I don’t understand how Pathfinder Grandma and Stevenie walk so smoothly without their magicks.
I don’t understand how everyone else tracks shit out here either. It all looks the same.
He never actually gave us a direction or anything on these ‘Channelers’ besides that they’re around and needed to be rid of.
I don’t even know how to kill a troll - don’t they re-juv-erenate? Am I supposed to like, rub my knife in someone’s shit and stab them?
I shouldn’t have gone alone.
Shoulda asked Stevenie to come along.
She’d be good at this. Probably.
Better than me.
I don’t even know how long I’ve been in here.
At least I got water.
Red leather. Red leather. Druidy stuff. Troll.
I don’t know what druids look like.
I’m gonna assume they look like witch-hermits.
Oh- oh… oh.
I think that’s one?
Uh, crap. He has buddies.
Alright.
Think, baby, think.
I’ve done this before.
Kind of.
It was in an alley instead of a forest, though.
And I didn’t kill the idiots that time, according to the Church menders.
And I didn’t want to, anyway, because I had mail to run, and time is money.
But I’ve got this.
Somehow.
Uhmmmmmmm.
Step One: use my magick-y shit.
…
…
Done. They ain’t gonna see me or hear me now.
My magic smells funky out here.
Think a Magister-y folk would call it effer-esc-verent. Or something.
Anyway, focus. Focus.
Step Two: yoot-ill-ise my surroundings.
Tree. Tree. Tree. Bird. Tree. Root. Stump…
...Rock.
Rooooock. Rock. Big rock.
Just gonna… zip up there. ‘Cause they all distracted with drawing pictures on the ground or something. Wonder why they’re arting right now.
And now all I gotta do is… make these shadows eat up the rock too.
Now I’ve got a buddy. A quiet, quiet, buddy. For a big rock.
And… push.
Or try to.
Fuck.
Come on! You’re right on the ledge!
Shove! Kick! Shoulder-check!
Ah! Come on, baby!
COME. O- there it goes.
Rooooll on off, buddy. Like the silent meteor of death you are.
Theeere you g- ...Mmm. Oh.
That was the grossest sound I’ve ever heard in my life.
Sounded like someone dropped a horse onto a vat of cheesy noodles.
--Alright, alright. Focus here, Elv-y. What’s the next step? Two? No, we did two. Right, right.
Step Three: E V I D E N C E. Very important.
...well.
There’s no picking up that boulder.
At least not for me.
Maybe if Cow Guy was here. Or Sunspear Grandpa. Or Dawnmender Tower.
But I am none of those.
There’s….
There’s some body parts sticking out.
Alright, alright. I got this. I knew this camera would come in handy. And Vissy-boy said it was a waste of those crystals I got tipped.
Jokes on you, baby: it IS being used for something other than sleeping drunk people.
Just… gotta… finagle with this shit. And taaake off the lens guard or whatever. Because that’s important, evidently.
Okay.
Alright.
I did it.
Without Stevenie or Grandma.
All by myself.
Hell yeah.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
BOOM, BABY.
Step Four: Profit!
Captain Itrius Sunshatter finds an unreported envelope displayed right on the center of his desk in Kris in the next day’s early morning. Within, is a discordant polaroid.
The foreground possesses the ‘visage’ of the curiously-masked Pathfinder from earlier time, still enwrapped in her characteristic, contrastingly vivid, silks. In spite of her obscuring attire, her pride is evident with the twist of muscles around her lidded eyes and a wrinkle breaking across the scattered dust of freckles along her face. Oh, and one thumb brandished upward across the scene.
Behind her, is the deep forests of the province. Dark, lengthy, underbrush contrasted with towering trees and the crumbling dirtside of a nearby cliff so typical to Kris’ environment… and a rock. A big rock. A boulder, actually, rashed with wet soil from a scraping, hazardous journey.
Beneath the boulder, the wetness of blood blends in with the shadowed greenery of the grasses. But what cannot be easily looked over is… the evident fact that fresh bodies lie crushed underneath the terrible force of nature above. Hips, feet, arms, hands, ears, tusks, all sorts of body parts poke out from underneath their crushing fate. Scraps of their attire, following the known descriptions of the particular trolls known to the province, can be spotted as well amidst the mossy fur and sluggish wounds coating the visible flesh.
The faint glow of unfinished druidic engravements etch out below the gruesome display.
