“Who’s a sap? I’m not a sap,” insisted Horst, spinning about. Free to roam he began to walk into the individual rooms and began to pull things out into the main room. It started with the shiniest articles, working their way back.
“What are you doing?” Curie piped, her energy growing at the odd Spriggan.
“If we got to go now, then we got to get the stuff out,” reasoned Horst.
“Most of that is Helen’s and if I know Helen, which none of us really do, she’s going to love that you’re getting her things out. You’re lucky Philly and Bjorn are out, you can surprise them too.”
A flutter of wings brought Bjorn into the room. He settled himself onto the table. Only momentarily distracted by the antics of the Spriggan, the odinkine relayed a message.
“Your presence is demanded in the main hall,” reported he, “they’ve gotten most of the feast together and The Captain is blocking all festivities without you being there.”
It was then that his stiff visage became serious, “Why are you dressed for the road?”
[The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“Because we’re hitting the road, Bjorn,” Willow said matter-of-factly. As she moved towards the door she gestured for the odinkeine to take his usual position, and with a similar gesture let Curie and Horst carry on with their packing. Stepping confidently out into the hall she felt a surety of what she was doing. She was well stocked, had companions, a heading, and a clear goal; to say nothing of the ace saber skills she’d gotten a handle on. Once out of earshot of the others, she spoke again to Bjorn. “We got saddled with a time limit on our mission. If we don’t stop Vengeance within said time, then a warrior of old will storm through like a harbinger and dash the progress we’ve made through misguided good will. I don’t plan on letting all of this amount to a handful of cack, so we hit the road once everyone is ready.”
With that, she strode to the main hall.
With that, she strode to the main hall.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“Creative had me swear an oath to guide you until you were no longer lost,” began Bjorn, aware of their surroundings, “You were supposed to find your way when you left the boat that day…”
A small smile crept on Bjorn’s face, making him look a bit more his age, “...but you are still lost. So I will stay with you, until you find your way.”
They passed several smallkin running to and fro in the carven halls, this home that Willow had known. She had been chased up and down this hall a few times by the quarrids trying to wrest her orange blade away. There had been bare fisted battles waged by canidaer of the Maple company in her name to pave a path. Helen, ever the storekeeper, had managed to gather building materials and fortify the place into a type of quarter for the visiting smallkin, and a stronghold for Willow. The internal conflict had died down in the last month, but the spaces were still lively with all kinds.
Pressing over the throngs, Willow made it into the main hall, where her time at Dyrnwyn had started. Additional tables had been added along the roads on the wings, as businesses had shut for the day. The food stalls had expanded into a complex series of kitchens working on serving the feast.
At the center, arranged concentrically, were the normal tables packed with smallkin and arranged around four of the artisans. Each was dressed to the nines for the celebration. Creative wore a set of ornate leathers, trimmed with feathers. Diligence was bedecked in a fine, white shirt, covering his usual, shirtless self. Clever wore a small, simple dress, looking to impress with her hair pulled up. Her sister matched her hairstyle, but she wore a set of gilded robes.
“Willow! Finally, we can eat! Hey, what do you think?” asked Clever, striking a pose to show off her attire. Though with her number of arms, it looked like two poses.
“The hero has arrived!”
Noble descended from the high ceiling, landing with a thunderous clatter of his hooves. He sparkled in a set of glittering, mythril battleplate, wrapped tightly in soft, sky blue silks.
“I am filled with the utmost pride in your achievements today,” started the Captain, ignorant of Willow’s attire and the growing concern on the faces of the other artisans, “but this is not my day, it is yours! This only gives me greater pleasure in showing a handsome gift made by one of your most gifted companions…”
From one of the tables came a circular chaise, carved from some type of hardwood. It was pushed along its stubby legs by Ghyslain, with the back presented first. It depicted a young lady striking a one armed opponent in the neck as a carving that was too ornate to have been done in the time since the duel. The berserker, having achieved a sense of acceptable serenity in his service of Willow, turned the piece around to present a velvet, plush cushion.
“...Your seat for this feast!” smiled Noble, “With this, you may sit anywhere you like! Tonight, you will have no worries, be attended by friends and live to the full deserts of your vic–...”
“The fuck is the backpack for?” came Diligence’s question right over the bow.
A small smile crept on Bjorn’s face, making him look a bit more his age, “...but you are still lost. So I will stay with you, until you find your way.”
They passed several smallkin running to and fro in the carven halls, this home that Willow had known. She had been chased up and down this hall a few times by the quarrids trying to wrest her orange blade away. There had been bare fisted battles waged by canidaer of the Maple company in her name to pave a path. Helen, ever the storekeeper, had managed to gather building materials and fortify the place into a type of quarter for the visiting smallkin, and a stronghold for Willow. The internal conflict had died down in the last month, but the spaces were still lively with all kinds.
Pressing over the throngs, Willow made it into the main hall, where her time at Dyrnwyn had started. Additional tables had been added along the roads on the wings, as businesses had shut for the day. The food stalls had expanded into a complex series of kitchens working on serving the feast.
At the center, arranged concentrically, were the normal tables packed with smallkin and arranged around four of the artisans. Each was dressed to the nines for the celebration. Creative wore a set of ornate leathers, trimmed with feathers. Diligence was bedecked in a fine, white shirt, covering his usual, shirtless self. Clever wore a small, simple dress, looking to impress with her hair pulled up. Her sister matched her hairstyle, but she wore a set of gilded robes.
“Willow! Finally, we can eat! Hey, what do you think?” asked Clever, striking a pose to show off her attire. Though with her number of arms, it looked like two poses.
“The hero has arrived!”
Noble descended from the high ceiling, landing with a thunderous clatter of his hooves. He sparkled in a set of glittering, mythril battleplate, wrapped tightly in soft, sky blue silks.
“I am filled with the utmost pride in your achievements today,” started the Captain, ignorant of Willow’s attire and the growing concern on the faces of the other artisans, “but this is not my day, it is yours! This only gives me greater pleasure in showing a handsome gift made by one of your most gifted companions…”
From one of the tables came a circular chaise, carved from some type of hardwood. It was pushed along its stubby legs by Ghyslain, with the back presented first. It depicted a young lady striking a one armed opponent in the neck as a carving that was too ornate to have been done in the time since the duel. The berserker, having achieved a sense of acceptable serenity in his service of Willow, turned the piece around to present a velvet, plush cushion.
“...Your seat for this feast!” smiled Noble, “With this, you may sit anywhere you like! Tonight, you will have no worries, be attended by friends and live to the full deserts of your vic–...”
“The fuck is the backpack for?” came Diligence’s question right over the bow.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“Looking dandy as ever, Clever,” Willow offered the Artisan along with a snappy finger gun. Her eyes tracked upward to the descending Noble, and rocked back on her heels as she listened to the centaur speak. Several times she felt like interjecting and hitting the brakes on his exultation, but goodness he liked to go on; all the while she noted the other Artisans taking note of her. So when Diligence finally cut in, Willow scratched at the short hair on the side of her head while wearing a puckish smile.
“It’s where I keep my stuff. Pain in the butt trying to carry everything with just my arms,” Willow started. “Talking serious for a moment though, I’ve got to hit the road. Just got slapped with a time limit on my mission quest thing, and I would prefer to stay ahead of it. That said, I think this is for the best. Today’s kind of a silly thing to celebrate regarding me. All I did was finish my training. The tutorial, if you will. Instead, I’d say make the feast about you lot. Celebrate the fact that the Artisans are back together. We can celebrate me and my accomplishments once I’ve handled Vengeance.”
“It’s where I keep my stuff. Pain in the butt trying to carry everything with just my arms,” Willow started. “Talking serious for a moment though, I’ve got to hit the road. Just got slapped with a time limit on my mission quest thing, and I would prefer to stay ahead of it. That said, I think this is for the best. Today’s kind of a silly thing to celebrate regarding me. All I did was finish my training. The tutorial, if you will. Instead, I’d say make the feast about you lot. Celebrate the fact that the Artisans are back together. We can celebrate me and my accomplishments once I’ve handled Vengeance.”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Words seemed to fail the artisans, witnessing the end of their festivities before they began. Clever’s pride was short lived as she already began cursing silently about how hungry she was. Smart seemed to be mouthing something about a tutorial, whereas Creative merely smiled politely, though his foot tapped. Diligence rose to say something, but one of Smart’s hands grabbed his arm. The four of them seemed unsure what to do, or how to handle the news, so they did what they always did.
They looked to Noble for guidance, by then the whole room was looking at him. Willow could see the disappointment on his face, the rebuff had seemed to hurt him the most. His charming countenance withered to helplessness.
Then, he clapped his hands, and his wings rose like banners.
“Then let the Elementalia celebrate! We, artisan and smallkin, builders alike; we will celebrate our creations, and revel in our unity! With a single purpose, we came together!”
He turned, putting Willow to his back, address the artisans and all the smallkin, “This night is for you, all of you! Those of you who worked for the Great Task!”
The voices of almost every mouth in the room moved in chorus, “The mountains bleed eternal bounty for those who work!”
Noble burst into uproarious laughter, throwing himself into the air and ascending to the rafters to direct the festivities. He never looked back to Willow, not once.
—
“NOOOOO!” Helen thrashed around as Ghyslain carried her on the plush chair that he held aloft, “Just because Metaleater has to leave, why does that mean I have to miss the party!?”
The golem had been inconsolable since Ghyslain had pulled her from her seat. Even from Willow’s own chair, her tantrum had failed to subside.
“We have oaths to uphold,” answered Bjorn from Willow’s shoulder, “and you’d never be able to catch up afterwards.”
“It’s not fair! It’s never fair! I hate it! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!”
The group passed the dueling grounds, deserted and silent save for a single, large golem. A chilly wind that smelled of rain was encroaching on what looked to be a cloudy day. A path wound down the hillside through the valley, into the edges of the forests. Just as they neared the furthest any of them had been from the mountaintop villages Helen let out a baleful moan.
“Where’s Phyllis!? Huh!? She’s not here! Why isn’t she here? Why does she get to go to the party!?”
A familiar voice cut through the treeline.
“Ach, cut yer blitherin’, ye waifish brat,” groaned Phyllis, in her full, silvered battleplate, with accents of blue and gold. She had her halberd over shoulder, sporting a morion over her mane of curly orange hair, “I was watchin’ the border as is my duty. Was tryin’ t’keep a quiet night, but turns out nothin’ is quiet when Willa’ is involved.”
She regarded the Allomancer with a weary eye, “You’re lucky I was already packed up when I was told to come back. Hope yer ready, the bloody wraiths have been wailing nonstop.”
They looked to Noble for guidance, by then the whole room was looking at him. Willow could see the disappointment on his face, the rebuff had seemed to hurt him the most. His charming countenance withered to helplessness.
Then, he clapped his hands, and his wings rose like banners.
“Then let the Elementalia celebrate! We, artisan and smallkin, builders alike; we will celebrate our creations, and revel in our unity! With a single purpose, we came together!”
He turned, putting Willow to his back, address the artisans and all the smallkin, “This night is for you, all of you! Those of you who worked for the Great Task!”
The voices of almost every mouth in the room moved in chorus, “The mountains bleed eternal bounty for those who work!”
Noble burst into uproarious laughter, throwing himself into the air and ascending to the rafters to direct the festivities. He never looked back to Willow, not once.
—
“NOOOOO!” Helen thrashed around as Ghyslain carried her on the plush chair that he held aloft, “Just because Metaleater has to leave, why does that mean I have to miss the party!?”
The golem had been inconsolable since Ghyslain had pulled her from her seat. Even from Willow’s own chair, her tantrum had failed to subside.
“We have oaths to uphold,” answered Bjorn from Willow’s shoulder, “and you’d never be able to catch up afterwards.”
“It’s not fair! It’s never fair! I hate it! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!”
The group passed the dueling grounds, deserted and silent save for a single, large golem. A chilly wind that smelled of rain was encroaching on what looked to be a cloudy day. A path wound down the hillside through the valley, into the edges of the forests. Just as they neared the furthest any of them had been from the mountaintop villages Helen let out a baleful moan.
“Where’s Phyllis!? Huh!? She’s not here! Why isn’t she here? Why does she get to go to the party!?”
A familiar voice cut through the treeline.
“Ach, cut yer blitherin’, ye waifish brat,” groaned Phyllis, in her full, silvered battleplate, with accents of blue and gold. She had her halberd over shoulder, sporting a morion over her mane of curly orange hair, “I was watchin’ the border as is my duty. Was tryin’ t’keep a quiet night, but turns out nothin’ is quiet when Willa’ is involved.”
She regarded the Allomancer with a weary eye, “You’re lucky I was already packed up when I was told to come back. Hope yer ready, the bloody wraiths have been wailing nonstop.”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Using her index finger, Willow tipped the brim of her hat to the artisans before turning and walking out of the hall; she wore a melancholic smile as she left. Thankfully she had her lively band of smallkin in tow to distract her from the fact that she really did want to go to that party. With Helen being Helen it was easier for Willow to set herself as the dependable Metaleater. In the back of her mind she did worry that if she kept up this act she might actually become a dependable and hard working young woman. Regardless of her internal musing and Helen’s external whinging she took a moment at the greens to stretch and sniff at the air.
With a burn of the Tin she had ingested earlier she breathed in the smell of the storm, listened for thunder, and felt the humidity on her cheeks. This didn’t actually tell her anything except that, yup, rain was on its way; and that, off in the distance, she heard wailing. She figured though, that if she did it regularly enough, she might get good at judging weather. Then she quite acutely heard Helen readying another moan and dropped the burn on Tin before her ears bled. After Phyllis arrived and the exchange between the golem and canidear concluded, Willow took a quick headcount.
“We got Curie and Horst?” the Brit asked as she checked her team before turning back to Phyllis. “As for me, Hell yeah I’m ready. I’m burning hot and ready to hit the trail. And Helen, if it helps, look at it this way: we are skipping this party to pave the way for a bigger and better party.”
With a burn of the Tin she had ingested earlier she breathed in the smell of the storm, listened for thunder, and felt the humidity on her cheeks. This didn’t actually tell her anything except that, yup, rain was on its way; and that, off in the distance, she heard wailing. She figured though, that if she did it regularly enough, she might get good at judging weather. Then she quite acutely heard Helen readying another moan and dropped the burn on Tin before her ears bled. After Phyllis arrived and the exchange between the golem and canidear concluded, Willow took a quick headcount.
“We got Curie and Horst?” the Brit asked as she checked her team before turning back to Phyllis. “As for me, Hell yeah I’m ready. I’m burning hot and ready to hit the trail. And Helen, if it helps, look at it this way: we are skipping this party to pave the way for a bigger and better party.”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“I’ve never been on a suicide mission before!” chirped Curie, shepherding the gordalisk-riding Horst down the path toward them. Willow’s comment of a bigger part had almost assuaged Helen, but those efforts were rendered in vain.
“S-su-suicide!?”
“With our odds? Two, maybe one of us will die, at least,” came a cheery evaluation from Curie, twirling in the air.
Helen brought the plush fabric up to her chin, as if the sensations of luxury could cure her dread. She became solemn, if not unsteady.
“Worry? No worries,” Horst waved a hand as his crocodilian mount carried him forward, “The forest is my home. Dying is not likely. Barely certain. Spriggans would never hurt you.”
“And the wee wraiths?” asked Phyllis.
“Oh,” Horst rattled, rubbing his oaken chin, “forgot about them. Yes, very dangerous without druids. Wraith make your inside outside, and without druid? Insides stay outside.”
Phyllis looked unconvinced, but the party drove on, only pausing for Willow’s direction.
When they set on into the tree line, the dark influences of a dark world became evident. The light of a waning day died under a blanketing canopy of dead brush, supported on mottled stalks of withering woods. Undergrowth began to fade away in favor of an unpleasant smell, mold and decay. Lanterns had been driven into the ground, lighting the dimming path, shrouding the distance unlit in a choking darkness.
Faint beams of light greeted them again as they got to a camp of smallkin, shoring up what looked like a border outpost. Wounded canidaer sat under the attentions of a robed spriggan, while golems worked tirelessly to drive wards into the ground. Constructs like Curie were cutting down branches and trees while the quarrids hauled the wood to burn or build.
A few odinkine in the trees announced their approach, and a few silvered canidaer took notice of the group. Unlike the many times before, Willow was a known quantity now, and they went back to their watch.
A few screeching wails cut the tranquility apart as the whole camp tensed, before the howls died in the distance.
“Stop your squirming, you look like you never hear a ghost,” chided the robes Spriggan, his open palm exuding a visible aura that seemed to knit wounds. He looked over his shoulder. “Ah, mor– Horst!”
“Klaus! Hello friend.”
“You found your offering?”
“Yes, but tallkin here decided it was not to be, she got her own way of waking Vengeance?”
Klaus worked his way over, clearly old by his gnarled, hunched shoulders. His head was burdened by leaves and he wore a beard of moss and flowers. Glowing, yellow eyes stared up in wonder.
“The Eater of Metal? Thought you’d be taller,” Klaus seemed disappointed by his estimation, “You come to wake our dear Vengeance from her nightmare? Must have a nice offering under that hat.”
Klaus gasped, and slapped his own head, “Is it the hat?”
Horst nodded sagely, “It is a good hat, would make a good offering.”
“S-su-suicide!?”
“With our odds? Two, maybe one of us will die, at least,” came a cheery evaluation from Curie, twirling in the air.
Helen brought the plush fabric up to her chin, as if the sensations of luxury could cure her dread. She became solemn, if not unsteady.
“Worry? No worries,” Horst waved a hand as his crocodilian mount carried him forward, “The forest is my home. Dying is not likely. Barely certain. Spriggans would never hurt you.”
“And the wee wraiths?” asked Phyllis.
“Oh,” Horst rattled, rubbing his oaken chin, “forgot about them. Yes, very dangerous without druids. Wraith make your inside outside, and without druid? Insides stay outside.”
Phyllis looked unconvinced, but the party drove on, only pausing for Willow’s direction.
When they set on into the tree line, the dark influences of a dark world became evident. The light of a waning day died under a blanketing canopy of dead brush, supported on mottled stalks of withering woods. Undergrowth began to fade away in favor of an unpleasant smell, mold and decay. Lanterns had been driven into the ground, lighting the dimming path, shrouding the distance unlit in a choking darkness.
Faint beams of light greeted them again as they got to a camp of smallkin, shoring up what looked like a border outpost. Wounded canidaer sat under the attentions of a robed spriggan, while golems worked tirelessly to drive wards into the ground. Constructs like Curie were cutting down branches and trees while the quarrids hauled the wood to burn or build.
A few odinkine in the trees announced their approach, and a few silvered canidaer took notice of the group. Unlike the many times before, Willow was a known quantity now, and they went back to their watch.
A few screeching wails cut the tranquility apart as the whole camp tensed, before the howls died in the distance.
“Stop your squirming, you look like you never hear a ghost,” chided the robes Spriggan, his open palm exuding a visible aura that seemed to knit wounds. He looked over his shoulder. “Ah, mor– Horst!”
“Klaus! Hello friend.”
“You found your offering?”
“Yes, but tallkin here decided it was not to be, she got her own way of waking Vengeance?”
Klaus worked his way over, clearly old by his gnarled, hunched shoulders. His head was burdened by leaves and he wore a beard of moss and flowers. Glowing, yellow eyes stared up in wonder.
“The Eater of Metal? Thought you’d be taller,” Klaus seemed disappointed by his estimation, “You come to wake our dear Vengeance from her nightmare? Must have a nice offering under that hat.”
Klaus gasped, and slapped his own head, “Is it the hat?”
Horst nodded sagely, “It is a good hat, would make a good offering.”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“It’s an amazing hat,” Willow confirmed, but planted her hand firmly on top of it. “And it’s going to stay on my head. Clear?”
Shifting and planting her feet, Willow struck a determined pose while striking the ground with the base of the staff. For not being as tall as the other spriggan had been expecting she, and all of her gear, loomed over the old root. She kept her expression easy as the spriggans needed to be her allies in this matter but did her best to show she wasn’t playing around.
“My offering is therapy. For the time being though, I need to make my way to the stone platform in the center of the forest, and find a tribe of spriggans protecting a forgotten god’s spirit.”
Shifting and planting her feet, Willow struck a determined pose while striking the ground with the base of the staff. For not being as tall as the other spriggan had been expecting she, and all of her gear, loomed over the old root. She kept her expression easy as the spriggans needed to be her allies in this matter but did her best to show she wasn’t playing around.
“My offering is therapy. For the time being though, I need to make my way to the stone platform in the center of the forest, and find a tribe of spriggans protecting a forgotten god’s spirit.”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“Lots of forgotten gods around here,” answered the old root, caressing his beard thoughtfully, his glowing eyes sizing up the determined lass, “Need to be specific. Different tribes follow different gods. Horst is from the Horn Tribe. His tribe’s god is on the far side of the forest.”
“Definitely not mine,” assured Horst in a way that made the other smallkin of the group groan, “I’d know. My god is a lady of great power. She calls people to her.”
“Mine is the Sun tribe,” Klaus pointed to his chest, tugging his beard out of the way to reveal the knit icon of a sun over his threadbare robes, “we are close to the Center, but my god is an older one than me. Some gods are loose of their tribes, but they may not be of help to you. The lost are many these days, Vengeance’s dreams drive more to madness.”
The sounds of pained wailing lashed through the trees, putting the camp on alert again, and Klause stared mournfully into the dark, “Our gloomy home has turned into a dark prison. Something is about to happen.”
A pitched scream from the path ahead of the barricades poured fresh fire into the hearts of the defenders, as they jumped to. It wasn’t the voice of a wraith, but of a child. Willow could see a glow erupt from the bushes from the edge of the green alleyway ahead, forming the shape of a child. She was no more than ten, and in a state of fevered, unbridled panic. Her little hands padded the dirt path, trying to find some sense of purchase to push herself up.
Three spriggans dressed in heavy shawls of leaves came to her side and planted their staves. With a rattling chant, they formed a barrier against a wave of wraiths that crashed against it.
“Those are Pebble Tribesfolk,” pointed Horst.
“If their god is this far out?” Klaus shook his head, “Dark times, indeed.”
The defenders at the barricades vacillated as the wraiths started pressing fingers through the shimmering defense. Walking into the dark was a death sentence, that much was clear by the look on their faces. Phyllis trembled, gripping her halberd, her paws struggling to decide whether to charge in, or not, she looked at Willow.
Despite her moment of safety, the child pushed herself up, and threw herself into the other side of the path, disappearing into the dark, leaving the spriggans to hold off the onslaught.
“Definitely not mine,” assured Horst in a way that made the other smallkin of the group groan, “I’d know. My god is a lady of great power. She calls people to her.”
“Mine is the Sun tribe,” Klaus pointed to his chest, tugging his beard out of the way to reveal the knit icon of a sun over his threadbare robes, “we are close to the Center, but my god is an older one than me. Some gods are loose of their tribes, but they may not be of help to you. The lost are many these days, Vengeance’s dreams drive more to madness.”
The sounds of pained wailing lashed through the trees, putting the camp on alert again, and Klause stared mournfully into the dark, “Our gloomy home has turned into a dark prison. Something is about to happen.”
A pitched scream from the path ahead of the barricades poured fresh fire into the hearts of the defenders, as they jumped to. It wasn’t the voice of a wraith, but of a child. Willow could see a glow erupt from the bushes from the edge of the green alleyway ahead, forming the shape of a child. She was no more than ten, and in a state of fevered, unbridled panic. Her little hands padded the dirt path, trying to find some sense of purchase to push herself up.
Three spriggans dressed in heavy shawls of leaves came to her side and planted their staves. With a rattling chant, they formed a barrier against a wave of wraiths that crashed against it.
“Those are Pebble Tribesfolk,” pointed Horst.
“If their god is this far out?” Klaus shook his head, “Dark times, indeed.”
The defenders at the barricades vacillated as the wraiths started pressing fingers through the shimmering defense. Walking into the dark was a death sentence, that much was clear by the look on their faces. Phyllis trembled, gripping her halberd, her paws struggling to decide whether to charge in, or not, she looked at Willow.
Despite her moment of safety, the child pushed herself up, and threw herself into the other side of the path, disappearing into the dark, leaving the spriggans to hold off the onslaught.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“I’m looking for a dweeb wearing purple tweed, makes potions, and only has one arm,” Willow spoke to the spriggans, but she did not look at them. Her eyes were locked on the path, the wraiths, and the child who ran off into the dark. With set features Willow reached into her bandolier and withdrew a small container of beads and tipped it into her mouth. Swallowing the beads, she felt her reserves bolster with fresh material. Then she brought almost all of her base metals to bear. Zinc was the first, as she radiated courage and confidence in the defenders; and in Phyllis, who she also gave a reassuring smile as she nodded to the line. Then as she doffed her pack and excess gear, drew her saber, and walked into the darkness after the child. “BRB.”
Old Willow, or rather Old New Willow, would have raced after the child with reckless abandon, but the last few months had done the trick of impressing upon the need to think critically and approach these situations with a level head; stupid rational Caxton. Once she was away from the path a short way she altered the burn on Zinc to radiate an aura of calm; Brass joined in to soothe rage and malice. Copper and Bronze, two other metals she had been practicing to use more, burned steady; with Copper masking her presence from anything but visual detection, and Bronze to prime her magical radar. Following her first day in the Elementia when she had tried burning Bronze Willow had begun keeping Bronze on a low burn to acclimate herself. The entire realm made Bronze react, but with time she got pretty good at drowning out the background static to focus on the more active pulses of the denizens. Each race here gave off a different signature, and she winced momentarily as she felt the wraiths with Bronze for the first time. Somehow it felt oily and unpleasant in her head. Hopefully though, she’d be able to follow the fleeing child.
To that end, Willow also burned Tin. The air felt crisp on her skin as her sensitivity rose and the darkness faded as her eyes pieced the inky black; the wailing of the wraiths became equally piercing however. This auditory distress was waylaid to a degree as Pewter’s burn rose, its comfortable numbness enveloping her and shielding her from the worst of Tin’s side-effects. To pair with Pewter’s boost to her agility and nimbleness, Willow brought Mithril to the faintest of burns. Ever so slightly Willow became a wraith herself, drifting through the dark forest on silent catlike steps. On the tail end of the burns was Iron as Willow watched for any blue lines that might connect to metal the kid might have. All the while she held her saber ready to swipe at any shade that came at her.
Old Willow, or rather Old New Willow, would have raced after the child with reckless abandon, but the last few months had done the trick of impressing upon the need to think critically and approach these situations with a level head; stupid rational Caxton. Once she was away from the path a short way she altered the burn on Zinc to radiate an aura of calm; Brass joined in to soothe rage and malice. Copper and Bronze, two other metals she had been practicing to use more, burned steady; with Copper masking her presence from anything but visual detection, and Bronze to prime her magical radar. Following her first day in the Elementia when she had tried burning Bronze Willow had begun keeping Bronze on a low burn to acclimate herself. The entire realm made Bronze react, but with time she got pretty good at drowning out the background static to focus on the more active pulses of the denizens. Each race here gave off a different signature, and she winced momentarily as she felt the wraiths with Bronze for the first time. Somehow it felt oily and unpleasant in her head. Hopefully though, she’d be able to follow the fleeing child.
To that end, Willow also burned Tin. The air felt crisp on her skin as her sensitivity rose and the darkness faded as her eyes pieced the inky black; the wailing of the wraiths became equally piercing however. This auditory distress was waylaid to a degree as Pewter’s burn rose, its comfortable numbness enveloping her and shielding her from the worst of Tin’s side-effects. To pair with Pewter’s boost to her agility and nimbleness, Willow brought Mithril to the faintest of burns. Ever so slightly Willow became a wraith herself, drifting through the dark forest on silent catlike steps. On the tail end of the burns was Iron as Willow watched for any blue lines that might connect to metal the kid might have. All the while she held her saber ready to swipe at any shade that came at her.