A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)
The hermits sail across the dangerous, ever changing Ashioll sea into her fjords, in search for a city that no longer exists in this time.
But what of the past?
________________________________________________
A/N: Hey guys, im so sorry Both red and I have been MIA, things have been really tough for us and just when it seems we’re ready to start back at it, something new knocks us down. We dont plan to abandon LoL (we still talk about it all the time), but chapters will remain sporatic until we can get back to the grind. Thank you for your Patience
__________________________________________________
The wind cut through the air as sharp as icicles, and stormy green waves crash against the rocky shoreline. With each wind driven push, another layer of water spikes across the beaches. The sea tosses the ship around, turning even the most seaworthy faces as green as Cleo’s own. She’s the only person on the whole ship who isn’t seasick- in fact, she’s howling with the wind, grinning with teeth as sharp as the ice, her moves as broad as the waves.
She’s as alive as the sea, or as alive as a zombie can be. “This is a grand storm, boys! Hold onto your lunch, or you’ll just be chumming the waters!”
“Can’t the Ashioll sea be normal for once?” Mumbo whimpers, staring at the grey, clouded horizon, even when the waves block his view of the only thing keeping him from getting sick. At this point, he doesn’t even care with the freezing water splashing on him.
“Can’t our captain be normal for once?” Iskall adds, his face the same color as his tunic.
“King Sormena, when should we make the turn into one of the fjords?” Cleo questions, turning to face the monarch. Sor is gripping the railing to the wheel tight, fear and panic evident by the purple and yellow tones of his hair.
“Search for the one with the frozen waterfall! And just Sor is fine!” He doesn’t really feel like a king right now. Not when his teeth are too frozen to chatter and his knuckles have turned as white as snow from fear.
“We can hardly even see the shoreline!” TFC’s grey hair traps the snow and ice, forming like crystals. Even he was terrified for his life as they beat on through the storm.
There was only one other hermit who didn’t fear the freezing temperatures. Stress, though nervous about Cleo’s sailing, was used to the biting chill of the cold. It just gave her all the reason more to bundle up in soft cozy clothes and snuggle under blankets by the fire, drinking warm drinks. She was not immune to the cold, but she welcomed it, and could feel the strength of her powers grow with the blizzard around her. She felt like lightning, full of energy and power. And she can see through the storm, see beyond the white out. “Up ahead! The next finger has a humongous waterfall!”
Cleo and the other hermits squint, daring to ebb closer to the spiked shoreline. Sure enough, frozen water cascades from the top of a mountain, turning to a solid sheet across an archway over the fjord entrance. In the few warm months, the water must fall freely from the overhang, all the way into the waves, a curtain between the ever rough Ashioll sea and the supposed city beyond. But for now, it’s suspended half way, half drawn.
Turning into the thin finger through the mountainous, rocky shores, Cleo bites her lip as they drift under the frozen fall. The peak of her mast scrapes against the blue ice, chipping and scratching with a horrible screeching noise, but never disrupting the jagged teeth of the fjord’s maw.
Entering the belly of the beast, the waves die back and the wind stops howling. Within the fjord, the hermits and their ship are protected from the elements by the mountains surrounding. The tide pushes them further in, silent as the snow that drifts to the wooden deck. The hermits are slow to recover from the sea, but no one dares think about the fact they’ll probably have to leave the same way. “I can see why the Ancient Ones chose this place.” Doc states. “It’s so well protected. No one in their right mind would sail through that.”
“Actually this place wasn’t always as frozen as it is now. The harsh cold probably occurred around the same time the magical mist in the lower Ashioll sea appeared.” Sor points out. “According to my studies with my brother, this place was quite lush.”
“Do you think it had something to do with why the Ancient Ones disappeared? Or did the Ancient Ones cause it, King Sormena?” xB questions, flicking his fins to rid the ice from the scaly appendages.
“Please, just call me Sor.” The king smiles weakly. “But I’m not sure. We don’t know why, how, or even when exactly the Ancient Ones disappeared. It’s an unfortunate gap in our history I hope this expedition will help fill.”
“But I don’t even see a city!” Iskall points out. The hermits look across the rocky shoreline, but only find trees and boulders. No sign of the carved buildings and stone aqueducts that the Ancient Ones were known for. Were they in the wrong fjord? Everything looked undisturbed, pristine wild forests. Everything looked normal.
Except for a crystal, sitting in the center of the water, peeking out from the surface and resting on a stone platform. Every hermit’s hairs stand on end at the sight of a crystal- and some even draw weapons and circles in preparation for destroying one of Dolios’s corrupted gems. But as they dare to sail closer, slow and with bated breath, they realize the gem is blue rather than black. Glowing faintly, rather than absorbing all the light. Cleo’s ship bumps against the stone platform, floating on the freezing fjord, but the platform doesn't move.
Grian is the first to escape the rocking vessel, praising Stratis for being freed. Basking on the solid rock in the center of the water. Stress, False, and Ren help tie Cleo’s ship to the stone dock while TFC eeks closer. His curiosity gets the better of him, and almost like a child, he can’t help but reach out and touch. The rest of the guild, except Sor, flinch. Preparing for some sort of dark magic attack, or for the crystal to take over TFC like it did so long ago.
But nothing happens. The only shift in the fog around them is from the wind, only the creaking of Cleo’s ship speaking into the silent air. Bolstered by the reactionless crystal, TFC raps his knuckle against the blue, glowing stone. Gazes deep into its luminescent core. Even licks it. “I think it’s chalcanthite. But what use would a crystal like that have out here?”
“What are its properties, T?” Ren questions, circumambulating the stone.
“Uh, give me a minute. This is a pretty unusual gem, and this old mind isn’t what it used to be.” The dwarven wizard rubs his temples, massaging the information to bubble to the surface. “It...it deals in time, removing obstacles within time by…”
TFC goes quiet, staring out at the waters. The surface is calm, but its nearly opaque as he attempts to search the murky waters. What is hiding beneath the waves, disappearing beneath as time eroded it away? TFC’s thoughts are running a mile a minute, piecing together all the information presented before him like a puzzle. Creating a story in his head.
So lost in the gemstone and history, he doesn’t hear Xisuma call for him to return to the present. Not until X shakes the guildmaster, bringing him back. “What does it do, TFC?”
“Chalcanthite deals in time, the shift from present to past.” TFC continues to ramble, trying to piece together everything in his mind. But explaining time travel through magical crystals is hard, and then adding on the history of the Ancient ones?
Most of the other hermits aren’t listening. Some are bouncing in place, trying anything and everything to stay warm, while others are talking through chattered teeth. Including Grian, and King Sor.
“Why in the world did your guildmaster lick the gem?” Sor questions, shaking his head. His frozen locks of hair tickle at the base of his neck.
Grian shrugs in response, summoning his wings and fluffing his feathers in an attempt to gain warmth. Blue and white ruffled in a cocoon. “Hey, King Sormena. I dare you to hit the stone.”
“Please, for the love of the gods, just Sor is fine. And why on earth would I do that?” What did the crystal ever do to deserve being hit? Grian’s only response is another shrug, this time matched with a mumbling series of noises.
“Cause why not? Do it, Sor, I dare ya.” If it wasn’t for Sor getting to hear just his name, his nickname, fall from Grian’s lips, so casual and friendly, but he’s been conditioned by his brother never to say no to a dare.
Sor walks up behind X and TFC, the former much more confused than the latter, and gazes into the crystal. SOmething about the power within it, so strong and ancient, tugs on Sor’s own magic. Not like it’s trying to steal it, but rather- amplifying it. Strengthening him. Sor breaks out of his trance at the whispered encouragement, the egging on of Grian.
Before Sor, or any other hermit can think about what he’s doing, he smacks the crystal with the palm of his hand.
Despite being king, Sor is just about as clever as all the other hermits. He probably shouldn’t have hit the gem so hard his hand stings and goes numb, much less make the ringing sound he can hear in his ears.
It’s not just in Sor’s ears. The low toll can be heard, slowly rising higher in pitch. It echoes across the fjord, silencing the wind, the creaking ship. Freezing everything for one brief second as the crystal glows brighter.
The blue gem pulses, and rippling from the lattice, a bubble of light engulfs the hermits, the stone circle, the ship, and the entire fjord. Too bright, the hermits are all forced to avert their gaze, closing their eyes and praying for the chance to open them again. No one dares to attempt until the ringing has disappeared, fading off into the mountains and distant snowstorm
Grian, used to the idea of potentially waking up dead at this point, opens his eyes first.
They aren’t alone in an empty fjord, freezing to death. There is no snowstorm, and the entire fjord is filled- not with ice floes or soft waves.
No, it’s filled with a city.
Stone buildings, floating on the water like driftwood, so tall they challenge the mountains to touch the top of the world. Vines, carefully tended, creep down the building sides, and people- hundreds of thousands of people- take stairs, vines, water tunnels- just about any and every mode of transportation to get around the city. The stone and the greenery are one and the same, the people just as alive as their own buildings and streets seem to be. A group of children run by, kipling and naga and human and bacca, laughing and screaming as they play some kind of game within their own imagination. A few people watch the hermits as they stand there, just as confused as the team.
TFC is so deep in his explanation to Xisuma, he doesn’t even notice time has already shifted around him. At least, not until a leaf flutters past, bright green and broad. Not any of the pines that they saw daring to grow in the rough terrain and even rougher weather. Both X and TFC watch the leaf drift between them, before landing on a roadway a short distance off. Revealing to them where they are. When they are.
“The lost city of the Ancient Ones.” Sor whispers, standing in awe at the sight. “Welcome to more than a thousand years ago.”
Okay, okay, third times the charm How about Stress? (Fingers crossed, I looked everywhere to be certain she wasn't already done)
Third times the charm!
Wizard Stress! She has ice magic obviously. She can make living sculptures out of ice and can bend ice to her will. She can even freeze any liquid she pleases.
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)
A girls’ day out leads to a discovery, and the other hermits need to know about it immediately.
__________________________________
It wasn’t often the girls got to spend time on the mainland together. They love all the hermits, but the three of them are sisters. Very strange, completely different sisters. Even if they’re just getting shipments of food and letters, it’s a break for them. Besides, Stress is the strongest hermit- she easily carries two massive bundles of foods they can’t grow on the island.
“I need to get some alloys, think we can drop by the smith shop for me to get bricks and ball bearings?” False questions, turning to Cleo and Stress with big, pleading eyes. She wants to test out her skills she learned in Alphasguard. She’s also been using her smithing skills to ease her nerves.
After seeing the monstrosity in the forest, after leaving it to continue to grow, her nightmares have been plagued with tentacles wrapped around trees, eyes and mouths opening up to swallow the world whole. When the nightmares become too much, the only way she can ward them off is with the light of her forge and the music of metal. She’s made half an armor set in the night alone in the time they’ve been back on Eremita.
Thankfully, the other two are more than happy to visit the forges of Coral Shores. Plus, it’s more time to themselves, and for Stress it’s more time free from the wretched rolling of Cleo’s ship. At this point, she’d rather walk across the water than get sick over the side of the sailboat.
“So if you’re making more weapons, think you can give a look at my saber? I think she could use some fine tuning, a bit of that good Falsie touch.” Cleo bumps False on the shoulder, rounding the corner into the dry heat of the forgery area. Stress and Cleo recoil at every bang and explosion of fire from the mouths of the forges, like maws of dragons, but False never felt more at home than in the center of the chaos. She watches a bladesmith heat treat the blade of a battleaxe, fire bursting at the oil’s surface, before cooling as the heat travels from metal to grease. It comes out slightly bent, to which the smith races to fix before the metal sets.
At the center of the forges, a warehouse of alloys operates as the hub. Smiths come and go, picking up all kinds of metals and materials for their craft. False joins the busy bustle, nabbing bars of iron and steel, even a few bearings and sheets. False prefers to make her own tools, and she knows she’ll need some rods and ball bearings to forge a new pair of tongs. The last one she broke when she fell asleep at the forge, and they melted beyond repair. She’d have likely perished as well had it not been for Wels checking in on his friend.
When False returns, stowing the metal in her pocket dimension for later summoning, Cleo and Stress are staring at the ground. “What did you two find?” She questions, peering over their shoulder.
At the girls’ feet, a wanted poster catches on the cobblestone, the edges of the parchment singed black by wanton flames of the forges. It’s not something they haven’t seen before, a wanted poster of Doc. Even though his days of crime and revolt are mostly past him, every once in a while some arcane guard captain stirs up the reminder that Doc escaped jail, and they print a few new ones.
But another paper catches False’s vision, this time bearing another familiar, all though very different face. xB. She stoops down, picking up the wanted poster. She flicks the undried paste from her hands, reading it aloud to the others. “Wanted for crimes against Lairyon, treason, political divide between kipling kingdoms and Lairyon, illegal congregation of a guild, and resisting arrest.”
Stress has disappeared around the corner, but her gasp lures the other two to see what she’s staring at, wide eyed and shaking in her fuzzy boots.
The entire wall of the tavern is covered in wanted posters. Every last face on each unique poster depicting every last hermit- including Jellie. Mumbo’s depiction is the most accurate, though his mustache is a little off. But whoever designed these sketches got the multi-mage’s constant look of concern down pat. They also notice who carries the heaviest price on their head. Grian, with almost a million rupees more than anyone else, his wings talking up most of the picture.
False pulls down her own picture, tucking a blonde lock of hair behind the glass and metal of her goggles. She reads of the list of crimes she’s been charged with. Treason, theft, crimes against the Council and government, illegal congregation of a guild, resisting arrest, mercenary activity, illegal manufacture of weapons… the list goes on and on, more and more bullshit than the last. Most of these are laws she’s never heard of, or are so dated she’s sure they were dredged up from the early history of Lairyon.
And at the bottom of every last wanted poster was the personal signature and insignia of the Magistrate of Lairyon. Dolios himself created these orders, and the Council approved them. She feels her heart stop, her head swimming, a sensation of vertigo as she realizes what this means.
The hermits are wanted criminals. Not just lawbreakers, but Lairyon’s most wanted. “We need to get back to Eremita. Now.”
“I knew things were going on with the Council, but I didn’t expect this.” TFC picks up his wanted poster, brushing out his beard and shaking his head. It’s clear the artist that drew this has no clue how to style dwarven hair.
“I had heard rumors that there’s discord between the guildmasters of the Council. Do you think our work is affecting them?” Xisuma is half perched on the side of TFC’s desk, rifling through all twenty-something papers in search of his. He pulls it out, looking at the masked face before him. His fingers brush the corner of the rendition where the mark of him and his brother would be, then runs his fingers over the scratched out metal on his face.
“Perhaps Dolios is putting more pressure on them to maintain their power, to hinder us. Put enough stress on anything, and even a diamond will fracture.” TFC hums. “Well, as bad as this looks on the outside, we can also take this as good news.”
“Good news? How in the world are we supposed to take being Lairyon’s Most Wanted as good news?” Cleos snorts, waving a green hand at the stack. Her’s is the only one that says ‘wanted undead or dead’.
“Because it means it’s working. We’re backing Dolios into a corner. He’s threatened by us. It’s not just enough to deal with us on his own, now he wants all of Lairyon to do his bidding.” TFC stands, quite proud. All of their time spent breaking crystals, hunting down husks, and now discovering the monster in the forest is showing results. So much work, and it’s finally starting to crack his resolve.
“What do we do about this?” Stress whispers. “The arcane guard and most of Lairyon will be after our heads. That’s a lot of money on each of us.”
“We keep doing our work.” TFC walks out of the cave he calls home, standing in the sunlight and watching the other hermits train. “When isn’t the arcane guard after us? But the more work we do to stop Dolios and whatever he plans to do with that… abomination, the more we help the people of Lairyon, the less inclined they’ll be to turn us in.”
“We’re already the champions of the Chimaera’s Cup.” Xisuma points out. Would people see their fall from grace as the pitfalls of victory, or would they read more into the lies spread by their leader.
“And the Asklepions. Shellor, the other teams from the championship.” False straightens her shoulders, thinking of the people they’ve met so far. “They know we aren’t the villains of this story.”
“It’s not much, but it’s a start.” TFC nods, and waves to Xisuma. “Keep working on finding more information about darkness. He thinks this will stop us- we’re just getting started.”
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)
The Hangman’s Playground awaits.
_________________________________________
Standing before the tall, seemingly endless copse of trees, it looks like any other forest in Lairyon. It’s not quite as tall as the Evernight Forest, or bright as the Flowerfruit fields. To someone who didn’t know any better, this was a regular forest. But no one in Lairyon would dare enter this forsaken ground. Brambles grow right up to the edge of the treeline, not a single thorn cut, not a single leaf plucked. Even the most plump, ripe, delicious fruit goes unpicked among these trees.
But the leyline they stand over, five hermits wide and pulsing with Ren’s imagination magic infused and glowing, goes directly into the Forest of Memories. All three major leylines run into the forest, but Grian noticed on their way here that a fourth one also radiated out, this time in a westernly direction. Towards the Ashioll sea.
No time to explore the implications of that. Not after all the training, all the resource gathering they’ve done. No, there’s no more time to waste, no more preparing they can do. Today, no matter what happens, they will find out what Magistrate Dolios is hiding.
TFC tries to psych himself up, despite every fiber in his old bones telling him not to go in. Ever since he was a boy, almost every story he was told warned him not to enter the Hangman’s Playground. The stories never quite explain what happens within these woods, but the tales of those who dare enter only got more horrifying as he got older.
Grian, on the other hand, walks straight through the bushes and into the forest, much to the shock and horror of everyone else. He knows the stories, true and legend, he just doesn’t care. Soon after, Etho follows in, then Tango, Joe, xB, and Jevin. One by one, following after the cheerful angel, until only TFC and Mumbo are left at the forest interface. TFC places his hand on Mumbo’s back. “I wouldn’t recommend being last, with your back to the forest and all that.”
It’s enough to get him moving, running to catch up with Xisuma. The Forest of Memories swallows the hermits whole, trees letting in only dapples of light across the ground. The smattering and ever changing light plays tricks with the hermits’ heads, flashes of things that shouldn’t be here appearing in their eyes, sounds that don’t belong in a forest playing distantly with the wind.
They do their best to stay directly atop the red hued leyline of dark magic, Ren every so often recasting his spell to keep from losing the trail. They pass by a herd of goldhorns, grazing in a clearing alongside a wild herd of shleep. The night sky wool wisping into the air and playing in the distorted light. Zedaph almost runs off to join the shleep, were it not for Impulse holding him by the capelet. `Turuls and Anzus flit between full crowns of trees, the latter spitting water and breathing fire as it plays.
It was a perfectly normal forest. But between every twitter, there was a scream. Behind every dappled ray of light, there was a world long gone. The Forest of Memories is sinking it’s teeth into the hermits.
A flash of light blinds Stress, and she’s no longer in the calming, quiet forest, hiking with her fellow hermits. The sounds of birds and the breeze replaced by a low roar of voices and lush music. The snug, warm, and durable robes of her outfit is gone, rather feeling sterile, starch silk shift across her legs. She feels so exposed in the rich, beautiful dress. And when the light fades from her eyes, she’s standing in a grandiose ballroom. Her parents’ ballroom, full of people, all wearing similar dresses and suits. All wearing the same smile.
“What do you think you’re doing?” A shrill voice Stress immediately recognizes as her mother shouts. The tight bun of brown hair, the same shade as Stress’s own, leans down and hauls her skirts up. “These shoes are peasant wear! And look at your posture!”
“But mother,” Stress whimpers.
“Don’t talk back! You are a lady, act like it!”
“I don’t want to be a lady! It’s borin’, mother! I don’t want to use my magic to make swan sculptures,” She waves to the side, knowing that an ice waterfowl is just nearby. Of course she knows- this is her memories. “I wanna make something grand and beautiful! Something no one has ever made!”
The ball fades for a moment, like fog in the night, and her mother has been replaced by a different face. A face she knows, though is much, much younger. But his voice betrays the illusion. “Stress, stress! Snap out of it!”
Mumbo’s face regains his mustache, matching the grownup voice of her fellow nobleman, and something cold, smooth is pressed into her hand. The talisman fights away the illusion, until the mist has dissolved in the summer sun and her true family stands before her again. Twenty something concerned faces, BDubs and Iskall helping her stay standing. “I...I was back in Milliara, in ma family’s manor.”
Xisuma shakes his head. “You were here the whole time. It must be the forest. It’s like what Queen Erlea mentioned, the forest uses our mind against us.”
“Such a peaceful forest,” Cleo whispers. “Yet it harbors such dangerous magic.”
“It felt so real. I knew it was a memory, but in the moment….” Stress shakes her head. “In the moment, I was trapped as a lady again.”
She runs her fingers over the talisman, then pulls it over her head. With the help of her friends, her true family, she regains her step and they move forward. But every shimmer in sunlight, Stress’s fears only grow.
The forest isn’t after her. Xisuma is always the logical one. He’s deduced that the forest seems to play off people’s memories, latching onto their emotions. The ghost in Addows mentioned that she only thought happy thoughts, and the Forest didn’t have control over her. So Xisuma thinks happy thoughts as well, simple and to the point. He thinks of his fellow hermits, building his beloved tower.
He built his observation tower with Ex. And just like that, the forest has found his weak spot. He’s not standing among the trees, but rather in front of his observation tower. And only one other person was with him. Standing, hackles raised, was his brother.
Ex’s white hair was luminescent in the sunshine of the Ashioll sea, red cloak discarded and tucked beside the wall of fresh, unweathered, and unblemished stone. No burn marks from Tango or Impulse, or mismatched windows after Grian would throw a rock just a bit too large. No, there were only two people on Eremita.
Not anymore. “We can’t let any random person on our island! We hardly know anything about this poet guy, he could be working for the Council!” Ex waves his hand in the general direction, where their newcomer is tapping the end of his quill against his chin. Leaving an ink stain. “This is a place to hide, for us to be free, brother. You’re too trustworthy!”
“And you’re a coward!” X’s voice rises over his mask, forged by his brother to protect him from the sunlight. “You’ve blinded yourself with your own light, and you can’t see that we’d be stronger, safer with more. We can’t be a guild with just two brothers.”
“I never wanted to be a guild.” Ex surges till the twins are nose to nose, the supernova mage’s eyes burning with the heat of a thousand stars. Xisuma’s are as dark as night. “I just wanted somewhere for us to be free, aren’t I all you need?”
The words fall from X’s mouths, stinging as he says them this time around. He should’ve never said them, but now he’s being forced to relive this horrible moment all over again. “I don’t need you, I never needed you!”
Xisuma finds himself on the ground, his mask knocked loose. But the sunlight wasn’t the only thing burning his eyes. Blood falls across his face, perpendicular slashes oozing red ochre, and the same dripping from the end of his brother’s staff.
In his foolishness, blinded by the sunlight, by his brother, Xisuma fights back. He summons his magic, and hurls twin lashes of void at his brother. Knocking him over, grasping against the frozen burns across his own face. Xisuma stumbles to find his mask, ignoring the blood. “An eye for an eye. You aren’t my brother.”
The pain feels real, the sensation of the blood running down his face, the scent of ozone in the air feels real. But Xisuma remembers that day clearly- the worst day of his life. The day he lost his brother. And he knows he wasn’t crying.
It’s not real. Xisuma reaches up, and feels the wet stain. It doesn’t coagulate like blood, the tears that run from beneath his mask. It’s an illusion, Xisuma.
Logic is Xisuma’s strength. He wasn’t logical that day, but he is now. And he cries, for the loss of his brother, his best friend. He focuses in on those teas, something the forest can’t hide from him. He closes his eyes, feeling the guilt and sorrow. Wishing he wasn’t so cowardly to reach out and make amends.
Distantly, he feels someone touching his arm, his hand. But it doesn’t feel like his body. A cool metal band slips around a finger, and he can finally find his way out of the illusion.
When he opens his eyes, he’s in the forest again, the illusion shattering and sparkling like starlight in the sun. Like the tiny stars his brother used to make when they were boys. Xisuma jumps out of his skin when a hand lays on his arm, feeling all too real. Joe stood next to him, other hand retreating from the moodring on Xisuma’s finger. The first newcomer to the island. He offers peace, but Xisuma can’t find it within himself.
The forest is in his head, twisting his memories and reminding him of all his wrongs. Turning his mind against him. He can only focus on walking, follow the line of hermits before him. Wishing for the horrible thoughts to end. And wishing for his brother to be at his side.
Xisuma isn’t the only one who lost his family. But at least his is alive. Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango tried to steel themselves in preparation of what they knew the Forest of Memories would bring up. They thought they were prepared, able to fight off the Hangman’s Playground. Both physically and mentally. Even Zed thought he’d be able to shepherd away the intrusive thoughts.
The forest is smart, however. And it goes for him before the others. Zedaph feels the heat against his face, and closes his eyes. He will not see that night. Zedaph hears the screams, of his own guild dying around him, and he hums to himself. He will not hear that night. He tries to block it out, to block out the forest, to refuse it access into his head to hurt him further.
“Go, Zed!” The voice is so crisp, so real, it’s not just an echo of a memory. He can’t help but look up, searching for his guildleader.
And he sees scicraft burning. He watches as the fire hurls across the sky, and ash coats the massacre in a fine layer of dust. But he realizes, experiencing this night all over again, that it’s not just ash dancing in the air. Mixed with the burning embers are the fragmented pieces of husks- those attacking the guild. Husks before he even knew dark magic existed.
Zedaph collapses to his knees, alerting the other hermits to his vision. Impulse falls victim next, his face red as the sensation of burning is played through his head. As, in his illusion, he’s running through the fire. Calling out for the other guild members, even though he knows there’s no hope. He’s trapped in the past, forced to relive the day he lost his family. Until all he had left was Zed, Tango, and a memory.
Tango rushes to try and retrieve a potion, liquid happiness that was brewed to perfection by Stress. He digs his hand through the bag of supplies, until his fingers close around...fabric. Tango retreats his hand, no longer digging through his backpack, but rather digging through the ashen remains of his guild. He’s holding a torn, burnt cape, stained in blood.
In one fell swoop and one horrible shared memory, all of Team ZIT is in the clutches of the forest. It plays with their mind, their memories. Turn them on themselves, blaming themselves for the loss. Survivor’s guilt. The other hermits try to snap them out of it, placing talismans on them and forcing potions across their lips.
It’s not until Doc takes control of Zed, and uses his friend’s magic to dispel the thoughts are they able to get ZIT in any state of relief. Doc feels horrible, but it was a necessary evil. The ZIT trio hold each other close, the thoughts lingering like mist in the morning, whispers of the forest still controlling them.
Doc looks at the others, their faces worn thin. The sight of their friends, their family struggling has weakened them as well. The Forest of Memories will claim them all if they don’t hurry. Queen Erlea was right- no amount of preparation could prepare them for this. Doc nods his head at the bright red leyline. “The longer we’re in here, the more Hangman’s Playground will toy with us. Let’s keep moving.”
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)
Redland, the capitol city of magic, where the hermits hope to gather the supplies they need if they hope to survive the Hangman’s Playground. While Etho and Stress are gathering potions, they meet unlikely allies- with closer ties than they expect.
______________________________
Redland stretches to the sky, the quirky nature of magic on full show even in the architecture of the city. Towers peaked with rotund pinnacles, painted bright and distinctive colors. All levels of the city are full of the bright, baubled roofs. The main street and busy sections of the city are perfectly manicured, hedges with vibrant flowers and verdant greens, but when the hermits look down calm alleys and quiet streets, nature has settled against the brickwork and grown between the cobble, nature filling in with it’s own eccentric accents.
The hermits wander through the city, an eclectic town full of wandering walkways, silent speakeasies, and unique universities. The schools of magic sit across from each other, students of offensive magic having lunch with students studying performance arcana. Bright banners wave in the breeze. Shops are full of any and every kind of item, a bazaar of the magic and mundane. Some shops boast large inventories, enchantments made enmasse and sold to large crowds- glamors were a favorite. Others host the antique and unique. No rhyme or reason what they hold, useless lamps next to powerful staffs.
TFC turns to Xisuma. “Can you divvy up the gold? We can cover more ground finding supplies for our mission if we separate.”
“What I wouldn’t give for that sky kid’s magic right now.” Xisuma sighs, digging out the gold and handing it off to various groups of hermits.
Stress and Etho glance at one another. “I think we’re gonna look for some potions firstly. If we go to the alchemy academy, I’m absolutely positive we’ll find somethin’.”
“And if not, we can… convince a student to help us get what we want.” Etho pats his back, feeling his kusarigama tucked in his light, silent material.
“Don’t forget to ask about the ingredients!” BDubs shouts as the two walk away, towards the bright green and yellow tower that holds the school of potion brewing. “Silvershade is not the same as Shadesilver!”
Stress shakes her head, and challenges Etho to a footrace through the city. He accepts with a grin, and they take off down the main avenue. She laughs, feeling a sense of freedom in how strong the magic is in the city. Redland embodies everything magic is. It’s natural, it's eclectic, it’s bright, it’s unique. And every flower blooming in between the cobblestones, every shop full of mysterious wares and magical amulets, is full of that spirit.
She turns her head, calling back to Etho from over her shoulder. “I’m gonna win, try an’ catch me!”
From beneath the midnight blue mask that covers Etho’s nose and lips, a coy grin appears. He’s given Stress the lead, only to shock his friend when he wins. His mismatched eyes glimmer with mischief, and he turns. Running straight into a tree.
Straight into a tree’s shadow. He leaves the plane of existence, and skids on his feet as he enters the shadow realm. Grey, calming mist dances through shadows, and his feet tapping through puddles of water across the floor. In all the time he’s spent in this realm, he can never truly understand it. He doesn’t know why it’s so misty, impossible to see more than a few meters in front of him. Or where the mist comes from, dancing in the darkness. Why it’s damp, like a rain had just occurred. He’s never seen it rain here. He also has no clue why it smells funky in here. Like a wayward explosion matched with rotten fish. Is there even anything more than a puddle around here?
No matter. Etho’s winning this race. He takes off in the direction he and Stress were running, feeling himself pass through buildings, hedges, even people in the other realm. It’s a tingly feeling in his belly. Once he’s sure he’s made it to the alchemy school, he casts his magic, tossing it in front of him to reenter the mortal realm.
He passes right through it. He stumbles and crashes to the floor, not so ninja-like. “Dammit, no not now!”
There’s no discernable shadows for him to jump through. The sun must be tucked behind a cloud. Too big a swath of darkness for him to use, too general. He paces, tossing a circle with every turn of his heels, running through each time. He did this to beat Stress, being a badass and a bastard. He specializes in that delicate balance of the two. But instead, he’s stuck in the stinky shadow realm, and worse he lost the footrace.
His spell casts again, but when he walks through this time, he’s met by the blinding bright light of the sun. And Stress’s gleeful cackle. “You cheated! None of that magical stuff!”
“What does it matter, it didn’t work.” He states, but he’s smiling all the same. Etho runs his hand over his white hair, tugging it away from his face so he can see the alchemy tower in full. “Should we check the shops first? What are we even looking for?”
“Queen Erlea said we’re gonna need some healing potions and deterrents for the forest. I can assume mental and emotional potions are in that category.” Stress counts along the street full of potion shops, before spinning around and letting fate decide where they search first. A bright green shop, the window filled with potted plants and chaotic cats. Stress squeals at the sight of the kittens and bolts to the shop. Etho follows behind, grabbing the door before it can slam back to it’s jamb, without disturbing the sunbathing felines.
They peruse this store. And the next. And the next. Finding healing potions was easy, and with Etho’s aggressive bartering they’re even discounted. Bottles of bright pink liquid, bundles of travel sized form- gummy chews easy to pop into one’s mouth-, and tiny tinctures full of potent life saving potions.
But no matter what store they enter, how many times they ask or persuade, no one sells mental potions. Some say they’re pseudomagic, others that they’re too hard to create. And after being kicked out of another alchemy shop, Stress and Etho are sitting on the sidewalk, bouncing ideas across each other.
“Maybe we don’t need them? Maybe the others will find supplies that can do the job?” Etho offers.
“Or perhaps we can search Joe’s library to find something else.” Stress flops back, ignoring how she blocks the sidewalk as she stares up at the sky. “Where can we get mental barrier potions but Redland?”
“Why not try making them ourselves?” Etho looks over, gazing at the Alchemy tower. “I bet that school has every book, ingredient, and setup ever invented. We’re clever and smart, we’re hermits after all. If no one makes them, we’ll make them ourselves.”
Stress reclines up to her elbows, squinting her eyes. “Yer right, Etho. Think you can get us into one of them potion rooms of the school?”
“Do I think I can? I know I can.” Etho snickers. They walk through the open doors of the school, bustling past students young and old, human or kipling or insectia or even bacca, boy or girl or otherwise. Etho pulls down his mask to fit in with the crowd, though his hair always sticks out. Stress keeps close to him, glancing around the halls. For a second, she swears she sees someone looking at her, but she ducks her head and keeps moving. They turn a cornerl, following the signs for potion labs. Listening for one room to be empty. Etho stops at the doorway of one. Closes his eyes, and walks through a shadow.
But he returns from where he entered. “No, no it’s all dark in there! Why don’t they have anything boiling, any lamps or anything! What kind of lab is this?”
“My lab, and what do you plan to do with my laboratory?” A strong, clear voice cuts through both hermits like a knife, and they both freeze. Maybe if they don’t move, the voice will move on. But instead, another voice rises up.
“You’re hermits, are you not?” A younger, sharp voice drawls. “I was told about you. Didn’t expect two of you bitches to be sneakin’ into my professor’s lab.”
Etho makes a bolt for the nearest shadow, but he passes right through the shadow and back into light. Stumbling down the hall, he’s dragged back to the professor and student combo, while Stress is turned around to face them. Etho taps his fingers. “We were just… looking around! Trying to find the bathrooms.”
The student looks up at the professor, eyebrows rising from a serious face. He nods, clasping his hands behind his back. The student grins, tucks a lock of black hair behind an elongated ear, and snaps her fingers.
“We’re sneakin’ inta the lab to make potions!” Stress claps her hand over her mouth. She didn’t mean to say that. Why did she say that? “No one makes what we need to enter the Forest of Memories!”
“The Forest of Memories? Red said you were batshit crazy, but that…” Etho picks up his head, vaguely recognizing the name.
“Well, you could have just asked for my keys.” Sylaeus shrugs, producing a ring full of mismatched keys and dangling chains. “Selene, be a dear and get these two my Encyclopedia of Potions. I’ll start up the burners.”
Shock registers on both hermits faces, but Selene dutifully saunters down the hall, turning and entering a large door in the passage. Stress walks into the lab, admiring the collection of jars, half finished potions, and ingredients kept in the room. But Etho no longer has the inclination to enter. “Why are you helping us? We just tried to break into your lab.”
“If you need a potion that badly that you would try to break into my office, you must need it for good reason. Adventuring into the Forest of Memories is one hell of a reason at that.” Sylaeus ignites a flame beneath a long, complicated series of funnels, tubes, and flasks. He tempers the flame, fire glimmering of his intense gaze. “Besides, it means I get to teach more about potions.”
Selene returns with the book, hefting a tome as large as her torso and twice as thick. “So what the hell kind of potions are you guys going to make?”
“Potions that will negate our fears and dampen the effects of the forest?” Stress tries her best to repeat what Queen Erlea suggested. “Maybe some repel potions as well?”
The long eared mage hauls open the book, flipping through the pages with intense, glaring eyes. She stops, turning it around for Etho and Stress to see. “You had to request the most difficult potions to fucking make. It’s a damn good thing I spent the past month gathering more than enough supplies for you to use.”
And with the guidance of Sylaeus and his student, Etho and Stress get to work. The careful art of alchemy came naturally to both hermits- Stress’s attention to detail let her see exactly when the right shade of amber for the potion appeared, while Etho’s perceptive training and patience guide him through finding just the right mixture of Silvershade and shadesilver. Even Sylaeus complimented his new students on their fine work.
“While we’re waiting for the mixture to cool, would either of you like a drink?” She waves her hand, and four cups appear before them. The professor grins, swiping a drink and guzzling the never ending cup down.
“My student’s finest mixture.” Sylaeus grins, patting his apprentice on the top of her fluffy, long mane of hair.
“Is it a healing potion?” Etho questions. “Or maybe a stamina potion?”
“Miss Selene, are you a multi-mage? You used telekinesis to drag Etho back before, but now you used summoning magic.” Stress takes a drink, shocked to watch that her cup is never ending. “A-and some kind of spatial magic?”
“Selene here is my best student for more reasons than one. Not only can she brew better potions than even master alchemists, but she also spent years studying magic until she gained power of her own.” Sylaeus sees the confusion on the two’s face, and lets Selene fill them in.
“I was born without magic.” She states. “It’s rare, but it happens. I wasn’t ready to give up on myself yet. I spent days and nights, studying every book I could get my hands on, watching the other kids use their magic. With enough time and dedication, I found the power within myself. Whatever magic I study, I can create.”
Stress has tears welling in her eyes by the time the story is over. “What a lovely tale, an’ look at you now! All that persistence and never givin’ up paid off!”
“I’m sure Selene could have lived her life without magic, or have chosen a darker route to gain power. But it’s her own magic, and she’s a proud S-Class wizard!” Sylaeus beams like a father, a teacher proud of his student.
The potion behind them starts to rapidly shift colors, and all four descend upon it to add the last ingredient- prismarine shards shed from a guardian. Etho wonders where Selene got such a prized ingredient, something most kiplings aren’t willing to part with.
In a puff of smoke, the potion stabilizes. Selene corks the bottle, writing in scrawling handwriting of it’s intention, and hands it off to Stress. She also guides them out, an orb of soft white light guiding them down the halls of the academy.
Etho’s reminded of one other person who had seemingly unlimited types of magic. “You know… Magistrate Dolios claims to be a multi-mage, but his magic is a lot like yours.”
“Watch it, asshole.” Selene growls, opening the door and letting them out of the Alchemy tower. “I think we both know that the magistrate lies about everything. Perhaps that includes how he got his magic.”
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)
BDubs and Stress take a trip to the eternal spring fields in eastern Lairyon, where they face lighthearted trouble and grim fates.
________________________________________
“Oh! That tingles.” BDubs giggles, feeling the hot, dry heat turn into a comforting warm breeze upon entering the magical barrier. Wet, damp air hanging with droplets soaking in the warm sun rays, clinging to the vibrant flowers and trees that turn the enchanted forest into a painting. Eternal spring among the Flowerfruit Fields, petals and berries of rare specimens growing in the wild space. Pink and green grow from the collapsed buildings, vines laden with fruit creeping down the roof. The vines and bushes overflow onto the thin green pathways of the roads and walking trails.
It’s the fruit and herbs that Stress and BDubs are here for. If they hope to face Dolios, and to help their friends ward off the darkness that attacks them, they need an antidote for dark magic. Stress thinks she found a potion that could reverse any ill effects- if administered in time. Unfortunate for the hermits, the ingredients are rare and unusual. No apothecary she visited had the ingredients she needed. Most they never even heard of.
But if there’s one place she could find the ingredients, it was here in the fields. Foraging among neon green leaves and plump blue fruit. And if there’s one hermit that knows what weed is what, it would be BDubs- resident plant mage. And already, he’s like a kid in a candy store. “Amazing, I thought the starflower went extinct eons ago! Oh, is that a kipling scale vine? Absolutely incredible, stunning.”
Stress snorts back a laugh. “How do you keep all that information in yer head?”
“By removing non-important info, like how not to yell, or all my maths I learned in school. A-and names. If they aren’t a hermit, I don’t remember.” BDubs springs to his feet, grabbing the parchment of paper while Stress escapes the heat of her robes. It’s a little much, the fuzzy wool and thick fleece. She wraps the sleeves around her waist, revealing pale, toned arms and a bright pink undershirt. “Alright, what’s on the shopping list for today?”
Together, the two forage across the field. Stress plucks leaves that BDubs points out, bags fruit that she remembers from the potion book, but no matter how long they searched, they could not find the rarest, most elusive ingredient of all- dragonfruit. Though BDubs has heard of the unique plant, he has no clue how it grows. Is it a vine plant, like a melon? Or perhaps arboreal, or bushgrown. After stabbing himself on the thorns of an estenberry bush, for the fifth time, he snarls defeat.
“Aww, don’t give us that attitude, BDubs. We’ve been at this fer ages, it’s okay if we take a break.” Stress gazes at the sky, the sun already setting. They arrived here this morning, but all day among the fields has eaten up their daylight. A cold breeze nips at her nose, inviting her to set up camp.
“No, I’m not stopping until this job is done!” He plunges his hands into a patch of star flowers, hoping that maybe he’ll find something in there. Instead, he feels the sensation of something cool but energetic running along the tips of his nails. The sound of bells rings in his ears.
And Stress smacks her forehead, so hard that her pale skin turns as red as a Fi fruit. “The fair folk! Of course! They created the Flowerfruit fields, surely they’d know where we can find one of them dragonfruit!”
BDubs snorts, brushing dirt from his fingers. “You actually believe in faeries? What are you, twelve?”
“Would you-!” Stress claps her hand over his mouth, glancing from side to side, then glaring him down. “Of course they’re real, BDubs. What, you tellin’ me you’ll believe in dragons and plant monsters, but the other kind are too far outta the realm of belief?”
The plant mage only nods his head, glancing around at the evening field. Fireflies dance in the blue night sky, and bunnies hop across the trails, from fruit to fruit in search of their next meal. He sighs, backing away. If there’s one thing he learned, it’s best not to trifle with any of the girls. Cleo and False could run him through with their blades if he crosses them- which, admittedly, takes a lot to do. But he’s also the master of annoying people. Stress however… she needs no weapon to make an impact. “Alright, we’ll look for your faerie friends, if you think it’ll help.”
Stress’s smile is worth backing down on this argument. Seeing his friends happy is what he loves to see most. BDubs follows the ice blue trail of her robe into a thicket of trees, dancing around the rare and exquisite herbs growing at his feet. He can hear the sound of bells ringing in his ears, soft and sweet, just at the cusp of sounding like voices and laughter. Some of the dancing fireflies cast shadows that look bipedal, but he chalks it all up to his weary body. Stress and him had been traveling for days to arrive here, only to jump right into searching for ingredients. Ingredients that now swing in pouches and vials on his and Stress’s waist.
All except for this ridiculous dragonfruit. He can’t help but grumble to himself as he follows Stress. Why would a dragon even want fruit? Are they omnivores? It sure didn’t seem like it at the championship. Do they grow them, is that why? What he wouldn’t give to see a massive dragon tending to a tiny dragonfruit plant, tilling the soil and watering it at the mouth of their caves.
BDubs is yanked out of his own thoughts, Stress grabbing him by the arm and nearly throwing him into the mossy grass at her feet. He’s about to whine about the rough takedown, but she falls to the floor next to him. “Look!”
The two peer through ivy and bushes. Before their eyes, mushrooms and toadstools grow and glow in the moonlight. Pink flowers of cherry blossom trees sway, petals falling to the verdant floor in a storm of rose. Fireflies dim to reveal the festivities inside the ring. Dozens of fae, dancing with bare feet across the soft moss. Their laughter sounds like tiny bells, harps and pipes filling the air as if it were a human orchestra. No matter their tiny size, the music rose well beyond the center of their festivities.
Stress reminds herself it’s rude to eavesdrop. She crawls through the bush, about as unlady-like as she can get, but announces her arrival. “Hello, fair folk!”
The fae rise on dragonfly wings, an aura of light following them as they dance upon glitters and gusts. They bow and welcome Stress to the Flowerfruit Fields, though the music grinds to a halt and the glimmers turn red. Stress realizes what’s wrong, and elbows BDubs in the stomach. Hard. “Ow! Alright, Hello, other kind or whatever.”
“Don’t ruin this, be polite.” She growls under her breath, amber eyes turning icey. “Just...follow my lead.” Stress turns away, walking into the clearing. Careful to avoid stepping within the faerie circle. “I’m the Ice Mage, and that’s the Plant Mage.”
“My name is-” BDubs howls as a heavy snowboot lands on the arch of his foot. “Yep, that’s me, the Plant Mage.”
A young faerie, hair a dark halo of curls bouncing against deep hued skin. Pink petals stitch into clothing, a smile for jewelry and raindrops for gems. “Welcome, mortal mages! For what reason do you enter our forest? Do you wish to join in our celebrations? Perhaps you would like some food?”
At least this time, BDubs waits for Stress to tell him no. They do not enter the faerie circle, nor do they accept the food. “Actually, we’ve been lookin’ fer something all day long, and if there was anyone who would know where to find the final ingredient to our list, it would be the very people that created these fields.”
Just like BDubs, fae like their egos stroked. The fae accept the kind comments, a few playing with Stress’s short brown locks. BDubs steps away, unwelcome to the idea of tiny, glittery creatures touching him in any way. “Of course, we would love to show you our wonderful creation. Eternal spring, the time of birth and celebration!”
The faerie attempts to lead Stress into the circle, but she’s too clever to be caught in their trap. She’s a woman raised in high society- she can sniff out trouble a mile away. “We searched all day, but could not find the last ingredient we need.”
“A dragonfruit.” BDubs finishes, wringing his hands. If he gets his hands on the seeds of this rare plant, he’ll propagate it in his own jungle garden, until no one ever has to stick their hands in a fi fruit bush ever again in search. The fae around him titter, and he catches only snippets of the gossip and conversations around him. Something about the rarity of the fruit, the tender care needed, like it was a jewel or child. How much time it took for the fae to find one. He sneers, turning his back on the petite party. “Forget it, they don’t have the ingredient Stress. They just want to force us into their weird little realm they’ve got.”
“BDu- Plant Mage!” Stress claps her hand over her mouth. He said her name. Not her full name, thankfully, but it’s one piece to the puzzle the fae could use in their tricks. She turns back, kneeling to the tiny troublemakers. She has to pick her words carefully. “Please ignore my ignorant friend, he didn’t mean what he said. Your help is greatly appreciated from me, and my appreciation spans to him.”
“Oh, yeah. Thank you so much for all the help. I dunno about you, Ice Wizard, but I don't see a dragon-” His whining morphs into squeaking, and laughter crowds the illuminated air around Stress. Her fellow hermit is no longer at her side. A rabbit is instead. No, wait. Stress would know that tuft of hair between large, floppy ears anywhere.
“He runs his mouth like a bunny.” The pink faerie giggles. They turn their attention to Stress, a glint in their eye matching the mischievous tone of their voice. And Stress thought the look on Grian’s face was trouble. “Unfortunately, bunnies cannot carry a dragonfruit. And I don’t think we’d want to give such a rare fruit to ungrateful humans. No no no!”
“Fair folk, we humbly request your kindness. My friend here is an idiot-” She yelps as sharp bunny teeth nip her fingers. “And a right meanie. But we need the fruit. This potion is crucial to the safety of all Lairyon. Please, if he apologizes consider giving us the dragonfruit.”
“An apology will not be enough.” A fairy with a red aura and lanky wings deems. “Apologies are worthless to the fae. Your belittled bunny here must prove he is sorry, and lower his crown to that of jester to be granted reprieve.”
Stress glances at her furry friend, but he shakes his head, crossing his paws in defiance. “It’s a deal! What’s one little prank gonna do?”
The fields flurry around the two, separating Stress from bunny BDubs. One faerie settles on Stress’s shoulder, warning her she should stay back. They don’t want the kind human to be caught up in the misgivings of the illfated. Another faerie drops a flower crown atop Stress’s head, though Stress is careful not to accept any food the fair folk offer.
BDubs, on the other hand, is picked up by his fluffy cotton tail by three different fae, their laughter a cacophony of bells. His tiny claws dig into the dirt, but the otherworldly beings are must stronger than his thumper feet, and they succeed in pulling him to a faerie well. The pink aura fairy flits to the stone siding, casting dust into the ripples as if she were sowing seeds. The water turns a milky shade, swirling like clouds trapped in the ground. Mist pours from the sides.
Fae pull BDubs off the ground, suspending the rabbit above the well. “Enjoy your nap, Plant Mage.”
Stress joins in the raucous laughter from all around the forest, and a short squeak is cut off when the faeries dunk BDubs into the well. He doesn’t stay under for long, but when the faeries pull him out, his eyes are closed and mouth lolled open. Somehow, even in a rabbit’s body, BDubs manages to snore. Stress raises an eyebrow. “Is that all?”
The fae go silent, the entire forest echoing only the sound of BDubs fast asleep, apart from a snicker here and there. A squeaky, high pitched voice breaks the silence. “Nonono, big gummy bear, I’m not cherry flavored. I swear.”
Stress realizes the voice is coming from the rabbit, and a snort slips through her lips. The forest roars with laughter, as BDubs continues to dream aloud. His dreams jump from ridiculous statement to ridiculous statement. Stress was sure she heard the weirdest things come from BDubs before, but she can’t help but howl like a chupacabra when BDubs mumbles out his secret enjoyment of diamonds. “Guess someone ‘as rubbed off on ya. Better remember to wash my coins and jewels when they come from both of ye now.”
Feeling fuzzy both inside and out, BDubs coughs up a hairball from his throat. He opens his eyes, rubbing them from sleep, before realizing he is fuzzy. He’s still part rabbit, in the midst of transforming back from bunny to human. Paws turning to hands, ears shortening back to be beneath his bandana. The young faerie donned in pink settles their arm against BDubs’ bunny feet. “So, how was your nap?”
“That was the wor-” Stress cuts BDubs off, eyes blazing hot enough to melt all the ice in Lairyon. The last thing he should be doing is rebuking the fae. Again. BDubs groans, but voice pitches to a sickly sweet tone. “I had a wonderful nap.”
The fair folk all in the fields laugh and cheer, some zipping away to tell others of the fun they missed. It’s a rare delight to have such entertainment, such a witty human that can still fall for their pranks. The young faerie in pink disappears among the bushes, and returns with a bag full of small black seeds. “We fae keep our word.”
“Th-” BDubs remembers not to say those words, and simply bows his head in response. “Great kindness, i guess or whatever.”
“We will miss your company.” They snicker. “We would love to have a romping rabbit to bemuse us...and of course, the kindly Ice mage. Take good care of these rare seeds, they require the care of a beast, much like their namesake.”
BDubs takes the pouch, securing it right next to his heart. He’s going to sleep holding these seeds after what he’s been through. The two hermits rise, about to make their way from the fields when a green light collides into BDubs’s head. “Can I not get a godsdamned break here?”
The faerie that ran into him shakes off his stupor, voice running so fast it sounds less like talking and more like chirping. Stress turns to look at the fae. “What’s the problem, loves?”
Faeries rush around them, flitting around in every direction with no sense of purpose or precedent. The young pranking pixie starts to fly away, but stops dead in the air. “No, no that will not do. The dark presence is too close.”
“Dark presence? What do you mean?” Stress follows the faerie, but they turn on the hermits. A hand as small as Stress’s pinky nail passes between hermit and other kind. BDubs moves to follow, but discovers he can’t pick up his feet. It’s as if they are rooted into the ground.
“Be the light.” The faerie breathes, before disappearing in the brambles and bushes. Stress cries, watching as her robes turn to bark, bones to wood. Her feet have become roots, and it’s climbing higher.
BDubs reaches out to help his friend, shock dawning on his face as his fingers turn to branches, bright pink cherry blossoms blooming. The transformation engulfs Stress’s face, Features turning to knots and whorls of the grain. He can only close his eyes, and accept that they’ve been tricked by the fae again.
Except when he opens his eyes, he can still see. He cannot move, cannot even breathe, but he remains able to see the outside world. He feels a brush of leaves against his own branches, and that’s all he needs to know that Stress is alive as well.
Why have the fae trapped them? Why turn them to trees, but let them see the world beyond?
Screams fill the air where there was once birdsong and laughter, the peace of the Flowerfruit Fields shattered. BDubs surges forward, but is stopped by his own roots and rigidity. A howl sends shivers down his leaves, and in the moonlight, a shadow beast prawls through the grove. A varkolak husk, red foam dripping from it’s misty muzzle, sniffs the air before chasing after fleeing lights.
Stress can’t watch. She closes her eyes, hearing the husked creatures snarl and snap, and a distant chuckle begins to arise from the bloodbath. She keeps her eyes closed, until that charismatic voice warms across the massacre. “Such raw magic...so ethereal, why haven’t I thought of coming here before?”
Three spires of black crystal orbit around Dolios’s crown, mist swirling. With each breath Dolios takes, he consumes the dark magic. Red splatters across his cheek, droplets falling from the hairs of his perfectly kept beard. Eyes glimmer with curiosity as a faerie is dangled from between his fingers.
A crystal lowers from the angled orbit around the Magistrate’s head, and a shadow falls over the cherry blossom tree. Transparent mist swirls like midday clouds, a low rumble of a magic spell escaping under Dolios’s breath, followed by a cut off scream, scraping like a bell.
When the shadow disappears, there is no faerie left. Only the magic, the power writhing through Dolios’s veins. The magistrate looks around, and for a moment Stress fears he knows they’re not real trees. But he steps over the corpses on the ground, faeries sapped of their power fading away into nothing. Not even a husk.
The stolen magic disappears under Dolios’s golden hemmed sleeve, and his hands clasp behind his back. The husk monsters continue at the simple nod of his head. Leaving behind in his wake a bloodbath, and the ashes of what once were the fae of the Flowerfruit fields.
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )
Rejected and told to disband, the hermits can only lament their losses and try to figure out where to go from here. Luckily, a message gives them all they need to know.
---------------------------------------
The hermits sit at the canal’s wall, feet dangling over the slow moving water. Watching letters sail by, flags flutter in the wind, and waterfalls fill the ever-moving marsh. Most of the hermits can’t manage to touch their ice cream, their stomach sick just thinking about what happened. For once, Grian’s foolproof pick-me-up isn’t working.
But ice cream always works. It’s how he got to know Mumbo, after saving him from a violent robbery. He remembers Mumbo’s alarmed expression as he simply wiped away the blood and asked what his favorite flavor was. When Etho failed his S-Class trials, it was ice cream that brought back a smile on the shadow ninja’s face. Grian was sure ice cream would ease the painful rejection they just received.
The frozen treats are all melted by the time someone speaks up. Everyone expected to hear Xisuma, wise counseling from their substitute guildmaster, or an angry tirade from Doc. But it’s Zedaph who’s voice rises up. “I didn’t like his office. It had...a bad feeling in there. The feeling of death.”
“Probably because of all his taxidermy animals, bro.” Iskall sighs, flopping onto his back and staring at the sky. Watching the white clouds move across the blue sky with one crystal eye. “Trust me, that was weird for everyone.”
“No, beyond that. It wasn’t just the heads. It felt like everything in there was… was screaming. I don’t know, my shepherd magic just told me that all those souls were in agony or something.” Zedaph bites his lip. His magic was always so hard to describe. It was more than just a feeling. It was nauseating, overwhelming.
“Maybe it was just the sound of all our souls being betrayed at once.” Jevin grumbles, playing with a ball of slime in his hand, movement lackluster and slow.
“He had our crest.” Impulse’s voice is gruff, husky and low. Twenty something heads turn to face the member of team ZIT, but he doesn’t look up from the water. His fists clench, leather of his fingerless gloves rippling. “He had the crest of a murdered guild hung up on his wall like some trophy.”
“Maybe it was in memory?” Stress whispers. “Or he had a friend who died in the massacre? As rude as that whole burning contract thing was, I don’t think he’s anything more than a jackass.” A ripple of agreement washes across the other hermits. Tango looks at his friends, and does his best to console them. They’re all thinking about their old guild, the only three survivors left to remember them. The only legal guild that wanted a shepherd mage and his talking animal abilities, a wizard that can summon hell magic and has fire for hair, and a sorcerer who only deals with destruction.
Keralis’s eyes follow two wizards, walking by in dark grey robes, blue tassled belts denoting their position within a legal guild. Uniforms of notoriety, of power and presence. Respect, easily won as they just walk down the streets of Milliara. “Maybe we can ask one of the Council guilds to help. Surely if they hear what we saw, they will want to help the people of Lairyon, no?”
“Those pompous bastards?” Iskall snorts, leaning back to rest on his elbows. “They only care about their seat on the council and being the richest guild in Lairyon. If Gildara doesn’t pay up, they won’t do a damned thing.” The Council seats are filled by the six strongest guilds, and the elected magistrate. Unlike Dolios, they aren’t chosen. The guildmasters take up the seat, and they are picked solely based on their guild’s bylaws. Many are nobles, gaining even more power in law as well as class. The guilds are elite, licensed and powerful enough to sway not just the populace but the government as well.
Keralis whimpers, watching the two guildmembers walk by. They must be strong, well trained to be a member of a Council guild. And all that is being wasted, put on display by their guilds and waltzing around Milliara. When the entire nation needs them.
“What about King Sor?” Stress breathes. “He has some say in the ruling of Lairyon. These are his people.”
“No one has heard anything from the king in years. Apart from his festival appearances and other civil duties, he just passes any law that appears on his throne.” Mumbo remembers the last time he saw King Sor. Just a few days before he attempted the exam for the Stoneforge guild- the last guild that would even think to take him. It was a joyous day of celebration, a festival of art and creativity- something he remembers King Sor used to love when he was but a prince.
But when the king appeared at his promenade, there was a hint of fear in his eyes the entire time he spoke. As soon as he was done, he scrambled back to his royal advisor and let Magistrate Dolios return to his part of the speeches. There was no one in the government they could ask, no one they could think to turn to.
Etho nudges Xisuma on the shoulder. “There’s one person we could ask. What about your-”
“No, absolutely not.” Xisuma stands, brushing off the dirt from his robes. “Come on gang, let’s get back to our home.” He glances over his shoulder, the hermits following his gaze to an arcane guard, just a few meters away and easily visible as the crowd breaks around him, like water splitting at a boulder in the stream.. “We need to get to work packing up.”
Mumbo’s lip trembles. No, this can’t be happening. He finally has a guild, a place he feels he belongs. His magic may be weak, uncontrollable at best, but they don’t care. They just like having him around. Years of being denied entry into guild after guild, abandoned by his family as a failure, and turning to an illegal guild. And finding more than he ever had in the gilded halls of noble high life. All gone, taken from him again. But then he notices Xisuma wink from within the mask, as well as Grian’s sly grin on his face, and he realizes his mistake.
“Whoa, what the hell?” A cacophony ripples down the street, people ducking out of the way and chagrining at the flying flame that banks and bows under the many flags and pennants. “Who is stupid enough to use a phoenix for a mail carrier?”
Grian gasps, bouncing into the sky with his wings unfolding. “Phoebe!”
“Still needs a better name.” Doc grumbles, watching as the firebird lands on Grian’s arm. Feathers like tongues of flame ruffle, brushing up against Grian as she nuzzles against the wizard. His cheeks turn pink, but don’t burn. Her chirps are the sound of wood breaking and embers sizzling, but each hermit welcomes the sight of their unusual mail carrier.
“I bet it’s TFC. He’s probably asking how things went.” Grian grimaces, letting Xisuma open the scroll strapped in an enchanted carrier.
“Nope, actually. Wels is back,” A loud cheer follows the announcement. He’d been gone for months, on a solo mission in Alphasgard. The guild was starting to worry when he wasn’t responding to their correspondences. X peers at the letter, ignoring Grian as he digs into Xisuma’s backpack. Searching for charcoal to treat Phoebe. “He’s writing to… he wants us to come home as soon as possible.”
Xisuma sighs, feeling the pressure of the entire guild peeking over his shoulder and clambering over him to see what the letter says. Impatient buggers, the lot of them. He tosses the paper for them all to see. Elegant handwriting, sharp as a blade and shiny as armor, pens out the message to them all-
To my fellow hermits,
Please come home IMMEDIATELY. TFC is scaring me- he’s not acting right. He spends all day pestering with one tiny crystal, he’s been acting irritated and irrational. Just yesterday he yelled at me for bringing him baklava. He loves my baklava!
What is going on? Is there something I missed?
-Wels, Paladin Wizard, sworn Knight of Lairyon
“Does he always have to sign it like it’s an official document?” Cub shrugs.
“What does he mean, TFC isn’t acting right?” Mumbo bites his lip, brows knitting together. TFC never yells at anyone, he’s more of a father to Mumbo than his own ever was.
“We missed Wels’s baklava!” Zedaph whines. The day just keeps getting worse and worse.
“If it’s something that has Wels so worried, we should get back as soon as possible. Either way, there’s nothing for us here.” Xisuma rolls up the parchment, and the entire guild continues with a heightened pace to the western gate- the gate of determination. Set on getting back to the sea as fast as possible.
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )
Eremita, the island the hermits call home, has always been their safe haven. No one dares to enter the Ashioll sea. They are safe on Eremita.
Until now.
_________________________________________________
Etho hates night. Funny, for a shadow ninja mage. Except that the night has no shadows, unless the moon is bright. People always think that shadow means darkness, but Etho knows it’s the exact opposite. Shadows need light.
Either way, he hates the night. And walking back from Xisuma’s tower, he huddles close to the lantern he carries. At least the wind has died down from the storm, though the dirt paths that traverse from home to home are muddy and clinging to Etho’s shoes. Ugh, those are going to be a pain to clean, the fabric takes forever to dry.
A rustling noise in the tall grass brings him out of his internal complaining, and Etho raises his lantern to see farther ahead. The grass at the edge of the beach shifts, a low groan escaping the darkness beyond. Etho groans. “Cleo, if this is another prank of yours, it’s not working. You can’t prank me.”
No answer. Etho steps closer. “Or maybe it’s Grian. May I remind you that time I let you sleep in when you were supposed to be training? I’m cashing in that good favor.” Still nothing. “Grian?”
A fireball erupts from the grass, sending Etho diving into the dirt to avoid his hair being set on fire. The projectile crashes into the stone roof of TFC’s cave, embers falling off and onto the grass below, where it fizzles away on the wet ground. For a second, Etho wonders if it’s Tango pulling the prank. He wouldn’t be surprised- the ZIT trio has had their hand in a number of pranks on the island.
But the form that appears from the grass is none of Etho’s friends. The grey form saps all the warmth from Etho’s lantern, tattered remains of a robe falling apart as the husk wizard moves. Empty eyes of the soulless remains lay on the shadow wizard, and fire collects in the husk’s hand. Aiming for Etho.
Just enough fire for a shadow to be cast. Seconds before he almost becomes roast ninja, he sinks into the shadow realm. Racing across the dimension, he finds the next closest shadow- False’s forge. “False! We’re under attack!”
False snorts awake, bouncing her head off the stone oven behind her. At the single word ‘attack’, she’s on her feet. The blacksmith grabs the nearest weapon, a sakura yari, swinging the three pronged spear at the nearest threat. The tip of the blade was still burning red. “Where is it, who is it? Are they pirates, zombies? Zombie pirates?”
“We already have one of those, and she’s on our side! There’s husks on the island.” False blinks away the sleep lingering in her eyes, tossing the half made spear in lieu for her claymore.
“I’ll wake up Impulse and Tango, you go get the others awake.” False orders, and the only two awake hermits split apart again.
Well, two of three. Of course, the local poet was awake, quill running across his non-magic journal. Writing poems and essays for no reason other than he likes to. Joe will admit it was his...guerrilla tactics of writing and the passive aggressive nature of his works that got him kicked out of his past three previous guilds. Lucky for him, the hermits thrive off his witty nature and smarmy quips, whether they be elegant or crass. He hardly looks up when he hears the sound of howling, teeth snapping. He leans back, looking at the ink on his journal in the dying candlelight. Once he feels satisfied with the way his words weave together in his poem, he sets it down.
And notices the fight going on outside. His glasses jolt off his nose, the library shaking and shifting to the noise of an explosion. Joe sighs, seeing hellfire rips across the pathways, greenery, and gardens in the center of the hermit’s living quarters. Tango really can’t hold himself back, can he?
Joe stands, shutting his book and placing it on the bed stand. He digs the feather to rest along his ear, pinning it in place with his glasses. He brushes the grumbs of his late-night snack off his pajama pants, and steps outside.
“Hey Joe!” Zedaph calls, riding atop the back of a peryton. “How’s a little late night fighting for you?”
Zedaph points forward, and his small army of local wildlife charges. Joe blinks the weariness from his eyes, and jumps into action. The husks appear from the darkness, flanking Impulse in the smoke his explosions have created. Well, it’s a good thing he has his quill.
If there’s one thing Etho’s glad about, it’s Impulse and Tango’s bright magic. The fires of Tango’s hellbound magic, the bright blossoms of Impulse’s explosions, they cast bright shadows all across the island. One second Etho’s racing from False’s forge, the next he’s skidding out of the shadows in front of Wels’s cottage. He brushes his fingers against the wooden door, but senses no shadows beyond the walls. Dammit, he’s already asleep? Etho must’ve really given him a workout training together.
“Wels!” Etho calls, clambering onto his roof. There’s a chimney, and the fire is out at the bottom. Etho shrugs, and jumps in. Etho presses his hands and feet against the cobbled material, slowing his fall into a silent roll. His shout was less silent. “Wels we’re under attack!”
The paladin leaps from bed, brandishing a knife Etho didn’t realize he even had. Does...does Wels sleep with a knife under his pillow? He shakes his untamed hair from his eyes, locks free from their ponytail as sleep disappears from his. “Who’s attacking? Lemme at em.”
“Husks, now come on man, we don’t have time to waste.” Etho helps Wels find the bare essentials of his armor, sifting through his friend's dark cottage till his fingers run against metal. What Etho wouldn’t give to light a candle, just to help. And more shadows to run through. Once Wels is ready to fight, the two bust down the door together.
Most of the other hermist are awake, battling across the island. Grian swoops low, weaving through ashen bodies and casting wind spells to send them knocked to the ground. From there, the other hermits are able to deal swift blows, whether with weapon or magic. Wels and Etho glance at each other. “Bet you I can down more enemies than you.”
“You’re on, paladin.” Etho grins, pulling free his weapon. A deadly short sickle unfolds from the metal chains around it, twirling in the air behind Etho. He dashes into the middle of battle, unleashing his kusarigama upon an unfortunate wizard’s husk. Not like there was anything left- just the dying body. It wasn’t even a zombie- there was no life remaining.
He whips the chain out, snapping the iron bell at the end against the husk’s arm. It breaks the spell being cast, turning the blighted body’s attention to Etho. But the ninja is gone, invisible in the dark night. Leaping from behind, the chain snatches it’s victim by the legs and pulls them out from under it. Etho rolls away pulling the husk with him. And digging the curved blade into his opponent. Ash breaks around him like shreds of paper, the husk gone.
Iskall traps a small pack of colocolo, laughing as the demonic rats sink into his puddle of iskallium. Melting away to ash and green goop. He turns his gaze onto his next enemy, looking out across the roiling sea. The husks are attacking like an army, but what are they after? How did they even get here, know they were here? Stress zips by, skating along ice and freezing a line of monsters escaping the sea. Marching into land in a perfect line. Like they’re being commanded.
His emerald eye glints, training on the darkened water before him. There’s something out there. No- someone. Iskall turns, searching for TFC in the crowd of fighting hermits. “Hey man, there’s someone out there!”
TFC turns, hand reaching out with his hand behind him and casting a defensive spell. The attacking husk, the remains of an arcane guard falling back. TFC switches the bloodstone in his hand for Iolite. “Hey Impulse, give me a bit of light!”
“You got it man!” Impulse calls, waving a series of bright explosions around TFC. Not only do the explosions keep husks from attacking the distracted guildmaster, but it blossoms enough illumination to see beyond the dark waves. What he sees just beyond the light doesn’t really help. He catches a glint of something shiny, but what he notices most is the form's reaction to the light. They step away, movement fluid and living.
A commander, someone controlling the army. TFC growls, eyes narrowing. This must be the dark mage, the person causing all this. Someone has to grab them. “Stress!”
The ice wizard skids to a stop, spikes of ice digging into husks in a concentric circle around her. TFC nods out to sea, where she follows the two boys’ gaze. It takes her a minute to fix her eyes on the darkness, but it’s easy to notice the shadow figure- they stand out against the ripples and waves of the ocean. And they definitely don’t look like they’re falling apart like a husk. “Alright, let’s see who’s causin’ my friends trouble ‘ere.”
Stress sprints forward, thick snow boots pounding against burnt grass. Her eyes remain fixed on the person out at sea, standing on the water as if it were tile. The form doesn’t move, and for a second Stress swears she can see a glint of white teeth grinning back at her. They think she’s forgotten about the ocean, the waves crashing onto the shore. She jumps over the first rippling wave, crashing weakly against the shore behind her.
And when her boots meet water, the sea beneath her freezes. The ice skims across the waves, traveling her with it like a sled across snow. She jumps over a wave, running over the water. Each place her feet touch water, ice freezes outward and supports her weight. The figure seems alarmed, struggling at Stress’s approach. She gets close enough to see a hand move.
A massive rogue wave rises above Stress. Threatening to swallow her whole, the crest falling towards the ice mage like an avalanche. Stress raises her hands, magic swirling free as she attempts to protect herself. The wave crashes.
From the shore, TFC watches. Xisuma and Iskall are holding back the husks, allowing the guildmaster to focus on his wizards. Do his job, both as a leader and a father figure. The wave crashes in on itself, revealing the sea behind it. He can’t see the figure. He can’t see Stress. Behind him, TFC hears the hermits calling out, the sound of the fight quieting. But he’s not focused on that. He’s worried about Stress.
Oh, what he wouldn’t give for xB to be back. To have a kipling to dive into the water and search for Stress. But him and a few others were still gone, on a mission in east Lairyon. TFC frets, pacing back and forth. He knows Stress is strong- she’s the strongest hermit out there. She left her title as a duchess purely for the desire to pursue her magic, to be free and have fun. She can lift even the heaviest of weights, something that she loves to boast over after a few beers. Stress is strong, and tenacious. But he still worries, the same way he worries over every hermit. He’s their leader, and their his guildmembers. They’re his family- he’d be worried if any other one was out there.
He’s going in. He steps a foot down onto the beach, but snaps his head up at the sound of water splashing. Stress is at the surface, sputtering but alive. Her heavy robe weighs her down, and she crawls herself onto a slab of ice, kicking her way to shore.
Stress washes onto the sand, her lungs aching and fist clenched around something. The wave throttled her, forcing her deep into the water with no idea which way was up. She wasn’t the only one down there- the figure was also knocked over by her magic, thrown into the ocean. They disappeared, but not before Stress grabbed hold of something at their waist. Whatever she holds right now.
“Did we win?” Stress questions, seeing her friends surrounding her. They’re bloody and bruised, ash and husk cinders smeared on their face. But she’s just glad to see them all.
“As soon as you and that stranger went under, they retreated.” Iskall looks up, grimacing. “Sorry about your barn, Zedaph.”
Zed shrugs. “It wasn’t your fault, I’m just glad my sheep and other critters are a-okay. Plus, now I can build an even better one!”
“What’s in your hand, Stressy?” BDubs questions, pointing to her fist. Stress sits up, welcoming a blanket from Ren’s imagination magic and the warmth of Tango’s hellfire.
Stress looks down, raising the material up. “Its ahhhh…” She peers closer, realizing what it is. She sobers up, her back straightening like she’s at a noble dinner. “It’s a Guild Council belt.”
The gold tassel strings at the end of the rope sash is enough for them all to know. Only those seated on the Council are given such adornment, a symbol of their dedication and hard work to the kingdom. Iskall bites his lip, pieces falling in together. “I don’t think this was a random attack. Not like Danes or Gildara.”
“There was actually someone ‘ere, orchestrating the whole thing.” Stress adds, nestling deep into the blanket. Gods, Ren knows how to imagine a soft, warm blanket. “Someone from the Council of Guilds. And someone who obviously don’t want us involved anymore.”
“This is...a lot bigger than it first appeared to be.” Xisuma breathes, staring at the gold string, flickering in the light.
