A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)
The hermits discover a dark past to their paladin knight, does this change their perspective of him, or will it save their unlikely ally?
Warning: Some description of wounds (i think)
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All eyes were on Wels. Very few had a look of knowledge. TFC, for one. But Tango’s visible confusion gives way to a much softer, quieter version of the hellfire wizard. “Helsknight? You mean the marauder from years ago? But he died.”
“You’re right, he did. And I killed him. I buried him so deep inside me, and vowed to do whatever I could to be a better man. When Helsknight died, Welsknight was born.” Wels’s fingers are tight in the bloodstained fabric, knuckles turned white as he’s forced to relive, to speak of his dark past.
“No no no no. You’re joking, right?” Doc shakes his head. Even he feared Hell’s chosen knight. Wels can’t possibly be that same person. Wels, a quiet, collected paladin with the heart of gold and courage of a lion. “I mean...no one ever told the story of Helsknight with a tail.”
“Less limbs to get cut off if it’s protected by armor.” Wels points out, flicking the lionesque tail. “You want proof? What was the last time anyone ever saw Helsknight?”
Doc cocks an eyebrow, then waves his hand. “Hels and his band of bad guys attacked one of Ventus’s- the God of Judgement- temples. But the attempt was failed, and Helsknight himself was left behind as he bled out...from his neck…”
The entire group stares as the scar that Wels reveals, running from his collar to his clavicle. TFC doesn’t stare like the others. He’s known all of this the whole time. Tango shakes his head. “But you’re nothing like Helsknight. He murdered and killed for fun, to cause chaos and bring hell onto Lairyon. Wels, you’re…”
“A changed man. Just like Apatia can be- if you give him the chance. Like the woman who healed me did, like X and TFC. Tango, if you don’t let Apatia give his chance to change and rectify what he can, then you can’t let me be any different. You can’t be a hypocrite and pick and choose.” From between Wels and Tango, Apatia groans. The blood has stopped, Ren’s work healing leaving a sloppy open wound behind.
Apatia was pale, paler than he already was. Almost the same color as Grian, as the latter continues to recuperate from the torture he faced. But unlike Grian’s shallow, soft breaths, Apatia’s runs ragged and harsh. His jaws are clenched, fighting off the pain. With the remaining bandages and healing salve, Wels wraps up the stump of Apatia’s tail fin.
Tango and Doc are still quiet, trying to comprehend the news that’s been delivered to them. It all makes sense, but their eads still struggle to put the two completely different personas together. As if they’re different people all together.
Everyone knows who Helsknight is- was. He appeared as if from nowhere, like a demon spawned straight from hell. And immediately, he began reeking havoc. His band of villains attacked and raided. They were more than just some lowly bandits, or even a mafia. Helsknight was a villain, killing without mercy, without remorse, and without discretion. It wasn’t until their botched attack on that temple that ended the reign of terror that Hell’s chosen knight left on Lairyon. Just as quickly as Helsknight appeared, he faded into nightmares and horror story. Kids were told to watch out for the knight with one eye, because he’d pluck out their own to replace his.
But Welsknight? He’s calm and collected, if a bit snarky. Even when battling even the husks, he always hesitates to strike a killing blow if there’s a potential to save the life instead. Wels is jovial, and a great baker, and tells great stories. Sure, he’s a great knight, but Tango once saw Wels cry over a dead fish he found at the beach. He’s a paladin, not a barbarian.
Helsknight supposedly died years ago. Welsknight joined the hermits a few years back. Though there’s a span of time in between the day Lairyon celebrated the defeat of Hels and Wels following TFC back to Eremita, it begins to all make sense. There's a reason why Wels never talks about his past. Never visits home. Never explains how he got many of his scars.
Like puzzle pieces, it all falls together and paints a picture. Doc’s jaw clenches. As much as he hates to say it, or even think it, Wels is right. If a monster like Hels can become the man before Doc today, then maybe, just maybe , theres hope for Apatia.
So long as he lives. The hermits are so focused on Apatia, their argument on whether he should live or die, no one notices Grian rouse from the darkness that still grips him. No one noticed the sky open up, both in Grian’s eyes and the sky beyond the windows. No one notices him weakly clamber out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face, and walking over to join them in the group.
“What are we on about?” Even when he speaks up, the other hermits are so used to his voice that it hardly registers.
“Welsknight was once helsknight, and whether we should save Apatia’s life or not.” Tango shrugs, his red eyes glaring down at Apatia with distaste. He still hates the man, but at the same time… they’re supposed to be the heroes.
“As your resident healer, I think we should. But...I’m not sure why he’s here in the first place.” Ren looks up, realizing who is speaking, and scoops Grian into his arms. His tail wags loud and heavy, banging against the other hermits with every oscillation.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, my dude!” Ren only sets Grian down when TFC reminds him that Grian is still working towards regaining his life, his color. He’s still slightly unsaturated, his skin missing the tint of pink, the red of his robest boarding the color of dried blood. Ren sets Grian back on the bed, trying to force the angel to rest. But now that Grian’s awake, he’s ready to cause trouble and start his day- even though he has no clue what time it is.
“What’s going on? I...I don’t remember much. When did you guys save me? Why is Apatia here? How did you find me?” The questions fall like rain in a storm, impossible for the hermits to catch every last drop.
It’s TFC that manages to slow the downpour. “Hold on, hold on Grian. Why don’t we start from the beginning? We’ll fill you in on everything, in time.”
All the hermits, once again under the safe canopy of the massive oak tree in their guild hall. Grian is wrapped in a warm, soft blanket- knitted by Stress- and a mug of warm apple cider rests in between his pale hands. “I can’t believe you guys came for me.”
“Of course we were gonna save you, Grian.” Scar practically laughs at the mere idea of leaving him behind. But for Grian, who’s been kicked out of so many guilds for his troublemaking, it really shows how much they care.
A rumble of agreements follow, and after a few more minutes of quiet comforting, it’s Grian himself that changes the subject. “Dolios is getting more powerful by the minute. I could feel all the energy flowing through those leylines, into him and that monster, Eurynomos. We can’t delay this any longer. Dolios has to go down.”
“But we don’t even know how. We can destroy as many crystals as we want, but he’ll just keep making more. He has more power than a bunch of lowly mercenaries. He even beat Apatia, one of his own Councilmembers. One of the strongest guildmasters in all of Lairyon.” BDubs points out. Everyone goes silent as they remember the man in their infirmary. The stranger- he’s not a hermit, yet he’s among them.
Grian looks up, pale face and hollowed eyes alarming for the hermits. He hardly looks to be among the living, but less like a dead man walking like he was before. “Xisuma, your brother mentioned something about the ancient ones. DO you think there could be a clue for us there? In the past?”
X sighs, leaning back in his chair as he considers the question. “If the answer to ending Dolios’s dark reign truly lies in the past, then we’d have better luck finding the answer ourselves. Thousands of years, eroded by time, by kingdoms and cultures rising and falling, not to mention the disappearance of the ancient ones. There’s a reason ancient magic is dead- because none of the books teaching it survived.”
“There’s one person we know who has studied the ancient ones for years.” Joe’s voice cuts through the crowd, looking around. Every other hermit is lost and confused, but Joe can see the mixed emotions raging in Xisuma’s eyes. “Besides Ex can take care of the island, of Apatia while we’re searching.”
“Ex chose to leave Eremita. Why in gods’s names would he want to come back, to help us?” X growls.
“Because he’s your brother. He helped us save Doc. He’s been helping us, helping all of Lairyon- in his own weird, Ex way. He’s not the villain here, he’s your brother.”
X clenches his jaw. The scar over his eye burns at the memory of their fight. The words he said to his brother, and the worst responded in kind. Xisuma still received letters from Ex, but he only opened them when Cleo’s cider had clouded his better judgement. And he never responded.
But he also remembers the moment, after years estranged, he laid eyes upon his twin brother, crammed into the bookstore he was running. The moment of relief, of happiness to see Ex alive and well. Their identical faces, like mirror images of one another. His hair pure white, like the bright sun in the sky. Even now Xisuma remembers how often he’d complain he could always find Ex hairs on his clothes.
And that Ex helped them save Doc. All these years fighting, Xisuma can’t believe he’s going to be the one to concede defeat. But for the fate of Lairyon, he guesses he has to. He pulls off his mask, turning it over in his hands, running a thumb over the scratched out symbol. He swallows his pride, and stands. “I’ll get the letter to Phoebe. What’s one more stranger to the island?”
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)
A battle beyond the physical realm leaves an ally wounded, and the hermits fight over whether they should bother saving them at all- revealing a dark history of a fellow member.
Warning: Battle scene, some gore (not heavily descriptive)
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But rather than the hermits going down, Dolios crashes into the floor. Knocking him right out of this world.
And into the dream world. Standing behind Dolios, slowly sliding to his knees, Apatia is falling into the dream realm as well. His shoulders are slumped, eyes heavy lidded. Nothing looks different about the guildmaster, except for the fiery determination hiding behind sleepy eyes. “I’ll hold him off. He’s too angered to just put to sleep. I have to hold him back. Get out. Now.”
Ren steps forward, reaching out to help Apatia up. But the kipling shoos him away. “What about you, my dude?”
“I think it’s time Dolios sees what his own councilmember can really do.” Apatia offers a weak, tired smile. “If anyone has to go down, at least its just the lazy bum.”
Apatia falls into his sleep, collapsed with a light snore in the ruins of Dolios’s corrupted crystals. Dolios writhes in his sleep, attempting to force himself from the slumber Apatia has placed him in. But the kipling’s magic is strong. And now, Dolios is in Apatia’s realm.
“We have to get going.” Tango breathes, nudging Mumbo to his feet. Mumbo struggles to carry Grian’s weight, and reluctantly he lets Beef take the still weak, hardly living hermit in his arms.
“We’re really going to leave him here?” Stress waves to the two councilmembers on the floor. They don’t even know what’s happening, deep in the realm of sleep. “He saved us.”
“But he told us to leave.” Doc adds, forcing Beef to start walking.
TFC pauses. “Hypno, you deal in dream magic, right?” Hypno nods. “Can you scry us into what’s going on? I agree, we should put distance between us and Dolios. But I don’t think we should abandon Apatia. Yet.”
All the hermits grumble, but it’s a compromise they can live with. Beef takes the lead, carefully carrying Grian up the stairs and into the main dungeons. The hermits pile into a cell, huddled close and eyes glued to Grian. Ren uses his magic to make the cell appear empty, and that even sound won’t be heard through the illusionary barrier.
Light casts across the hermits as Hypno casts his circle, and the hypnotic pattern of his arcana swirls, spinning and growing until it becomes pure white. Like flying through clouds, Hypno guides his scry into the dreams of the two below. And from the white mist, a battle appears.
Dolios has completely lost all sense of calm and charisma. His hair is wild and untamed, as is his eyes, as the black mist and smoke of dark magic curls and ripples along his arms, dancing along the red sleeves and gold trim. His grin and sharp glare is met by a cold, hard stare from Apatia across the way.
He doesn’t smile, but his brows are furrowed with determination. A wayward lock, straying from his long, straight hair, falls to the bridge of his nose. Despite the blue hair, nothing breaks Apatia’s attention towards Dolios. He throws his cape aside, and from the fog and cloud of the dream realm, a halberd appears. Apatia reaches his hand out, and grips the weapon.
“Apatia, I should have known.” Dolios’s voice echoes in the dream realm, but stops at the barrier between vision and reality. “Though I expected you to be too lazy to bother getting in my way.”
“Got tired of your bullshit.” Apatia growls. “You’re in my realm now, Dolios. Anything that happens here will affect your corporeal body.”
“Good. Because I can’t wait to rip you apart. You may have the upper hand, but you know my power. And since you’ve let my targets run free, you’ll have to take their place.” Without warning, Dolios attacks. A barrage of corrupted magic, from flame to festering, fire and swarms of bugs barraging Apatia. But the guildmaster hardly seems concerned. He disappears into the mist, where even the blaze can’t burn it away, and reappears behind Dolios.
He swings his halberd, all his weight and force behind the iron weapon. Dolios blocks the attack, stumbling backwards. The dark magic fights with the mist of the dream realm, white fog and black ash dueling for control. Dolios raises a hand, pressing it on his cheek. When his finger comes away, a trail of red mars his fingers.
His own blood should have warned him to be more cautious, to face his opponent carefully. But the red ochre, mixing with the darkness that trails along his hands like snakes, only fuels Dolios’s mania. The bloody cheek creases and crests, eyes forced to squint at the diabolical grin on the magistrate’s face.
And when he attacks, it’s without remorse or restraint. All signs of the graceful, charismatic leader of Lairyon are gone. In the dream realm, Dolios’s reality is bared for all to see. Eyes wild and crazed, bloodthirsty and hungry to kill. Hungry for power. His pearly whiteteeth, white as bone, gleam and glisten like a beast’s, sharp as the cold smile he wears.
Apatia was prepared to fight Dolios, the cold, calm, calculating magistrate. But this isn’t Magistrate Dolios. This is the dark mage, hardly even human. Not even a monster. Just pure chaos. His movements are erratic, unpredictable. His magic even more so. There is no plan, no play. Only to kill, and eviscerate all memory of Apatia from the face of the earth.
The hermits can only watch in fear as Apatia takes on the onslaught. Burned, bashed, thrown aside. But despite all the pain, he still stands up and continues to fight. Dolios’s dark magic glings to this purple and azure cape, to his pale skin and navy hair, attempting to drain the kipling of his magic, to claim him as a husk. If anything, it was the dark magic that controlled Dolios, not vice versa.
Like tentacles of darkness, dark magic whips across the realm of magic. Apatia slices them apart, dispersing the ashen mist among the dream realm. He uses his environment to his advantage. Disappearing in and out, only to appear and land a blow on Dolios before retreating. Sometimes he gets away unharmed, other times he’s not so lucky.
Apatia contorts the dream realm to his will, but his upper hand is starting to lose strength. Dolios is learning the laws of the dream realm. And turning them against it’s very creator. Apatia turns the mist heavy, a fog so dense even the hermits struggle to see the battle within. In turn, Dolios burns the fog away with blinding light, harsh and static. For an instant, Iskall swears he can see gilded wings appear against Dolios’s back, but the light forces them all to turn their gaze away or risk burning their eyes.
In the midst of the blazing light, a crack echoes through the endless fog of the dream realm. When the hermits are able to see again, only one combatant remains standing.
Dolios stalks towards his quarry, leaving behind a wake of darkness as the magic grows, nearly encompassing all of him. It’s impossible to see the color of his robes, but unmistakable is the unhinged expression on his face. At his feet, Apatia struggles to rise, one arm wrapped around his waist. Blood stains the cloudy dream realm, turning the endless cloud a dark red. “You were always the weakest link. I should’ve done this from the beginning.”
Apatia reaches out in one last desperate attempt to grasp his halberd, but bloodstained fingers slip from the wood as Dolios plucks the weapon from the ground. “But you didn’t.”
“You’re right, I didn’t. But now, you’ll be a perfect example to the others why you don’t cross me. No one, not even the Council, is immune to my wrath.” A dark, dangerous glint appears in Dolios’s eyes, a glimmer matched only by the bloodstained metal of the poled weapon. “I believe I recall you saying that anything that happens here affects our corporeal bodies, correct?”
Without waiting for an answer, Dolios swings the blade. Some hermits avert their eyes, unable to watch, while others force themselves to witness yet another act of the magistrate’s own cruelty.
And cruel it was. He did not land a killing blow. No, Dolios would not give Apatia the satisfaction of a quick death. Rather, the halberd cut right through the thick membrane of Apatia’s dorsal. A clean, painful cleave. Dolios is unbothered by the blood splattered across his face, his clothes, his hands. The dark wizard steps over the writhing form of a man he once called ally. “My dream has become your nightmare, Apatia. Now it’s time to wake up, and face the consequences of your actions.”
The scrying screen disappears, so abrupt that the hermits are left in waning silence. Trying to remember who they were, where they were. The only one who was not totally enraptured in the fight before them was Grian, though that was mostly because he was still fighting for his life.
“Dolios just-” Cleo starts to talk, before Joe reaches over and claps his hands over her mouth. She looks about ready to bite his fingers off, but the sound of robes shuffling and boots stomping keeps her, or any hermit, from even breathing.
No one dares to move as the offputting laughter that bubbles from Dolios’s lips crosses the cell they hid within. He’s mumbling to himself, laughing in a way that begins as a nervous chuckle before growing into a booming cackle. The ramblings of a madman continue, though fading, until the sound of a door slams closed way in the distance. Even then, the hermits wait a few beats longer.
TFC emerges first, and doesn’t hesitate to turn back towards the spiral staircase. Following immediately behind him, Wels sheathes both his sword and shield, even removing his gauntlets. Some follow along, confused but guided by their guildmaster, others remain behind, just wishing to leave as fast as possible.
So when Wels returns with the others, and in his arms was the bloodied body of Apatia. A trail of red follows every step the paladin takes, and the metal of his armor is caked in gore.
Most hermits follow TFC and Wels without pause. They just want to leave. But Tango gives pause, as does Doc. “We’re only slowing ourselves down, why the hell are we taking him along? He’s probably halfway dead already, and-”
Their guildmaster turns around, and even Doc flinches when he is met with a stone cold stare. “We can argue when we’re back on Eremita. But he’s coming along.”
Without another question, the hermits comply. TFC has never been one to pull rank. He never rules absolutely, much preferring the input of his fellow hermits before making a decision, or even positing it for them to vote. But now? Now there was no questions, no if, ands, or buts. Cub opens a portal, allowing Beef to carry Grian through first, followed by Wels with Apatia.
Eremita is quiet again, but in a different way from when Apatia first arrived. It’s a tense silence as the two victims of Dolios’s magic are carried into the infirmary. Apatia, now ex-councilmember and enemy to the hermits, and Grian, the hermits' own healer.
Wels pulls out the meager infirmary supplies they had left. Between being Lairyon’s most wanted, and their own dependence on Grian’s angelic healing magic, they are poorly stocked. The paladin unrolls the wrappings, biting his lip and shaking his head. It’s not enough.
“Ren, do you think you can wake Grian and mimic his magic?” Wels presses against the bloody wound on Apatia, trying to staunch the blood. He’s used to battle wounds, but this even makes his stomach sick. This wasn’t a wound from a fight. This was Dolios taking a trophy.
Without hesitation, Ren turns around and places his hand on Grian. The angel is silent and still, but his chest rises and falls, if shallow. Color continues to grow across his body, saturating his skin and clothes with each breath of life.
Another hand appears, grabbing Ren’s and holding it down. Raising his gaze, he’s met by fiery red eyes. Tango’s hair burns bright and hot, causing beads of sweat to form at the hairline of Ren’s forehead. “And why should he? Apatia did this to himself for ever siding with Dolios. He’s getting what he deserved.”
Ren shrinks back, but Tango keeps his hand firm over his. TFC winces, but presses his shoulders back and meets the red eyes. “He’s the reason we have Grian in the first place. He’s the reason we were able to escape with almost no injuries.”
“But how does that compare to the thousands of lives he let Dolios take while he sat on his ass and napped in his office? What about my guild that he let Dolios destroy, and for years lead everyone to believe it was bandits? What about all of Gildara, every last soul in that town? What about Iris and Mica, all of the Asklepions? One right doesn’t negate all his previous-”
“Because it’s what’s right!” Wels’s voice rises above Tango’s filling the entire infirmary. Metal armor clatters as Wels sands, eyes staring- one clouded- down Tango. There’s a certain glimmer in Wels’s gaze, one Tango has never seen before.
“Don’t you have any empathy, Tango?” TFC adds, his voice sharp and grating. It makes Tango let go of Ren’s hand, allowing the werewolf hybrid to begin healing Apatia. Tango has never, ever heard TFC raise his voice- even when he was corrupted by Dolios’s own crystal, he didn’t shout. “This man is trying to change, trying to fix his mistakes, but you won’t even let him live to do so.”
“How do we know he’ll even do that?” Doc growls, finally raising his voice and appearing from the shadows. “When has a monster like him ever decided to do things right, and stick to it?”
“I did.” Silence follows, and all gazes are turned to Wels. “I changed. Became a better man. Or am I still the monster you know as Helsknight?”
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)
The Hangman’s Playground awaits.
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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)
After a successful battle against more of Dolios’s dark forces, Ren, Tango, Impulse, and False take a much needed break to enjoy Edenswell, the city in the sky. Little do they know, their peace will soon be shattered by death.
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The temple of Tyn was a haven of truth, the quiet whispers of candor mixing with the swift whisks of shuttles crossing the tapestries. Woven stories, facts and history written where no lie can ever be told. Finished panels hang from the wooden pillars, waving gently in the high winds of Edenswell. All is well, all is silent, truthful. Sincere.
Until Impulse goes crashing through the main hall, splinters of wood spraying across the worshippers and weavers. From the broken pillar, a thunderbird perches, empty lightning coursing through ashen wings. If it weren’t the patches of husked feathers falling off in clumps and the burning white eyes, it would look like it’s usual stormcloud color.
But the husk beast leaps down, talons scraping against the wood, it’s squawk as loud as thunder. Impulse shakes his head, shaking free from the dizzy spell and plucking a splinter as big as his finger from his hair. Through the dancing tapestries, the hermit can see False, Tango, and Ren stumble after the monster. He rises to his feet, offering a grin to a nearby priest. “I totally don’t have this under control.”
He didn’t mean to say that. But the words that were on the tip of his tongue came out as what he was thinking. Damn truth spells, his words have done little except make the pilgrims feel worse! Impulse offers a meek smile, and hops over the husked thunderbird, a well-timed explosion tossing him over the enormous bird’s head.
Ren’s hands cross, fingers symmetrical before snapping outwards, twisting and turning to summon his magic. “Let’s get this little birdy wrangled up, y’all.”
With a chuckle, Ren casts his magic. The circle tightens, trails weaving into a braided rope. Just as he imagined, a lasso appears in his hand. Beside him, False calls out orders. Like the general of an army. “Tango, Impulse, keep it distracted for Ren!”
“Hey Impy, think it’ll taste like chicken?” Tango laughs, fire blazing around him. He taps his heel against the cloud beneath his feet, and condensed water burns into steam, the floor falling away from the thunderbird. Together, the two keep the bird preoccupied, completely oblivious to the spinning rope of Ren’s lasso.
Of all the cities the hermits thought would be safe from Dolios and his dark magic, surely the city in the sky would be. But the reports of unrelenting storms and flocks of broken-winged birds led them straight to the crystal. Nestled in the heart of a hot spring spa, in the depths of the clouds and open to the sky, False and Ren managed to destroy the corrupted crystal. But not before this thunderbird discovered them, and attacked with the strength of a hurricane.
“I think he’s mad he didn’t do his job! Protect the crystal, kill any nosy townsfolk.” Impulse chuckles, snapping his fingers and blasting the flank of the bird. Ash of the husked form collapses, head rearing back and lightning crackling under the wings and feathers. Generated by the beat of the beast’s wings. But before it can release it’s thunderous caw, matched with the bolt of lightning, amber magic twists and wraps across the thunderbird’s beak.
“Got’em, boys! False?” Ren grins, digging his heels into the cloud vapor. HIs ears tuck against his head, fur meeting hair as he struggles to keep the eagle from escaping into the sky. What Ren wouldn’t give for a buff from Wels right now.
False doesn’t hesitate. She never does. She leaps onto the back of the bird, heels digging between feathers and flakes of the soulless, lifeless body, and raises her blade. The rippling metal turns bright red. As hot as freshly forged metal waiting to be doused in oil. Without wasting another second, she cuts the husk down.
The form beneath her feet crumbles like fall leaves, ash and embers picked up by the winds of the cloud city, with False left to collapse onto the ground. For a place built in the clouds, her ass feels anything but cushioned.
But she’s grinning all the same, accepting Tango’s hand to help her up and elbowing Ren in the stomach. “One less creepy beast in the world. And one more crystal in the books.”
“I’d say we earned ourselves some rest and relaxation. Edenswell does have some of the best spas and retreats in Lairyon.” False lets her sword clatter to the cloud, pulling a hand through her hair and the clumps of blood and dirt from her locks.
“I dunno about a spa, but I saw the Festival of Mimé is going on, and I wanna have some fun while we’re up here with our heads in the clouds.” Tango points out, which causes Impulse’s eyes to light up.
“The festival of Mimé? That’s the biggest fireworks showcase in the kingdom! They have a contest every year to see who can do the best exhibition, and I’ve always wanted to see it.” Impulse has already turned towards the sound of music and celebration, in honor of the god of joy.
“Why not just watch it if you can join it, my dude?” Ren points out, stretching aching muscles, hands over his head and pulling them taut. Both Tango and Impulse stop dead in their tracks, and False only groans from her spot on the ground.
“Ren, you mad genius. We’re going to blow that contest away. Literally.” Impulse’s toothy grin appears, matching his friend’s. False finally rises up, shaking her head.
“You guys are adults, you do what you want. Just...don’t burn down the damned city.” False waves them off, and goes in search of somewhere peaceful to rest and recuperate. She could use some healing as well. That thunderbird did a number in battle. Ren, Impulse, and Tango are left to their own devices.
A dangerous thing. The three clamber over one another to be the first at the entrance to Mimé’s temple. At the mouth of the open courtyard, color blossoms across the grass in flowers, flags, and festivities. Kids run past dragging kites and blowing pinwheels, while adults are celebrating with their own joyous creations. As soon as the hermits are through the archway, flower crowns have been set upon their head. Impulse even managed to find ones that wouldn’t catch fire upon Tango’s hot head. Music and dancing fills the open air, surrounded by brightly colored food and even brighter laughter and crafts.
Ren lets loose a low whisper. “Guess Mimé and Blumiere share one thing in common- creativity is joyous.”
“We’re going to wake the ancient ones with our joyous fireworks show.” Tango grins, searching for the contest. But he notices another pageant going on. “Hey, Ren, look. A pet agility course.”
Ren rolls his eyes, but his tail wags without his consent at the idea of running it. “I’m an imagination mage, not a dog. It was one mixup.”
“One mix up that left you with ears, a tail, and a joy to chase carts.” Impulse snickers. “Come on, RenDog, you’d be the most handsome dog in the whole pageant. And the fastest.”
“What’s the harm? It’s all good fun, Mimé would want that. I dare you.” Tango’s words are all that Ren needs to hear, and the mage plods off to join the pet parade.
Tango and Impulse waste no time getting to work. A hellbound mage and an explosions wizard, teaming up to make the best fireworks ever seen by the entire kingdom.Mixing together all colors, all patterns, daring to go bigger and better than any other contestant, it’s Tango’s wild ideas and Impulse’s refined magic that allows them to slowly tune towards perfection.
But not without a few mistakes along the way. Their first attempt at a spectacular sight turned into a show fit for ants, not for gods. And there aren’t even ants in Edenswell- it’s a city in the clouds, for Stratis’s sake.
The next mistake was loud enough that even False heard it from the hero’s spring baths that healed her wounds. She peeked one eye open, seeing yellow and red blossoming in the open roof of the Hero's baths. She only sinks lower into the azure waters, shaking her head. They’re adults, she doesn’t always need to run in and be the S-Class mage. She’s going to enjoy this rest, dammit.
After trial and error, error and trial, night falls on Edenswell and the fireworks shows begin. Sound mages ease the explosions to sensitive ears, allowing music to swell with the colors that blossom in the sky. Sincere shows, wishes in the sky, and large extravaganzas dazzle the crowd and illuminate the air in place of the sun.
Tango and Impulse are last to show, and with each entry before them, they get more excited. Tango just wants to snap his fingers and light it up now, so everyone can see all the hard work they did. Ren disappeared hours ago, and they’ve only caught glimpses of his brown ears or colorful outfit since then. But at least False arrives just in time for the show. “Where’d you lose Ren?”
The two shrug, noticing that her wounds from this morning’s battles have already faded to scars and False looks more refreshed, ready to battle than ever. Whoever duels her next better watch out. “He joined the pet party or whatever. Seems like he was having a good time last we saw.”
Tango laughs at Impulse’s words, still in disbelief their friend actually crashed a pet show. But that’s Ren for them, wild and innovative, and never backing down from a dare. “You ready to see the biggest, best, most awesome and perfect fireworks-ification you’ve ever had the honor to lay eyes on?”
“I’m ready to see whatever it is you two have created.” False steps back, materializing a large shield, the blade pointed out and disk protecting her chest. “From a protected and safe distance away. I’m not making another cannon mistake.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” Tango grins, and snaps his fingers. Fire erupts at the base, dancing along an intricate, twisting sequence that False can only compare to Mumbo’s redstone lines. Fireworks blast off into the sky, dancing in spinning circles and straight lines, set off at the perfect time that when they explode, they paint the dark night with colors that twist and dance, intricate patterns flowing in seamless design. Music swells with the dazzling paint, the musicians inspired by the incredible sight before them. False is mesmerized, feeling the purples and blues and greens and whites light up on her face, the joy of watching such a show reminding her what it means to be a hermit. To see her friends create, to see the beauty of unrestrained magic.
The finale blows the sky open with every color of the rainbow and then some, illuminating the entire city, but even under the crescending music False hears Tango and Impulse curse at the same time. The colors fade into streaks of light, embers falling to the city like a meteor shower. False shakes her head, realizing at some point in the show she put her shield down. She was too enamored by the fireworks. “Okay, I’ll admit- that was fantastic.”
“But it wasn’t perfect.” Tango grumbles. “We messed up the pattern in the grand finale.”
Ren bowls into the three, tail wagging and eyes alight. “Dudes, I could tell that was your fireworks, that was the coolest thing ever! Mimé must be stoked, he probably hasn’t seen something that epic since the ancients!”
“No, it really wasn’t.” Impulse kicks the ground. “We fucked up the end, it’s not what we imagined.”
There’s a loud thwap, sparks flying from Tango’s head while Impulse hisses, rubbing the crown of his brown hair. “That was the most incredible fireworks show i ever saw. You two are gifted with explosions- that I already know- and that was badass. Even if it wasn’t what you imagined, I thought it was beautiful. Because it was you two’s work, your heart and soul, even your mistake was a part of you guys.”
“False is spitting truth, bros.” Ren adds, nodding his head. “That was so cool, you guys made your idea come to life! Wasn’t it fun making it?”
Tango and Impulse pause, looking at the sizzling remains of their fireworks. The ash stained grass, a few chunks missing from the cloudcover. And they laugh. “It definitely was a blast.” Impulse croons. “I hope Mimé thought that was as cool as it was to make.”
“I definitely think it was a joy to watch.” False hums. She rolls her shoulders, eyes roving across the festival. People’s eyes sparkle, conversations and fingers pointed towards the sky. “And I think others feel the same way. Congrats, hermits. No only did we save the day, you guys made it a little bit brighter here as well.”
“And I won best in show!” Ren chuckles, showing off his medal. The others laugh, and he tucks it away. “None of you guys tell the others about this.”
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )
Back in the capitol, Milliara, the hermits discover they aren’t the only ones who have entered the Chimaera’s Championship as a non-guild team. New faces with similar ideas, or new enemies to take on?
“Did you really register us as team STAR?” Grian mumbles, glaring over at Doc. They never should trust a puppet mage. “We’re the hermits, not some silly dodgeball team.”
“They know we’re a guild as the hermits. A guild that isn’t legal. At least now they won’t be suspecting us.” Doc takes the scroll, passing it off to TFC. Milliara was busy, busier than he’s ever seen it. The championship brought people from all over Lairyon, here to see the best mages compete for glory, gold, and good times. “Come on, now that we’re checked in we can go to the accommodations.”
“I was wondering why our packs were so light.” Mumbo hums. “I don’t have to carry my own bed and home.”
“Thank the gods.” Tango breathes. He likes camping out with the other hermits, but having to carry the tents and bedrolls long distances is a pain. He hurries to catch up with Impulse and BDubs, chittering about what events they plan on doing. It feels weird, walking down the streets of Milliara after last time they were here. Welcomed back as a team, after Magistrate Dolios threw them out and told them to disband as a guild. Tango winces, remembering the cape in Dolios’s dark office. He’s not losing another guild, not like Impulse, Zedaph, and he has before.
They round the corner, walking over a raised bridge that rises above a swamp canal, spotting the inn they were given. It’s made of old, weathered wood, almost no windows on the bottom floor. One window on the top floor is broken. The building looks to be leaning, only propped up by the chimney at this point. TFC shrugs. Better a roof over his head than sleeping in a tent. He marches towards the door, invoking the others to join him.
“Here we ar-” TFC is cut off as soon as he opens the door, heat blasting his face and hot magma illuminating the tavern of the inn. Water splashes the group, followed by a shout.
“Mitch! You’re gonna burn the whole town down!” A kipling yells, sending a wave over the lava and forcing it to cool.
“Jerome said the wood was magic tempered.” Mitch shrugs, looking over at the large creature at the bar. Someone the hermits can only assume is Jerome, who shrugs and returns to his drink. “So long as it didn’t burn you, what’s the harm?”
“You did almost burn these people.” The kipling waves behind him, pointing at the hermits. The group can only stand in shock and a bit of fright. It...wasn’t exactly the nicest inn in Milliara. Far from that, in fact. The tavern was small, dark, with the only light coming from a dying fireplace. Barstools were rickety, the one holding up the fuzzy beast hardly taking his massive size. Chairs were held together with glue, mismatched around each different table. A bartender cleans varying mugs, no set complete. Only six other people are in the tavern, including Mitch, Jerome, and the kipling.
“Uhhh, hello?” Wels’s response is more of a question than a statement. “Are...are you competitors for the Chimaera’s Championship as well?”
“We were ssssstarting to think we were the only team that wasssss boarded up in the lossssserssss cabin.” Joe leaps back, alarmed as a talking snake slithers past him. The snake climbs up the cooled lava, curling up next to the fireplace. To the hermits’ surprise, the snake becomes a man, stretched out in front of the warmth.
“Is that what this place is?” Doc grumbles, looking around. He’s stolen from beggers richer than this.
Next to Jerome, one of the mages stands. A brown mop of hair frames a boisterous face, childish eyes hidden behind tinted glasses. “Don’t listen to my friends. They’re just a little hyper. I’m Sky, these idiots behind me are Quentin,”
“Hey!” Quentin retorts to the idiot label, but Sky isn’t listening.
“The hothead is Mitch, and his friend Jerome.” Sky points out the ginger haired flame mage, who’s doing his best to clean up the cooled magma. Lucky for him, he’s got the help of Jerome, who’s own earth magic handles the rock easily. “Ty is the snake.”
“I’m a basilisk, dude.” Ty sits up, eyes sharpening into a challenge for the gloved leader.
“Still a snake, in a way. Whatever, there’s also Jason-” He points out the last person, reclined in a chair with his feet on the table. He winks and salutes hello, not getting up from his perch. “And...uh, where’s Ssundee?”
“Last I saw him he was out in our room, tinkering with stuff.” Quentin nods to the stairs.
Cleo furrows her eyebrows. “The window was broken open in one of the rooms above.”
“Ah, so he’s out shopping.” Quentin sighs, stepping over Mitch and Jerome as they clean up and flopping down in a chair.
The hermits squeeze in, retrieving keys from the innkeeper. Groups pair up to find bedspace, their meager supplies tossed into their rooms before returning to the tavern floor. A few remain upstairs, taking the time to rest.
Once he’s downstairs and settled, BDubs frowns, looking at his drink as he’s hit with the aftertaste. He knows a thing or two about ale, and this tastes like swill. “They really put us up in, like, the worst place possible.”
“I think they did that to every team. You know, we aren’t quite as important to be a guild, to get the good accommodations.” Quentin mutters, pouring out his drink and watching it foam on the floor. Disgusting. “But you guys...you’re big. How’re you not a guild already?”
“Let’s just say the magistrate doesn’t really like us.” Grian sighs, flopping across his chair in an awkward position. Surely not the way a chair was designed to be sat in.
“Screw that guy.” Everyone looks up, quite surprised to hear Ty hiss out his words. To say such a negative thing about Magistrate Dolios, in the open. What if an arcane guard walked by? “He thinks he’s so high and mighty, so perfect. It’s annoying.”
“Things...have changed since that man came to power.” Jerome adds.
“That’s right, your kind lives much longer than most species.” Xisuma leans forward.
“Mhhmm,” he scratches at the crown of his head, fur petting across fur. “Guilds aren’t what they used to be. Guilds used to be just groups of friends, or maybe organizations with likeminded interests. Anything could be a guild, anyone could be a guildmember. Now...now it’s a status symbol for the wealthy and powerful.”
Xisuma glances around, seeing other hermits nodding. He itches to tell their fellow competitors their plan, but Doc’s red robotic eye keeps him silent. He knows that what they’re about to do is treason. No one else needs to know about it. They could rat them out, and then Dolios will have every reason to arrest them.
“I’m just glad we get to compete in the games!” Scar cheers, earning a chorus of agreement and a few toasts. “What do you think changed the Council’s mind to let teams compete?”
“I...I’ve been wondering that as well.” Doc growls. Why all of a sudden now? The games have been closed to guilds only for years, and now the Council is letting anyone join in? It seems unusual. But it doesn’t matter- this is the perfect coverup. He looks around, pushing the thoughts out of his head. He needs to focus on planning the heist. It needs to go off without a hitch. They have no room for error. “I thought I saw another nonguild team joined? Have they been boarded up here as well?”
Sky shrugs, tapping his gloved fingers against the pewter cup. “We haven’t seen anyone but you guys.”
“Do you think they flaked out?” Etho appears suddenly, reclining in a chair as he appears from the shadows around it. The other group, who have called themselves Team Crafted, all leap in surprise by his arrival. The hermits have grown used to his shenanigans by now. “Or maybe the guilds intimidated them into quitting.”
The talking continues, but Doc has retreated into his own conversation. As welcoming as it is to meet another group of mages who seem just as frustrated as them about the Council and their restrictions. But can they be trusted? He’s learned a thing or two about trust, his time spent as a criminal and a rebel. They may all be laughing and sharing this horrible beer now, but come tomorrow, come the tournament, and they will do anything to win. He doesn’t know if they’re to be trusted as allies, so he’ll see them as enemies.
The door crashes open, jolting Doc out of his mind. Across the way, Jerome sighs, putting his head in his hands. “Ssundee, what have we told you about kicking doors?”
“I found new friends!” The person in the doorway skips in, black curls bouncing alongside a five-oclock shadow. Brown overalls are stained with oil, as are blue gloves. “Though it seems like you guys found even more.”
“And that’s Ssundee.” Sky states, finally able to reconcile with his whole team. “Ssundee, this is the Team STAR. They’re competing in the championship as well.”
“Oh, so you’re the last nonguild team that signed up!” Ssundee surges forward, eyes glimmering with excitement, curious to see everyone.
“Last? What about the third group?” Iskall tilts his head.
“Those are my new friends!” Ssundee waves to the open door, where three figures stand in the precipice between sunlight and the dark tavern. Iskall raises his eyebrows, watching as the shortest one joins Ssundee’s side. They already look like best friends, even though they’ve hardly known each other. The other two enter in, the tallest closing the door behind her quite abruptly.
“Three people? That’s not a very big team.” Grian questions, sitting up to get a good look at the trio. It’s an odd mix, three very different people and three very different attitudes.
“We’re the wanderers! I’m Red,” The short kipling motions to himself, smiling. “And my friends are Ecto and Avon.” Red motions to each one. Ecto offers a short wave, a coy smile appearing on her face from under a brown hood. The last one doesn’t respond, sticking to the corner. Grian’s eyes widen as he notices that the last has massive black wings. What kind of magic is that?
“So this is everyone who dares go against the guilds?” TFC looks at the eclectic bunch. He can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as the wanderers scrabble up the stairs and over one another. And he thought the hermits were a strange team. “They won’t know what’s coming for them.”
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )
Team ZIT- and Mumbo- are left behind to handle the dark crystal. When even Tango's hellbound magic and Impulse's explosion magic don't seem to work, can Mumbo get his own magic to even appear and help his friends?
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Tango and Zedaph were eventually kicked out of the infirmary, among other hermits. Now, only Cleo, Grian, Xisuma, Ren, and Wels are in the building. Hermits settle back into their homes, but four stare at the blue orb sitting in the grass.
“It looks so innocent, tucked away in Jev’s slime.” Mumbo whispers, afraid to step closer.
“Like it didn’t just attack and nearly drain almost all of TFC’s magic and life.” Tango growls, teeth baring as he stares at the dangerous item. He works with dangerous magic, hellbound spells. But this isn’t like that. Hellbound magic takes power from the underworld. This takes power from other creatures. Living creatures, life sustaining magic stolen from their bodies. Sucking it up like it did TFC. And Gildara.
“We need to take care of it.” Impulse rises from his crouch, an easy smile on his face as he cracks his knuckles. “Let’s get this thing out of our hair.”
Impulse flicks his hands, shocking yellow magic appearing in the air. He pulses the magic forward, and a concussive blast ripples from his hands. The ground blossoms red and orange, dirt tossed across the group remaining on the train grounds.
But when the dust settles, the crystal is nestled in the crater Impulse blew apart. Slime had been eviscerated, only the black rock left behind. He tries another explosion, focused and sharp. Still nothing. Impulse sighs, knowing he needs help. “Tango, can you perhaps lend a hand, man?”
Tango grins, cracking his knuckles and joining Impulse in the fight to break the gem. Leaving Zedaph with Mumbo. “Alright, I’ll put it to fire and you blow it to pieces. I got your back.”
The two share a fistbump, and activate their respective magic in tandem. Tango’s pattern curls and pops red like a fire, while Impulse explodes yellow outward, shockwaves and blasts in his circle. Two impish smiles and fiery eyes look down at the tiny crystal.
And they don’t hold back. A wall of fire, so hot it turns blue, burning at the gem and it’s dirt surroundings. Warping the stone and dirt it nests within. Zed and Mumbo find themselves flung backwards by Impulse’s blast, their heads spinning and teeth rattling. Impulse and Tango managed to stay upright, hair sweeping back and feet dug into grass in an attempt to not meet a similar fate as their friends. Tango sees it first. “This stupid fucking gem won’t break!”
Fire erupts around Tango, but he’s quick to tamper down any of his frustration, aided by his friends. Impulse and Zedaph join him, glaring at the crystal as they plot on how to destroy it. They don’t just want to break it- they want to obliterate it. The crystal siphoned energy from TFC, attacking him when he used it. Zedaph closes his eyes, grimacing as he remembers the black veins and pale skin that marred their guildmaster. His soft purple irises remain closed as Tango and Impulse continue.
“Maybe we can borrow False’s cannon?” Tango whispers.
“I don’t think she’ll give us that ever again.” Impulse looks over his shoulder, seeing the dark oak and stone brick home, the forge nestled in the crook of the house. A part of the roof is new wood, but Tango and Impulse have still yet to fix the other hole in the back of the house.
Zedaph opens his eyes, and sees Mumbo. Standing a distance away, shifting from foot to foot and watching the grass at his feet sway in the sea wind. Awkward and alone. “Hey Mumbo. You have lightning magic, right?”
The multi-mage jumps back into reality, patting his foot over the indent he dug with his boots and tugging on the seam of his sleeve. “Oh, y-yeah. Not well, per se, but I have lightning magic.”
“Maybe we can be a little cleverer- more clever? I dunno, whichever- about evicting this gem from existence.” Zedaph smooths his hair, nodding Mumbo to join the trio. “I’m not exactly the crystal guy, but gems tend to have a lattice structure to it, yeah?”
“That’s what they taught us in middle school.” Tango chuckles. He tucks one hand under his forearm, still feeling the exciting energy of casting his magic. Hellbound magic was unstable, changing on a whim and easy to lose control. Not just of the magic, but of oneself. He spent years just training to keep himself in check, making sure he never falls victim to the nature of magic. Admit it’s danger, but find beauty in it, in the same way Zedaph sees a soul to shepard in even the most rabid animal, and Impulse can refine any explosion into art like a flower.
“Well, if Mumbo can excite the lattice of the crystal, it will be less stable. You two can go at it with the booming and blazing, and bam! No more creepy gem wanting to take over our grandpa.” Zedaph rests his hands on his waist, looking around at the others.
Impulse and Tango are all in. Among the ZIT trio, Zedaph is the one with the craziest plans. The ones that always somehow end up working. But Mumbo isn’t so convinced. “You guys are placing a lot of faith on me and my magic. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control it like you want. I can hardly even summon it.”
Just to prove his point, Mumbo opens his hands. A wobbly red circle casts in each palm, before falling apart. Mumbo’s shoulders drop, and even the tips of his robes collars seem to wilt with his emotions.
“Come on, Mumbo. We’ve seen your power- you’ve got more than most of us combined. You’re a multi-mage, that’s so cool man!” Impulse’s cheerful excitement exudes off him like sunshine, rippling out like an explosion’s heat. And just as energetic.
“You’ve been training with Grian and Iskall, and when you really put your mind to it, you destroyificate them.” Tango adds, grinning as he remembers seeing those two cocky hermits get blown off their feet by the newbie. “That’s not one but two S-Class wizards you can easily hold off. This wimpy little crystal should be trembling in it’s cleavage.” Zedaph and Impulse can’t help but giggle at the word. Still immature adults.
“Bu-but I can’t control when that happens. We haven’t figured out how to yet.” When he’s not training with Grian and Iskall, he’s digging through Joe’s library and talking with Xisuma. So much power, it takes so much to call upon, to release. It’s like breaking open a dam, and the power rushes out of him when he does. If he’s not careful, it can take control of him, instead of the other way around.
“Just give it a shot. You never know until you try!” Zedaph pushes Mumbo in front of Tango and Impulse, and retreats. His magic isn’t exactly useful in this situation.
Mumbo’s quaking in his boots. “Oh, oh dear. Well, I guess I’ll just-” He raises his hand, fingers shaking as he draws up his sigil. A blossoming red lotus of redstone and electricity, flecks of magic falling away like embers. They drift into the sky, carried up towards the bright blue atmosphere and fluffy white clouds. Zedaph can’t help but notice that they look like sheep, his ungulate allies in the barn he calls home.
When he looks back down, the circle has been cast. But what the trio sees erupt from Mumbo’s hand looks less like a great bolt of red lightning, and more like a static shock stained ruddy. Mumbo whimpers, watching it disappear like the embers of his circle. He doesn’t have the courage to tell the trio he told them so, because he’s so focused on his own failure.
“Aww, it’s okay Mumbo. Just try again- I’m sure you can do it.” Zedaph, dares to step forward, giving a hearty pat on Mumbo’s back. Zedaph grew up in the rural countryside around Foresta, where everything is rough. Calloused hands from years of farming give the tightest hugs.
And a weak city boy like Mumbo just wasn’t prepared for Zed’s strength. There was no malice, but his lanky body just couldn’t handle the slap on the back. He stumbles forward, hands catching himself on the ground- and sparking the magic deep within him. Magic flows freely from his fingers, redstone forming a circuit along the verdant grass and into the crater Impulse has created. Magic rushes through him, overwhelming each and every atom and fiber of his being. He doesn’t have control of his magic. His magic has control of him.
The circuit connects to the gemstone, the dust illuminating and lightning ricocheting free from the trail. Mumbo blinks, his eyes filling with red light as magic takes over his whole body. So much magic, uncontained by a circle.
“Guys, do it now!” Zedaph orders, noting the way the dark crystal rocks in the dirt. It glows from within, red light and lightning escaping the darkness of the opaque gem. Being ripped apart by Mumbo’s astounding magic. Zed knew Mumbo was strong- but this? This is unlike anything he’s ever seen. Including two different forms of magic.
Impulse doesn’t waste a second. He waves his hand, casting a spell and snapping his fingers. The crater grows deeper as the dirt erupts in an explosion, smoke illuminated by deep red and yellow fire from Tango’s magic. They don’t stop, they don’t let up. Only when the dust settles and smoke clears away, Mumbo’s circuit going dead, does Zedaph dare to peek into the cavity caused by his friends.
The crystal has been obliterated. All that’s left it dust, caught by the wind and scattered into the azure waves of the sea around them. Team ZIT celebrates the defeat of the crystal, grabbing one another and pouncing on their backs. Howling with joy and rubbing their knuckles rough into each other’s hair and back. Mumbo stands up silently, bolts of lightning escaping from his hands. Striking around him, turning the grass a burnt black color. And growing stronger.
“We did it, guys! We showed that stupid crystal it messed with the wrong guild!” Impulse cheers, his smile so wide across his face it hurts his cheek.
“Mumbo, dude, that was incredible.” Tango looks over Zedaph’s shoulder, brushing dirt off of the pink capelet. Mumbo doesn’t answer Tango’s compliment. He’s just standing in the grass, eyes closed. Zaps of lightning grow more frequent each second. “Mumbo?”
Zedaph steps away, pulling free of Impulse and Tango’s touch. He reels back as a bolt of lightning nearly hits his leg, all his blond hair standing on end. “Mumbo? Mumbo can you hear us?”
Mumbo’s eyes snap open. But those grey irises, filled with inquisitivity and anxiety, are overshadowed by a glowing red. Sparks like static electricity crease free from his eyes, staring blindly out. Mumbo’s not in control of his magic. Impulse is the first to notice his feet losing connection with the ground. “He’s going into a power surge!”
Impulse and Tango run into the lightning storm, each grabbing a sleeve of Mumbo’s black robe. Holding him down, their faces creased with pain when lightning courses into their body. They can feel the air turn to ozone, the scent of a storm on the horizon. Tango clenches his teeth, digging his heels into the ground. They shouldn’t have pushed Mumbo when he wasn’t ready. He needs to have control of his magic. “Zedaph! Do something!”
Zedaph is already summoning his magic circle, the intricate spell requiring a number of motions to draw it up. Taking control of an animal is one thing. A human is something completely different. And a friend, more than anything. He hates having to remove their free will- but Mumbo isn’t in control. He has to do something. Impulse slips from his grip on Mumbo’s sleeve, fingers digging into the gold trim near the newest guildmember’s ankles. The grass is becoming further from Mumbo’s feet, weightless like a feather.
“Mumbo!” Zed calls as he casts his spell. The two souls find a connection, Zedaph pulling on Mumbo’s soul. Trying to bring sense back from the senseless entropy of magic. Zedaph is standing still, but his face is contorted as he works to calm his friend down. He’s a shepherd mage, this is his job. To herd minds in the direction he so pleases. Animals, humans, he has the ability to speak to things beyond human language. To people beyond talk. To Mumbo, trapped and warped in his own magic. “Mumbo, calm down. Take control again.”
Zedaph’s voice was no louder than a whisper, but to Mumbo it was a roar. His eyes blink away the red that blinded him, falling back to the ground with a stumble. His mind feels hazy, his body two steps ahead of his actual consciousness. Grass brushes against his hands, a gentle tickle against tingling skin. He finally looks up, and finds he’s not the only one on his knees. Zed has fallen down, his face pale but still smiling.
Mumbo struggles to stand, struggles to understand what happened. Until he hears a crunch at his feet. He looks down, moving his boot out of the way. The blades of verdant green have been charred black, rocks and dirt flung aside. Like lightning struck the ground. “Oh, oh dear.”
“It’s okay, Mumbo.” Zedaph whispers, wiping blood from his nose. “We got the job done, and that’s what matters. Good work, destroying the crystal. I knew you could do it.” His smile does little to ease Mumbo’s concerns.
