shaman, hoping to actually cancel out the Shadow Bind.
“Thunder Lance!”
In a mere moment, the Wizard already had his lance ready to fire. The bolt of electricity crackled and hissed as he aimed it. However, right when he released it, someone suddenly shoved his hand upwards, sending the lance into the sky. The electric projectile exploded in the sky, sending sparks everywhere like a light show.
“Lowe! The shackles!” It was the blonde woman from before. She had stopped the Thunder Lance from reaching the shaman.
“You are too persistent!” Falrick growled. He formed another rune with his left hand, his right moving to grab at the small knife he kept on his belt. He had hoped it wouldn’t have come to this, but his life was at stake.
“Shock Paralysis!” Falrick called out. Of course, his opponent dodged the attack the minute it was formed. He had counted on it. Falrick’s right hand sprang to action, brandishing the dagger he had been hiding underneath his baggy clothes. The blonde woman was already mid-dodge, so she had no chance to avoid the strike. Falrick’s dagger only made it halfway before his hand was restrained once more.
The shadowy smoke was back, its tendril holding Falrick’s right hand like a vise. Yet his left hand was free. The Wizard stole a glance at the shaman, who was straining to keep her ritual up. She had somehow mustered enough willpower to restrain at least one of the Wizard’s hands. It was impressive timing, Falrick had to admit. Still, he was far from praising her outright. He aimed his left hand, ready to cast another spell.
Shackles suddenly appeared and clasped onto Falrick’s free hand. The Wizard blinked. He had neglected Lowe, who had since recovered from the flare spell. Falrick scowled and backhanded the gnome without thinking, sending the small man tumbling back. He desperately tried to go for another rune, hoping that the shackle’s enchantment was weak enough to break out of.
“Thunder Lance!”
No response. Falrick couldn’t cast it.
“Flare! Mudfloor! Arcane Bolt!” He tried even basic spells, yet nothing came of it. He tried to get his right hand free, to cast it. No luck. The Shadow Bind held his wrist tight and did not allow him to break free.
Falrick struggled and fought, trying to break the ritual like before. However, he would not be able to. The blonde woman from before took steps toward him, her fist raised. Before the Wizard could do anything, her fist connected with his jaw.
Lights out.
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Deimos looked around the island’s gravel shore. His men were setting up camp for the night, pitching the tents they were going to sleep in. They all scrambled to hurry, as they knew they had to finish before the sun fully set beneath the horizon. Ivana was supervising them, making sure they didn’t fuck it all up. Eli was nearby, watching it all as Deimos observed.
“How long are we going to be stationed here?” The blind spellcaster asked.
“As long as we need to be. Perhaps a week, maybe a month,” Deimos stated. Eli visibly scowled at that, his expression showing disdain with the response. “What is it?” The chieftain asked. It was rare to see the young man visibly uncomfortable.
“This place. It bothers me,” Eli muttered. Deimos raised an eyebrow. Very few things bothered the young spellcaster. Ghouls, wraiths, and even conjured demons fail to strike a nerve within Eli. This island was the opposite of those things. It seemed perfectly normal. It was populated with a small forest, a mountain at its center. Deimos himself had noted no anomalies nor anything strange about it since they had docked.
“Is there something you sense? Another presence?” Deimos knew that islands in the south had a tendency to house unfriendly creatures. Feral goblins, wild raptors, and even great serpents made some of these islands their homes. That wasn’t even considering possible outposts that could belong to rival clans. He wondered if Eli had sensed a camp or concentration of hostile creatures nearby.
“No.” Eli answered. He raised a hand, beckoning to the sky. His raven familiar came down in a swoop, landing neatly on the young man’s wrist. Its head raised, showcasing the glowing eyes it bore. “When I scout, I can see and sense things beyond the human sense.” Eli looked at Deimos, his embroidered blindfold reflecting the orange light of the setting sun. “The ley lines here. Death permeates them.” Eli revealed.
Deimos furrowed his brow. “You can still read them?” He knew the ley lines along the southern parts of Valenfrost were cracked. In fact, he knew since his return to the fort after the events of Yorktown.
Eli had informed him of this. The blinded man explained that it didn’t affect spells or castings, so it was nothing for him to worry about. It had such a little effect on spells, even Wizards wouldn’t notice unless they had a specialized scrying magic, a rarity that only the Lumen spellcasters were blessed with. Still, many would wonder how Eli could see them, even without this level of scrying. So, as a precaution, only Deimos knew of the ley lines.
“I can still sense them.” Eli answered. “Damaged or not.” He looked off into the forest.
“What do you suppose it is?” Deimos asked. If they had to deal with a threat, Deimos wanted to get it done quickly.
“I’m not sure. It stinks like necromancy, but it isn’t.” Eli furrowed his brow in frustration. “It’s familiar,” the spellcaster muttered.
“Familiar?” Deimos’ interest piqued.
Eli’s frown faltered, and his face contorted in confusion. “It’s the same as back in Yorktown.” That caught both of the men off guard.
“Yorktown?” Deimos asked. The first thing that appeared in his head was that of James. He recalled the scene of their last encounter. The burned body of Havor, the bloody figure of the blond man, and that deformed corpse he had seen. He recalled what Eli had said to him that day. The possibility that James was resurrected with necromancy. That the deformed corpse was emanating magic that the spellcaster had never seen before.
Was James here? No, was whatever resurrected him here? As Deimos’ thoughts ran to possibilities, Eli spoke up.
“It’s not Holter.” It was as if he had read the marauder’s thoughts. “The trace is similar, but it’s not him.”
“Then what is it?” Deimos looked into the forest. He focused on the mountain past the treeline, its unimpressive peak casting a shadow on the other side of the island.
“It’s a trace.” Eli explained. “It’s not here anymore, but its trace is still here.” The spellcaster sent his familiar out into the sky, the conjured raven spreading its wings as it flew off.
“So. Nothing to worry about?”
“No. At least, not at the moment. I shall investigate it further tonight.” Eli stepped off into the direction of the camp. “I shall notify you if I find something.” As Deimos watched the young man walk off, Ivana approached him.
“The camp is nearly finished, my lord. Your quarters have been completed, of course, and if you wish, I can have the men hunt down something for tonight’s dinner.” She was formal, as usual.
Deimos nodded in approval. “Good. Have the men fish something out of the sea instead. Eli will examine the island tonight and I don’t want him to be interrupted by these idiots screaming and shouting in the woods,” he explained.
Ivana nodded. “Understood.” She smiled and turned around, now facing the working grunts who were busy lifting tents and setting up. “Alright you grunts! Whoever is not working, get your ass in the shallows now!” Her entire demeanor changed in an instant. Deimos only watched proudly as she yelled and insulted the men who lagged.
The Red Death sighed and turned back to the awaiting sea, watching as the horizon turned darker by the minute. The longships were docked in the shallows, their sails rolled and the anchor set. The chieftain looked at the bear head on Virtus’ Curse, which looked threatening under the setting sun. Originally, he had wanted to replace the figurehead with a dragon head, but he had grown fond of the bear carving. It was a keepsake, if anything, from the man who had once ruled over the north.