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.”
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)
________________________________
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)
Ex returns home with new friends, but struggles with the reality that his old stomping grounds have grown up without him, all while learning more about the history of dark magic.
-----------------------------------------
“I thought I told you to come alone.” Xisuma states, staring at the rainbow haired twins. No matter how much the two try to blend in, the ever shifting colors of their locks always stand out.
“I thought you could use the help. You clearly need it if you reached out to me.” Ex steps off the pirate ship, followed by the king and his brother. Ex tries his best to keep his gaze on the ground at his feet, the grass, sand, and dirt. He doesn’t want to see what Xisuma and all his friends have done to the safe haven they found together. As brothers. He doesn’t want to see what he's missed, what he’s been too afraid to claim for his own. He doesn’t want to see how much time has changed the island he once called home.
But Ex stumbles over a rock, his books scattering from his arms, while he plummets to the ground. He could let go of his remaining scrolls and books, but these articles are ancient and invaluable. He’d rather break his nose than let go of them.
Lucky for Ex, he doesn’t have to choose. One of the hermits grabs him before he gets a mouthful of dirt. Ex opens his eyes, forced to look at the island. And he sees everything.
It looka exactly the same. It looks completely different. The grounds were the same- the same rocky shores, soft beaches, hills, forest, even the lake at the center on the north side of the island. The grass the same green color, the sky the same blue, the distant mist and waves dancing together. But dotting the island now stood a menagerie of buildings. Where there used to only be the tower of stone he and X built, now a glass biodome rests on one side, a barn on the other. Smoke rolls free from the chimney of a weaponsmith’s house, and just off the island a cloud floats low, the white tower upon it open to the breeze of the sea.
Ex collects his books, and slinks off to the guild hall. Sor follows Grian to help with Apatia, to make the decision on how to move forward with his recovery. Tris follows behind Ex, taking in the open sea and sky. So unlike Milliara.
It was exactly that which drew the void twins here in the first place. They dared enter the Ashioll sea because it was quiet, peaceful, unlike Milliara. Back when there were only two- they didn’t need anyone more. They didn’t want anyone more. In the end, Ex got to be alone, moreso than ever. Without even a brother.
Being back on Eremita was painful, but as a healing wound would be. For the first time in years, his brother reached out to him. For the first time, they were putting aside the argument so long ago and working together. Like they did when they were young.
At the same time, both X and Ex set out their books on the same table. At the same time, like mirror images of one another, they set out their maps, their inkwells, their quills, even their books ordered the exact same way. The similarities between the two were uncanny, leaving the hermits baffled as they watch them. If it wasn’t for Ex’s white hair, it’d be impossible to tell them apart.
Ex speaks first, pulling the red fabric of his cloak away from his face so the hermits can hear him. “The last known insurgence of dark magic was over a thousand years ago. Before Lairyon became a kingdom, near the end of the ancient ones’s time. As we all know, Addows is the only place that still has significant and readable history of the ancient ones. Everything disappeared just like them.”
“And no one knows why.” Tris adds in, sitting down and plucking a book. He flips through the pages. “The ancient ones had magic more powerful than most wizards. Very few forms of ancient powers survive today- including angelic magic.”
The hermits look at Grian, but he simply shrugs. He knows nothing about the ancient ones, just that they’re… well, ancient. Iskall speaks up, resting his cheek on his hand. “Could it be that it was the dark magic that wiped them out?”
Both of the void twins and Tris shake their head, and begin to answer at the same time. Ex and X glare at one another, and Tris takes the moment to answer instead. “No, it’s not like there’s a sign of a fight, or a struggle, or anything. Just...one day they were all over this kingdom, and then- poof, gone.”
“But the ancient ones weren’t the only people here. The kiplings have been living in these waters longer than anyone. And if we cross reference the information King Sormena gave me access to in the royal library, and the deep sea libraries of the Kiplings, we can start to get an inkling of understanding.”
“My gods you’re so boring even now.” Xisuma groans. “We dont need the whole story, and Lairyon doesn’t have time. What did you learn and how can we use it to defeat Dolios?”
“Well…” Ex bits his lip. “We didn’t learn how they defeated the dark magic all those times before. But we did find the location of one of their lost cities. Tris and I believe it could even be the ancient capital of theirs.”
The hermits groan, some even dramatically flopping back in their chairs. It seems all they ever have are breadcrumbs, leading them around in circles all across Lairyon. TFC speaks up first, though even he seems exhausted. “It’s better than nothing. It’s our only hope at this point. So where is it?”
“Tris had pinpointed the general location of the lost city in the Ashioll Fjords, but together we were able to determine the exact location.” Ex plucks a quill from the table, dipping the tip in the ink and marking one of the many divots and crests of the northernmost part of Lairyon. All the hermits lean in, peering at the location. It looks no different from any other part of the fjords, or even the rest of Lairyon.
“If anyone knows how to defeat Dolios’s dark magic, it has to be the ancient ones.” Etho states. “They did it before, we just have to do it again.”
It gives the hermits hope to know this isn’t the first time, they aren’t the only ones in all of history to face dark magic. Ex looks up at the hermits, a question that’s been dancing in his mind finding its way to his tongue before he can stop it. “Why did you guys ever decide to do this? What in the world made you guys think you could take on a dark wizard? Be the chosen few like the ancient ones?”
The hermits look at one another, as if they’d find an answer in the stares and faces of their peers. But no one has the answer. Though Joe is more than willing to come up with his own. “Perhaps, in this story, there are no chosen ones. No destiny or prophesied heroes. Perhaps it is just by the choice of normal man, who chooses to make a difference, who chooses to stand up and fight, that is really what makes a hero?”
“Is this what I missed when I left?” Ex questions Xisuma, who nods solemnly.
“What will we find in the lost city?” Grian questions.
“I dunno, it’s lost.” Tris quips, causing Grian to blush when he realizes his question. “But if it’s anything like Addows, you should be prepared for ancient ones magic and the stone buildings they made their cities from. Apart from that- you just gotta look in the right place.”
The hermits realize they’re going in on this blind. Once again, they have little more than a hope, a thread of a lead, taking them somewhere in search of answers. Whether it was Gildara, or the Champion’s Cup, or even the Forest of Memories, they’ve always been chasing the same specter of knowledge. Hoping to find something more.
“But you won’t be alone this time.” Ex points out. The hermits turn to face him, his face so familiar, yet so vastly different. “King Sormena volunteered to go along with you, to give aid on your search.”
Tris averts his gaze, his jaw set tight at the mention of his brother joining the hermits. Doc raises his hand, almost condescending. “Won’t Dolios notice the king is gone?”
“He’s not in Milliara right now. The Wanderers informed me of that- where he is, I don’t know, but this is a rare opportunity that we can’t waste. You’ll need every mind and magic to figure out the puzzles and clues that the lost city may have. I’d best get packing if i were you guys.”
Groups disperse off, back to their homes, caves, ships, and clouds. Once again preparing, as a whole guild, to go off on another adventure. Even Tris disappears, either to go find and argue with his brother, or get a pint of beer from Cleo. But one person stays behind.
Xisuma doesn’t ever look directly at his brother, but he always turns his head just slightly to be able to see Ex shuffling papers. His body is aimed out from the guild hall, looking over, across the island of Eremita. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, X speaks up. “Will you be able to take care of Apatia while we’re gone? I don’t think he can go back to Milliara with you.”
Ex raises an eyebrow. It almost sounds like an invitation to stay on the island. Almost. “I guess if no one else will, I can offer my help. And glean information from him about the magistrate. Perhaps I can talk to Ian about engineering a prosthesis… Kiplings aren’t really meant to live without their fins.”
The void mage shakes his head, listening to his brother continue to ramble on under his breath. So many years apart, and yet the same old Ex. For the first time in years, after so long hating his twin, refusing to talk to him, removing every sign he ever existed on this island, now he’s standing in their guild hall. And for the first time in years, Xisuma feels like he can let go of the anger and tension from that fight so long ago.
Ex steps up beside Xisuma, and the two gaze over Eremita. They watch as Keralis and Zedaph round up sheep for their midday meal, Iskall, Mumbo, and Grian arguing over what kind of redstone they could possibly need on their journey, Wels and False sharpening the blades of their own weapons and others.
He doesn’t want to admit it, but Eremita looks more alive than it ever was when it was just the two of them. The colors of all different wizards, from all walks of life. All a part of this guild that Xisuma has found. All this, that Ex was afraid of. “You’ve done a good job building yourself a home. Finding yourself a family. Guess you didn’t really need me.”
Xisuma turns, and removes his mask. For the first time in years, Ex can see his brother's face. They can both see the scars they left on each other. On their skin and in their hearts. Xisuma’s fingers run along the scratched out marking in the metal. Wishing he could take that fit of anger back and fix it. “I didn’t do this without you, though. When I wasn’t sure what to do, it was always your annoying voice that guided me to the right decision.”
“We have the same voice.” Ex points out.
“Exactly. No matter what, no matter what I did, you were still with me, a part of me. But when I didn't know what to do, I thought about what you would choose. And it always led me in the right direction. Even though you weren’t here, I still needed you. I still needed my brother.”
To hear that word come from Xisuma’s mouth, to hear him call Ex that- brother. All these years, all he ever wanted was his brother back. To have a family again. Ex can feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t want his brother to see him crying over such a simple thing. “I think it’ll be nice to have a family again. It...it feels good to be home.”
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.”
(what’s this, a chapter on monday? Yes! Starting today and for the foreseeable future, LoL will now update mondays and fridays! Hopefuly it will gain more attention when it updates more often,,,)
Masterpost
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)
If the hermits hope to enter the most dangerous place in Lairyon, they need to know about the Forest of Memories. Xisuma, Cub, and Joe venture to the haunted city of Addows in search of information.
____________________________________
Mist swirls around Xisuma, his vision obscured by the thick fog of the city. Old, ancient buildings are all around him, once a city of the ancient ones still alive with the people of Lairyon. Massive stone temples, graveyards for heroes and legends, buildings with no known purpose that now house creeds and clairvoyants.
Addows is a home of ghosts. Ghosts of the past, present in both tomes that the temples and libraries hold, and actual spirits that wander the eternally misty street. No one is spooked by the spooks, just another face in the crowd.
And it’s the perfect place for the hermits to dig up ancient knowledge. If anywhere would have information on the Forest of Memories, it would be the hallowed halls of Addows. Cub creeps closer to Xisuma, not quite sure if he likes not being able to see more than a few feet in front or behind him. He’s sure there’s some sort of proverb that Joe would spew at him about this and the past or whatever, but right now he doesn’t want to hear it. Joe, meanwhile, is loving this atmosphere. The spooky vibes, the aged buildings and haunting people. He could write entire novels about this place, how much it fits his aesthetic. He may just have to build a new library on Eremita to match this. Plus, his fuzzy cloak is comfortable and fits in well with the shadowed passersby.
The three hermits wander the streets, walking through the midday mist, watching as buildings appear from nothing and disappear once again. Joe gets distracted every once in awhile on a witch’s shop, books older than the kingdom, apothecaries with all kinds of rare materials, and about a dozen different colored candles. And lots of rocks. TFC would have a field day.
But after what feels like both hours and seconds of walking down the twisting streets of the ancient city, they finally arrive where they need to be. A building so old that the rain and forest has weathered it down, and a whole new layer of detritus has turned to dirt, ferns, trees, and vines growing down the massive stone pillars. In the weathered carving, the purpose of the ancient building remains the same. It’s a library, the largest in all the kingdom and filled with the most extensive, the most knowledgeable, and the most ancient of works. In languages long dead and unrevivable, written by ghost writers that now haunt these halls, and recounted by the living and the dead that wander the stacks.
“And a delightful young adult section with some of my favorite works for young readers.” Joe hums. “Anything, and I mean anything-” He pauses, letting Xisuma and Cub fill in what he means, “can be found in the national library of Addows.”
“That means if there’s anywhere that will tell us how to handle the Forest of Memories, or what could be hiding in there, it’s here.” Xisuma wanders down the stacks. All three hermits itch to reach out and pull books of their favorite genres or authors. Cub wants to dive into the deep end of the ancient ones history. Xisuma wants to study the great works of the best astronomers. And Joe wants to read the most mind boggling pieces that make absolutely no sense. He loves that feeling of being left confused about what he just read.
They search the tomes, from geography to history, history to science. They search every section- even the young adult section. Cub resorts to portaling around rather than running the worn stone stairs, but to no avail. In the end, all three of the hermits are sitting in an alcove of ferns and vines, staring out over the thick misted city.
“It wasn’t in anything. Has no one ever written about the Forest of Memories?” Xisuma grumbles, pulling off his mask. It’s not like there’s any sun, he doesn’t need his brother’s creation.
“Someone had to. It’s been around for eons and is nestled in the heart of Lairyon. I can think of so many epics that could rely solely upon those two aspects.” Joe speaks with his head on his hands, looking over the library. Where haven’t they checked? “I’m starting to think it’s not even real, just a bunch of folktales.”
Silence, until Cub’s eyes light up. “Folktales! Where do you put everything that you don’t know or understand?”
“In the trash bin?” Joe’s dry humor is not lost on Xisuma, but Cub is too excited.
“The folklore!” Cub summons his magic, a portal opening between the hermits, taking them to the very entrance of the library. The beginning of it all. He jumps through, skidding into a cracked pillar, but the stone is held fast by roots of the forest. Joe and Xisuma follow after, the portal collapsing behind them.
“Forest….forest...forest…” Cub whispers, running his fingers along books, scrolls, even just tablets of stone. “Forest, Evernight. Nope. Forest, Creation of. No…”
He stops, fingers coming to rest on a manuscript. Two wood planks pressing fabric pages together. It has no written title, but the front of the book is a tree with it’s branches intertwined like that of a brain. Cub grabs the manuscript, opening it with fervor. “Godsdamnit.”
“What’s wrong now?” Xisuma sighs, peering over the portal mage’s shoulder. But the symbols scrawled on the fabric are meaningless to them both. Not even Joe, who purveys in ancient and useless knowledge, has no ability to read the book.
“Ahh, The Journey to the Center of Lairyon’s Mind. A very good work. Quite dense.” All three hermits shriek, echoing in the quiet library as a misty head appears through the bookshelves. They should have been prepared for a ghost, but in the heat of the moment, they forgot they were in the most haunted city in the kingdom.
“H-have you read this? Can you r-read this language?” Joe holds the book out.
The ghost steps through the shelves, her hand becoming solid enough to hold up the piece. “It’s old kipling. Before they integrated into one oceanic script. Back in the early days, when Lairyon was just a bunch of warring nations. Ah, the oceans were so peaceful in comparison.”
“What does the author say? What does this mean?” Joe points at the fine print of a page that the kipling opened.
“It’s the dedication! It’s to me!” She laughs, ghostly fin ruffling with joy. “My wife was such a wonderful author, she is still curious to this day.”
Xisuma surges up to the ghost, no longer afraid. “The author, she’s still here? Where is she?”
“Why, I’m sure she’s moping around our gravestone, waiting for me to come back so she can tell me more stories that she picked up from the other ghosts.” The kipling ghost pauses. “Would you like to meet her, or rather just read through this dingy old book? Why not meet the real adventurer Cielle DuNord? Bravest woman ever, only person to enter the heart of the Forest of Memories and come back sane. At least...only recorded person.”
From the oldest library, the hermits follow the bouncing kipling down the street to the oldest cemetery. Sometimes they lose sight of her in the fog, her ghostly figure becoming a part of the mist and disappearing. But it just takes a laugh and a call from Lady Nellaime, her dress swaying like kelp in the waves, and they’re back on track. The misty glen opens to reveal ancient tombs and stones, but Nellaime waltzes through the historic graveyard as she would saunter through a flower garden.
Despite the spooky feeling, it’s not scary. The hermtis feel a sense of calm respect among the gates. Rare flowers bloom at the entrances of mausoleums, trees sprouting from burial mounds. Candles provide light along the well cared pathway, and a child runs by, smiling as he trips and hugs an ancestor’s gravestone.
From the mist, a glowing form appears, hugging the boy back. The ghost settles down in the grass, chatting with the family. Nellie continues past, deeper into the heart of the graveyard, seemingly bigger on the inside. The tombs age the deeper they walk, until Nellie stops at a raised crypt. Carved in the ancient coral stone, two smiling faces rest on their backs, the women’s hands intertwined at the center. Nellie skips onto the tombstone, knocking on the nose of the other kipling. “My sweet Cielle, you have visitors! More fans of yours!”
The eyes blink open, misty blue lashes fluttering. A noncorporeal form drifts from the stone crypt, dress flowing from existing to not, strong arms reaching over and hugging her wife. “You always make friends so fast. Living or dead, you just make people smile. Just like lighting up my life, my little ghost light.”
“Not in front of guests.” Nellie giggles, her fins fluttering from the sweet kiss.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of such…” Cielle looks the three up and down. “Unique visitors upon my grave?”
“Are you really the only person who has made it out of the Forest of Memories alive?” Xisuma wastes no time, which causes both ladies to titter.
“No, though I know Nellie here likes to be hyperbolic. Quite a few people have gone into the Forest without going crazy. But you have to be prepared to enter in.” Cielle leans forward, tugging a ghostly finger through Xisuma’s hair like a mother combing a child’s hair.
“Prepare? What kind of spells do we need? Weapons?” Cub flips through the pages of the book, but it’s in a completely unknown language to him.
“You can prepare yourself physically as long as you like, but it won’t do much. You have to prepare yourself mentally.” Cielle taps her head, and giggles. “See, for me, all I had to do was think about my fiancee back in Corelpi. I dunno how, but it was like a walk through a garden.”
“But there is one place that knows all about the Forest of Memories. Where the most people have entered and returned relatively sane.” Nellaime grins, a few locks of hair falling from her messy bun. Cielle reaches over and fixes the loose locks. “Fielville!”
“Of course,” Xisuma slaps his hand on his head, leaving a bright red mark on his skin. “Druids, insectia, the oldest traditions from the ancient ones are still practiced there.”
“The elder there has entered and exited the Forest of Memories more than even I have- but then again, she lives longer than me, which isn’t fair.” Cielle sits back. “But be warned- no matter how prepared you think you are for that wood, it will be nothing compared to the true might of the forest. You will return with whatever trove you are in search of-” She pauses. “Or you will not return at all.”
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )
So close to the end, so close to winning the entire championship. Only one more challenge, one more maze- and one more corrupted beast to prove themselves as the best in the entire kingdom.
________________________________________________
“Are you sure Magistrate Dolios is the dark wizard?” Keralis questions, tilting his head. “I mean, what he did was pretty mean, but...to practice dark magic?”
“It’s him.” Zedaph hisses, his fingers curling in the fabric set on his lap. “He had a crystal in the antichamber, he had a horrible collection of parts used for spells.” Zed clenches his fists and jaw, struggling not to burst out. Tango and Impulse try to ease their friend’s worries. “He… I read through his log. He killed our guild. We were just the first, the opening act. He used our friends, our family, to start his path of destruction.”
“But why? Why would he need dark magic? He’s the godsdamned Magistrate of Lairyon!” False looks around, leaning forward in the tavern they’re huddled in. It’s not the inn, but one closer to the stadium. They have a labyrinth to defeat soon.
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely.” Doc growls, tapping his fingers together into a triangle shape. “Regular magic just wasn’t enough. Regular power just wasn’t enough.”
“So he’s using the crystals to gather energy. Like what we saw in Gildara, with the grey landscape. And when the crystals sap energy for him to steal, it leaves those husk monsters behind.” Cub is slowly piecing together the puzzle, coming to understand everything he saw with the others in the heist.
“And he’s using the Chimaera’s championship to sap more energy. That’s why we feel so tired when we finish an event. He’s stealing our power, my dudes.” Ren shivers at the thought. His energy being drained, taken by some creepy crystal and fueling Dolios’s insatiable thirst.
“And we’re going back in soon.” TFC hums. “We have the labyrinth challenge.”
“We don’t have to go in- we got what we needed. We can leave, make a plan with this knowledge we have. Tell the king, tell the people. They’ll take care of it.” Etho leans back in a chair, tipping till it nearly dumps him backwards.
“But we’ve come so far!” Grian whines. “We could win the whole games, prove to Dolios that he never should have messed with us! Wouldn’t you love to see that smug smile of his wiped off when we win?”
Agreements rise around Grian, and even Etho can’t help but want to prove that bastard wrong. Xisuma steps in. “At least we know why we’re getting so exhausted. We’ll know to rest, calm down while we’re in the labyrinth. And...we can warn Team Crafted.”
“And then we’ll tell the king, tell the people. They’ll have to listen to us, we’ll be the champions!” Iskall grins. They’ve got this labyrinth challenge in the bag.
The group rises, walking out of the tavern and back to the stadium. All around them, Milliara is buzzing with excitement. The final challenge of the Chimaera’s championship, the end of the games, has come. A river of people flow along the raised streets, flowing like the canals beside them. Rushing towards the stadium. They pass by other guilds, who sneer and turn away. Angry they lost, especially to a team. Do any of them know that the Magistrate practices dark magic? That he’s killed entire guilds in his search for power? For what? Surely he doesn’t keep all of it.
It’s no matter to the hermits. They found the truth, and once they pass on this knowledge, it’ll be out of their hands. Entering into the bowels of the stadium, the locker room they sit in is empty. Once full of dozens more teams, now only two teams remain.
The entire guild sneers at the sound of Dolios’s voice welcoming the crowd. It’s muffled by the thick stone walls, but they can hear him tell of the harrowing journey ahead. And the grand prize that awaits for the team that defeats the labyrinth. All they need to do is pour a single bowl of water over the statue at the center of the labyrinth.
But between that and both teams were beasts, traps, and spells designed to slow them down. Perhaps even kill them, if they aren’t prepared. Across the way, Grian can see nerves crease across Quentin and Jerome’s faces. He can hear Mumbo muttering next to him. Anyone can walk into the labyrinth, but only the best teams can walk out. Grian isn’t going to let anyone die- not on his oath as a healer. Not from the hermits, and not from Team Crafted either.
Grian stands, walking across the locker room and coming face to face with Sky. The leader looks up, an easy and golden grin meeting Grian. “Hey, you here to wish us luck?”
“Not exactly.” Grian wrings his hands, looking over his shoulder, before dropping his voice. “Listen, Sky, we hermits discovered something… the reason we’re always exhausted?” Sky leans forward, his eyes looking out over the rim of his sunglasses. “The magistrate is doing something dark, and he’s taking our power for his own. If you see a crystal that’s pitch black, or a creature with soulless white eyes and ash grey bodies- run. It’s dark magic.”
Sky’s eyes widen, and behind him Grian sees Jerome and Mitch coil and look out at where Dolios’s voice can be heard. But Jason looks less convinced. “Why should we trust you? You’re trying to get us to fail, huh?”
Grian’s sighs, collapsing his head into his hands. “No, we’re trying to help you. Us illegal guilds have to stick together.”
Team Crafted’s faces all exhibit a mix of shock, surprise, and hints of defiance at Grian’s suggestion. But he’s smarter than he lets on. Jerome is the first to speak up. “Thank you for the warning, I knew that man wasn’t to be trusted. Good luck, hermits.”
With that, the stadium erupts in a roar. Team Crafted stands, and disappears into the field, disappears from view. A few moments later, the hermits are called into the spotlight. Just like the opening ceremony, TFC leads them out onto the pitch.
Or, what was the pitch. Massive hedges of writhing vines and ivy twist around the guild, engulfing them into a thicket that fills the once open arena. A dark, misty haze swirls, thickening where the hermits know the crowd is watching. Despite no eyes, no bodies visible, they can feel being observed. And yet the entire field is eerily quiet. They feel alone, no voices or light, only the sensation of sight.
In the distance, a grumbling roar pierces the mist. Captured by the damp air, it hangs and echoes around the hermits. Iskall hides behind Stress while False, Wels, and Etho draw their blades. But TFC is the one to break the silence. “No use standing here. Team Crafted already has a headstart, and I’m not letting them get any further. Cleo and Jevin, take point. If anything looks suspicious, or even if it doesn’t, Cleo can search for a soul. Jevin, can you whip up slime warriors to be our...ahem, bait?”
“You got it boss.” Jevin draws his circle, blue light dappling the misty grey and green. Blue bodies of slime morph to shape, awkward steps pushing the hermits forward. Deep into the maze. The mist engulfs the comforting stone wall of the stadium, and they were only among hedge and haze.
They push past traps set off by the slime warriors, around chimaeras and banshees soothed by Zedaph and Cleo, and over illusionary spells meant to turn them back. At each intersection, Scar marks off the way they came by plowing a giant X in the ground. When they reach a dead end and turn around, he blocks it off completely.
“I don’t remember the field being this big.” Impulse groans, feeling his body ache at the feeling he now knows to be the work of dark magic. They haven’t seen a crystal or a husk, which only makes the feeling worse. It’s coming from everywhere.
“They must’ve used expansion magic to make this place bigger.” Xisuma hums, kicking his boot at the feeling of something on his head. And again. He turns around, glaring at BDubs. “Would you quit trying to flat-tire me? It doesn’t work on boot, ya know.”
BDubs’s face causes X’s head to spin and his heart to drop. His eyes are wide, confused as to why X is yelling at him. “Tha-that wasn’t me, X. That was-”
One moment, BDubs is clear in Xisuma’s vision through his mask. The next, he’s disappeared. However, it’s not hard to find him with all the screaming. Writhing on the ground, mist and vines wrapping struggling in a fight with the plant mage. No matter how many times he casts his magic, it doesn’t shake off the ivy that crawls and drags him towards the hedges.
“Help! Help it’s got me!” BDubs screams, digging his fingers into the ground and rooting himself there He groans, the vines still pulling on him despite being an immovable object. “It’s gonna rip me in half!”
False swings her sword, the sharp steel biting into the vines and severing it from the briars snaked around BDubs. From the split branches, a red ochre spills out. Blood. The entire hedge rumbles to life, two eyes appearing in the mist. A branch breaks through the fog, colliding with a shield held aloft by Wels. The limb of the plant monster crushes the steel, tossing the shield aside and depositing the paladin onto his rear.
Glowing white eyes draw closer, and the twisted grey vines of the plant monster’s face appears in the dark mist. Vines grab for any limb the hermits aren’t watching, engulfing arms, pulling on tails, wrapping around heads. Xisuma traps a few of the thousand limbs in a blackhole, rolling away from the beast. Grian takes to the sky, dodging around the shoots that threaten to skewer him. He whips a blast of air, clearing the fog to get a better view below.
It’s not the whole labyrinth, but the beast has spread it’s vines in an intricate system among it. All which are slithering over the ivy, like snakes in search of the hermits. What he also sees in the sky, beneath the plant monster’s perch and dug into the ground beneath the pitch, was the one thing he’s learned to despise.
A dark crystal. It’s controlling the plant monster, black smog wrapping around the roots of the beast like chains. It’s practically bursting with energy, all the power and strength taken by the crystal during the entire course of the games. Even flying this high, he can feel the effects of his magic being siphoned from his body. “There’s one of those-”
Swatted from the sky like a bug, Grian crashes into the ground with a sickening thud. Scar and Mumbo race to help him up. Mumbo nearly throws up, hearing the sound of bones cracking under Grian’s feathers and skin. But nothing can keep the sky angel quiet. “The plant thing...it’s protecting the crystal, or powered by the crystal, I dunno.”
“Where is it?” TFC questions, eyes flicking across the battling guild. Stress freezes the blood and vines solid, while Cub severs the limbs with portal after portal opening and closing.
Grian grabs his head, trying to steady the spinning sensation. The moving hedges of the false maze, the limbs of the beast, don’t help to ease his confusion. He points a shaking finger at about 2 o’clock, relieved to have support from Mumbo and Iskall back to his feet.
“Should we run away from it? Obviously it’s going to try and take our energy- shouldn’t we stay as far away as possible?” Joe raises an eyebrow. His quill rushes across the pages beneath the tip, a rushed spell spouting forth. A million beetles emerge from the aged paper, tiny pincers digging into the plant monster and ripping it apart. Keralis plucks one from the sky, swallowing the beetle whole and feeling reinvigorated by the bug.
“If Dolios placed that there, he obviously intended for us to get close to it. If he knew we’d be going that way, that means the statue must be this direction.” Xisuma proposes, sending a ball of void into the chest of the many limbed vine creature.
“We should...we should destroy the crystal.” Grian hisses, grasping at his ribs and gasping for air. “So he can’t steal any more magic from here.”
“How?” Doc growls, despite plowing ahead. Towards the monster. Towards the crystal. “We could hardly put a dent in it last time!”
“We’ll figure it out. We’re pretty clever.” TFC hums, hopping over a whipping vine. He grasps a thin rod of corundum, steeling himself when another attempts to toss him into oblivion. The hermits battle their way through the shifting maze, but with each vine they cut down, more seem to spring from the bloody limbs and misty air. The attacks only grow more aggressive as they near the body of the beast, near the dark crystal controlling it. The air grows thick, hard to breathe and pressing down on the team. In the distance, they can hear the roar of a chimaera. Team Crafted. Hopefully they’re safe, as far away from this beast as possible.
The crystal comes into view. Ashen roots are planted firm around the massive crystalline structure, the gem pulsing with energy. Energy it’s stealing from the hermits and Team Crafted. Right on cue, black mist swirls around the opaque crystal, natural defenses going up. The hermits leap aside, avoiding the crushing blow from a twisted cable of vines by a narrow margin of time and air. From across the writhing greenery, TFC’s voice booms out commands. “You guys on the other side distract the monster- or better yet, try to kill it! Us over here will do our best to break the crystal.”
A cacophony of acknowledgements lets the guildmaster know they heard him, and he wastes no time scrabbling to his feet. He ignores the sound of fighting behind him, the cracks and groans of the beast or the screams of his guildmembers. He needs to focus on this crystal first and foremost.
TFC is a mineral mage. He knows gemstones- but not corrupted gems. His stomach clenches as his fingers brush against the smooth surface, and his head aches at the mere thought of how it controlled him before. He still feels horrible, snapping at his friends. It’s too dangerous to use, even in regular magic. This twisted, barbaric magical conduit needs to be destroyed.
But if there’s one thing he knows, all gems can only take so much energy before they cleave. And this crystal is practically brimming with stolen magic. “Let’s feed the beast then.”
“Have a snack, you mega crystal of doom!” Iskall shouts, bolts of radioactive energy crackling from his magic circle to the crystal. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow his attack until he can hardly stand. The gemstone remains standing, half buried in the dirt. But then False steps up, the multitude of cinquedeas summoned around her imbued with magic by Wels. A flick of the wrist, and the blades dig into the crystal. Rusted, but protruding from the gem like spines from a dragon.
“Yes! Focus the strikes on False’s swords! Use them like conduits!” TFC grins, leaping free as a rooted foot rips from the ground beside him. For a brief moment, he turns his attention back to the fighting hermits. He clasps his hands over his ears, the telltale shriek of Cleo’s banshee scream almost rupturing his eardrums. Impulse is on his back, protected by a weak bolt of lightning shot from Mumbo’s stuttering magic. But otherwise, they’re holding their own just fine.
“We’ve almost got it!” Wels cheers, noticing the cracks forming along the gem’s surface. Black smoke pours from the fractures, grasping at their feet and attempting to steal their magic. Attempting to keep control of the plant monster that protects it.
The ground beneath their feet rolls and rumbles, the dirt and hedges shivering and bucking against the hermits’ feet. Wels turns around, grinning when he sees what- or who- is the cause of the earthquake. Like a geyser of stone, a spike of rock pierces through the heart of the dark crystal. The mist around the hermits’ dissipates like morning fog chased off by the sun. Above the team, the plant monster erupts into ash, raining flakes of the husked creature with one final creak of wood and vine.
And the dark crystal shatters. It blows the hermits back, sending them tumbling among the shards of gemstone. The black aura fades with the color- it’s just a regular quartz crystal, albeit destroyed into a million tiny conchoidal pieces. The depressing weight on their bodies, that left them struggling to breathe and their magic weak, falls away like shed skin of a snake. None of them have felt this invigorated since the start of the games.
“Guys, there’s the statue!” Grian prods Mumbo in the back, both wincing as pain ricochets through both wounded hermits. A lush garden at the center of the labyrinth, gardenia and lilac flowers growing around a tall statue rising from a fresh, crystal clear spring. Carved in stone from the Lionheart mountains, the statue features each and every god in the main pantheon of Lairyon. From Echol to Limal, and Artyne- god of water.
Water, the symbol of life and magic in Lairyon. Water flows fresh, clean, and pure from the spring surrounding the stone gods. Two bowls rest untouched at the spring’s edge, carved from the very cyprus trees that inspired Milliara to be founded. Ren steps up, pausing and looking back at his teammates. Bruised, battered, broken. But urging him not to waste another second. This is it.
Ren dips the bowl in the spring. He swears he can feel energy, deep ancient magic within the cool water, chasing away the aftereffects of the crystal. In the distance, he can hear shouts of encouragement from vaguely familiar voices. Team Crafted is almost here. He doesn’t waste a second, wading across the water and pouring the bowl over the stone statue.
The mist disappears, and the statues move, as if brought to life by the mystical spring. Merkal, the god of mischief, moves his cloak to the side. Deliss brushes away the lilacs and gardenia. And the stone rendition of Artyne smiles, revealing the chalice. Crowning the hermits as victors of the Chimaera’s Championship.
