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I don't know what the mechanics for songs are, so I'm not sure if it's worth farming experience from the ballad about monarchs written in the diary, but it would be good to send the link to the char-sheet so it doesn't get lost.
At times, one could marvel at how many people we encountered during our travels, but it shouldn't be forgotten that before the cataclysm, this was the most densely populated region of a quite sizable country. Even the premature death of 95% of the people (though I didn't keep count) obviously left tens of thousands alive who had to adapt somehow, and perhaps this was only possible in large groups. And where there were settlements, there was work for heroes! Despite our grand task, we had to start with reconnaissance; at the beginning of the journey, Meshera and Stantry had only vague ideas about which direction to lead the research on the Obelisk of Beginning and End and how to stop the energy leak. Not to mention that the Hero of the Source was eager not just to solve the problem, but to help as many people as possible along the way and earn a good reputation.
And he succeeded. In one place, it happened that much of the livestock began turning into aggressive, shapeless monsters, and their destruction by local warriors could not stop the epidemic... Occasionally, the disease affected humans as well. Then, a thorough investigation by Meshera revealed the culprit to be small, strange wasps living nearby that laid eggs under the skin of cows, horses, and sheep. Finding and burning their nests might seem like not such a great task for heroes to some, but it is impossible to underestimate how happy the locals were to hear that their problem had been solved forever.
Such an adventure... Strangely enough, it could be called something average compared to what we were usually busy with, or even above average in terms of heroism. Very often, it was much less glorious help, involving pulling out stuck wagons (and in reality, someone rarely attacks those), saving people who fell into wells (and this turned out to be more dangerous, as sometimes very serious mysticism is hidden underground), and then a lot, lot of various "fetch-and-carry" tasks. Was it a burden? Sometimes a little, yes; there was a feeling that our virtue was being exploited—once, some old lady asked us to clean her house, and even water the garden beds... But on the other hand, surprisingly, we were never, not once in the entire history, left without a reward. The Hero said nothing; the residents themselves seemed to know by some intuition what to do, and no matter how poor they were, they always provided us with lodging, food, some useful book or clothing, or even relics in cases of particular generosity... Well, intuition is all well and good, but now I remember that Svegos had a habit of quietly discussing things with our quest-givers part of the time while we worked. He, I think, was the only one in the team who actually counted money carefully.
Of course, at some point, more and more monsters began to appear, and they came for us. Monsters have this habit: first, they spawn slowly and pose a threat mainly to the local fauna and stray hunters or travelers, but then there is a sharp increase in numbers, and suddenly the beasts launch a raid on the nearest human settlement. Accordingly, our task was to thin out all this splendor until things got bad. One such foray into the swamps forced us to fight zombies, whom I wrote about earlier, but about whom we knew absolutely nothing at the time. Naturally, they exploded from the strikes of my blade and some slime got on me, and naturally, this slime, as it turned out, had the property of guaranteedly turning people into zombies, bypassing all checks... Thanks to Stantry, most of our group was protected by amulets against diseases, curses, and some other negative effects; only Date and I, as new additions, and the Hero of the Source lacked them, since the latter already possessed an impressive list of immunities (I mentioned that he survived even the cataclysm at the very epicenter).
Alas, even Meshera's analysis did not protect me: having found out all the details about the monster itself, and even understanding that the fog in the swamps was dangerous, she could not determine how strong the zombification was upon direct contact; it was something completely new. Stantry immediately used cleansing on me; besides that, I washed myself and performed other necessary hygienic procedures, however... I did not wake up the next morning. My friends had to put a combination of two magic items on me: Stantry gave me his amulet of protection against diseases, and Meshera took off her thought-accelerating circlet, and only then did I awaken, but the problem with this solution was that it was temporary. The zombification did not progress and I could act more or less normally, however, without special artifacts, I was practically a motionless pumpkin.
We often observed how the level of human cruelty grew out of desperation. One telling case was when in one village the Hero protected a child from older bullies who were trying to take his food... He spent a couple of days with the boy, showing him techniques on how to defend himself, giving him gifts appropriate for such cases—but when we next entered this village, we learned that the child was dead. Those same bullies had developed an even greater hatred for the boy, coupled with envy and resentment over their shame, eventually committing murder. It was a terribly cruel lesson: even if the best among men does good, one cannot know in advance that it will not result in evil.
And such lessons in the world's cruelty seemed to come one after another; consider the situation when, during a regular stop in a settlement, we stepped out in the morning to discover that there were simply no other houses left except ours? The hut sheltering us was intact and unharmed, but in place of other dwellings and walls was virgin forest, as if nothing related to humans had ever been here. No, we were all mentally prepared for occasional sulfur rains, gruesome enemies, and other anomalies and dangers, but such a quiet tragedy, happening literally under our noses, inaccessible to our understanding, yet no less felt? A collision with such a reality leaves an indelible impression. It is that same thrilling feeling when, in the last microsecond, you avoid the jaws of a huge predator and even deliver the final blow, though you yourself don't know how you managed it. Our house remained intact solely thanks to the incredible immunity of the Hero, with whom it seemed nothing in the world could happen; it was by his strength that we were saved then.
Several times the guys and I encountered mimics; it became a tradition for the Hero of the Source to remark: "Erefir, the real hero of this story is your armor; it saves your life more often than all of us combined. I hope that descendants will erect a separate monument to it." And it seemed Meshera could identify them easily; she was a hundred times more observant than I... Only somehow it happened that at the necessary moment she was busy with something else and wasn't looking toward the chests, studying a freshly killed monster, or architecture, or various plants; she doesn't react to the noisy me in such moments of thoughtfulness, and I just want to finish with the loot and move on—well, as is known, I am the most proactive, and that's why I constantly pay for it.
The first victim in my lifetime was Svegos. That same hellhound: our sorcerer stepped into the bushes, then we seemed to hear someone's very brief sniffing, and a second later we discovered the disappearance and gave chase, but we weren't in time: our mage of water and electricity was already dead beyond any hope.
Svegos was buried, and shortly thereafter I happened to see an unusual sight: our party encountered a lone traveler on the road. After talking a bit with the Hero of the Source, the traveler became inspired by his ideals and wanted to join our group, just like that. I was struck by this skill, and the whole charisma of this act—used a skill, gained a companion? Is it not wonderful, is it not fitting for heroes to leave such a strong impression on people's hearts that they call them to follow—and they respond? Only much later will I be able to more or less understand how such skills work and use them. But most of all, the question interested me at that moment... Could it be that I myself ended up in the party because the Hero previously used a special ability?
Our new ally was named Octogrim, and I will not describe him in detail now because he was with us for a short time (actually because a hypothetical reader of the diary should not be so simply introduced to the existence of races different from Anuzish ones). He was from A. and mastered rune magic; in other words, he could additionally enchant our equipment, which we took advantage of. In particular, he made indestructible the items that had been saving me from zombification all this time... It was unpleasant to feel that one small failure and you would become useless—but how many people in reality were my benefactors and practically for nothing!
Meanwhile, the research of Stantry and Meshera bore fruit, but at the same time, those fruits were unexpected. According to them, in the Dark Lands there was not one, but several points with mana leaks! Besides the main one, the Obelisk in the center of former K., experiments showed at least four more smaller in scale. Perhaps for some this news was frightening, but for us—encouraging, as at that moment approaching the Obelisk without a clear plan seemed like a mad idea, but everything changed because various hypotheses could be tested on one of the less dangerous objects. We headed toward one of them.
The plan was as follows: destroy monsters along the way as usual, avoid suspicious magical flows as usual (remember the will-o'-the-wisps; well, in this area there were especially many of them, so much so that sometimes it felt like a minefield). Then, within a certain radius, our light mage activated an artifact he created that generated a barrier: the peculiarity of this specific scientific thought was that the barrier worked only when the density of magical energy around reached a certain value, and drew its power from that very energy. More magic—more protection, including from that same magic... This worked like a charm. There was a fear that due to vortices something would go wrong and we would have to save ourselves using our feet, but that did not materialize; we advanced deeper, continuing to overcome dangers or avoid them in the usual way, and not suffering from the aggressive environment. Although it must be noted that the surrounding strangeness progressed; the boundaries between creatures and objects around were blurred, and they defied description. Now they were shapeless masses aggressively attacking you, now some glimmers, now ghosts screaming in despair; in some places there seemed to be stars, in others the future or past was visible... If Stantry had not replenished the supplies of his protective amulets, I don't know what would have happened to some of us in such an environment.
But we arrived. The ground beneath our feet did not change its state of matter, and the air did not turn into something living, as it did nearby: the barrier drained magic from everything and used it to protect the people inside from that very magic. And so, I didn't notice, but Meshera did: near the pillar of energy nearby stood a vessel, and silvery ray-threads were streaming toward it... In this place, where life itself seems impossible, someone had already been before us and had specific goals.
Suddenly we were attacked. It was not shapeless like everything in our surroundings, no; instead, its form resembled a hunched long-legged long-armed human, instead of a face there was a maw, and the skin shimmered like obsidian with inclusions of rutile stripes. However, although I spoke of a human silhouette, the habits of the creature seemed completely animalistic. Among other things, it awakened some primal fear in people that could not be overcome by protection against mind influence, because this fear was not of that kind... You weren't being hypnotized, but merely shown a nightmare in broad daylight. Most had the will to resist, but not Date; he ran outside the barrier and his scream abruptly turned into gurgling: jokes with wild magic are a bad idea. At this time, we felt the strikes of the monster's claws on us.
The beast avoided Meshera's spear and with a precise strike knocked her out of action, ignoring the cover of the Hero of the Source's shield. Octogrim was tougher and lasted a bit longer, but in the end, his belly was ripped open, and then, seeing that the sturdy warrior still remained conscious despite the pain, he was beheaded. All this time we tried unsuccessfully to at least hit our opponent, but he deftly parried and dodged all our attempts. Even Stantry's area magic hit only in one out of several cases, as the monster leaped away from it at the very last moment... At some point, I realized: even before I make a decision on where and how to strike, this thing already begins a maneuver that goes against my plans. There could be no doubt: the opponent saw the future!
Those remaining in the fight held on exclusively because the Hero and I tried not to let Stantry be attacked too often with our bodies, and he healed everyone while simultaneously maintaining the barrier—but it was clear that this could not continue for long. We were also lucky to have amulets from him, for the black slime dripping from the claws of the vessel guardian clearly did not inspire trust. Then our mage made a decision: and at the moment it happened, the monster suddenly retreated. The light mage fired dozens of meters beyond the barrier, roughly in the direction of the energy pillar, from some object, and then told everyone to lie on the ground, which we did.
A moment later, a strong, hurricane wind swept in, and we saw the vessel sucked into a vortex near the pillar, and then streams of mana from all around flowed in, along with matter, but visually there was less matter. Our monster was slashed by something and lost a claw, but then still escaped practically unharmed. This continued for two minutes, during which nature around miraculously became more normal, though only by Dark Lands standards: it was still strange and frightening, but at least it lost its volatility. Then the vortex collapsed, the wind blew in the opposite direction, and everything returned to the state before our arrival. Almost... Meshera was barely managed to be revived, Octogrim could not be revived at all—no magic could put his head back on—and not a trace of Date remained.
-- Two minutes of success, -- I said disappointedly.
-- A full two minutes, -- Stantry said surprisingly, stitching the elf's wounds. -- Of course, the sacrifices of our comrades weren't worth it, but this is much, much longer than I expected. We really have a chance to stop the cataclysm.
-- The gradual path is the surest, and miracles are the result of a long and persistent struggle with the impossible, -- our thoughtful Hero concluded this dialogue. -- Date and Octogrim, truly, have already left their names in history, -- this man we followed was always like that... His voice knew how to sound sad and sympathetic according to what was happening, unlike mine, but at the same time gave hope and motivated us to go further.
The Hero of the Source took the war hammer of our beheaded comrade and stuck it into the ground next to him. It was in this group that I understood the importance of such rituals; whether a person was known or not, they never deprived anyone of attention and did not forget, harboring sincere feelings of gratitude and grief. Even if these gestures had no formal meaning, for as soon as we moved the barrier, the mana flows would destroy the improvised grave...
There was a complication with Date, but I still wanted to do something for him at the end, so I persuaded Stantry and we moved to the spot where the archer perished; the others agreed to wait a bit while I said goodbye to my friend. I don't remember anymore what I said—despite the desire to do everything right, I was sometimes a bit wild; years of hermitry could not pass without a trace. I remember that at some point I saw a small monster in the stones, an unpleasant-looking slug the size of a palm; such a trifle is usually ignored, but here its very presence on the grave seemed to me an insult to Date's memory. I swung my sword and noticed a strangeness: I saw the incomprehensible creature tremble and try to run away (although with its speed, it was very, very poor, fitting to recall jokes about snails). Not that this behavior of weak single monsters was new to me, but something in the timing and characteristics of movement unsettled me... I put away my sword. The slime stopped running and waved a pseudopod in my direction. Through a few more attempts to establish communication with the unusual creature, I had to come to the strange conclusion that contrary to predictions, my friend Date was still alive and even relatively sane, although extremely frightened... Which was encouraging on one hand, but on the other made me think about a new unexpected problem.
Out of respect for fragile, altered Date, I was shy to send him into a bag; instead, I placed him in a camping mug, and hung the latter on my belt so as not to carry it in my hands: those hands could be useful in a fight with real monsters. It seems I even received a small passive bonus for such equipment... Which is actually rather sad. After that, on the way back from the mana source, we discussed what happened with the Hero, Stantry, and Meshera, who surprisingly quickly regained her clarity of mind after the injury, and the conclusion was simple: our shepherd had already miraculously escaped death, and we have no possibilities to reverse his condition at the current moment. Still, much is possible in the Dark Lands; this amazing place, despite all its horrors, was a natural source of miracles, we just had to catch luck by the tail. Objectively, we haven't even cured my zombie virus yet, so a tiny creature with one health point should definitely be left temporarily in a safe place until a miraculous cure is found. I had only one such place in mind and one person to whom this could be entrusted...
While Stantry and Meshera decided to work on improving the magic drain, and the Hero—to prepare for a future possible clash with a drekavak (that's what they privately dubbed the recent monster). I, wasting no time, set off with Date in the mug to where the village of Ssaraksh was presumably supposed to be, hoping for multifaceted help from Villina. They gave me most of the severed claw of the drekavak.
35 entries completed.
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