Fahren al-Heit - 11 D-note Death

The cold salt breeze drifts into the Tou-tou tavern with the coming and goings of clientele. Mi Chi grumbles as she clears another table and sweeps the dried mud up and out of the way for another set of mucky feet. I know she is adding more water to the draughts as the evening goes on. This practice is not uncommon. A sizeable crowd is upstairs trading trinkets and tales. My tea has cooled to the point I can sip it. The warmth of the earthenware cup that cradles the steamy liquid replaces the cold of the winter day as it permeates me from within. With the onset of winter I wish for gauntlets that were both sturdy enough to withstand a Tuskers blow yet warm enough to be comfortable. I have forsaken my Gahru’n robe for a warmer Sho one. I don’t battle anything but the nights in it. The irony of it strikes a grin across my face. I can summon forth-mystical powers to provide a shield against all but the most powerful cold bolts, yet here I am huddled around a teacup for warmth.

As I travel the roads I see more and more settlements dotting the landscape. Inside I imagine the occupants are warm and cozy they decorate their walls with victories and memories and new found objects. I have spent a good number of my days hunting the Tumerok who can end my journey of the fourth school. If I can have luck enough to find him I will have the elusive creature magic. My skills have been progressing slowly as of late. There seems to be so much time but not enough focus on my goal. Even these plateau hunts are done almost as much as a diversion from facing the old and too familiar Black Spawn Den. This respite in Tou-tou is after a particularly harrowing run in which I was the hunted more then the hunter. Maybe the old ways are the better way. The Magi that taught me as a youth tolled on and on about the short path taking longer and making one less sure. With a sigh, I am resolved. I shall earn my stripes as the Battle mages before the Island was discovered. Although, I cannot face Tuskers yet again there has been too many to abide. With my tea finished I place a few coins on the low table and amble out into the chill. Nearby there is a cozy room to which to spend the night.

The dawn brings promise of a new day. Some flatbread and apples break the sleeping fast of the night. The sun teases its way around the door beckoning me forth. Tou-tou is alive with adventurers some who have hunted through the night others who are just starting the day as am I. With my pack shouldered I slide open the door and greet the morning. Golden beams reflect off the settling snow. Rabbits scamper playfully across the road. The sounds of laughing, spells being cast and bartering goods hang in the air. I cannot help but smile as the promise today holds. Nonetheless, I have no set hunting for today. I am not sure where to go. A depressing thought of running the spawn den creeps into my skull. I will not succumb to that today. I just needed inspiration and a sense of adventure

As if the fates had read through my furrowed brow a conversation near me perks up my ears. I hear a fellowship is forming to fight the coral golems on the northern isle. I have long heard of the rewards these automatons hold and the prospect of hunting with others of my ilk is appealing. Not only will the rewards be greater but also they will be more familiar with the golems and how best to fight them. I check and see I have let my components run down. My pouch does jingle with pyreals and I decide to quickly run to Lin via a nearby portal and restock.

By the time I return I find they have already departed. I curse that in my eagerness I neglected to mention I wished to travel with them. I do know the way to go though. I have some trade notes of the proper denomination. So Al-Jalima beckons me from the Forest of Lin through Kayayaban. The desert sun feels good as it warms my armor despite the chill in the air. Ah the desert winters in the Ispar of my youth. Across a plain I trek until the sylsfear portal looms close. Without hesitation I dive into the portal then I begin the all to familiar ritual of baneing and protecting and recovering mana. Soon the magic does crackle about me in layers of protection that make those who dwell below a minor threat. I head into the depths. I slay the shadows with nary a second thought and enter into the portal that lies far below. I am taken to the high desert of the southern dire lands near a series of bunkers, the last of which has the emissary.

This undead harkens back to an age long before Asheron himself. He is a sad figure preserving what is already lost. I wish it were in my power to release him to whatever place his tortured soul will go. Yet these are isparian concepts and may not even apply here. Are we not all denied an afterlife because of Asheron’s manipulations? Could we be said to be not unlike the undead themselves? I have neither the will nor inclination to finish this internal debate. This path I am on will lead me to my goal and it’s on this path I am determined to go.

I only need to walk up and hand him a trade note and he will spin a portal to the northern isle called Aerlinthe. The only thing that will impede me is the Mumyia’s, Rats, Ascendant Drudges and Tuskers that are all to nearby. I debate fighting my way across. It would be my fondest hope to have someone else take the trek and me merely follow.

I dash out trying an oblique path. I thread the needle between the Drudges and undead. I have the note close at hand and Desert rats greet me as I hand in the note. A blast from behind alerts me to the fact that I ran too close to the Drudges. At least one has its sights set upon me. Thinking quickly I run around the nearest crypt and the Drudge follows, I speed past the opening and around the far corner. The beast so intent upon me runs into the opening, thinking that was my destination. With glee I note the portal coalescing in a white spiral pattern before me. As the desert fades behind me I find myself many leagues to the north. The coolness of the air here is weighted with moisture. I hear an unfamiliar growling as portal space releases me. Suddenly the crackle of lightning burns across my arms. I am under attack by higher drudges! The raised stone platform I am on has another spinning portal upon it. I could dash through there but I’m not sure of the dangers beyond it. I instead execute a jump off the near side. My plan is a quick retreat. My foe has other ideas. Before I can finish my jump he scores two more hits with his sword. Despite the pain I hit the ground running as a lightning bolt smashes me back to the mage LS in Tou-tou. Again the sedentary life of hunting Tuskers disturb me. I forgot to tie near the portal. Now I must retrace my steps. I feel as a novice.

As luck would have it only a few trinkets stayed with my departed shell. It’s harrowing, heading back the same path just taken. My footprints in the sand mock me as I follow the trail I just blazed. I would call it De'javu except for the fact that I DID recently do this. Again I enter the sylsfar dungeon, again I prepare to fight the shadows, and again I vanquish them and enter the portal to the dire-lands. This time I bind myself to the lifestone. I head towards the portal spinner, note in hand. I do not use the same care this time and as I hand my second D-note to the undead some Sclavi, strangely out of place, attack me with their acid. The first hit lets me know that I didn’t apply that protection. I quickly head to the bunkers to shield myself from the spell only to find a warrior has followed me with its acid blade. This death hurts more, my gauntlets helm and solleretts are gone. I have a fine alluvian robe I can use my item skills upon to make it not unlike a fine set of armor. My hands would be exposed and this weak point in my shielding would prove costly. With little choice I use the nearby portal to Hebian-to and purchase some gauntlets.

This time my spells do fizzle and my pack lightens with the loss of components. Components, the dread of a mage, the high cost and burden of them vexes me as it does all those wielding the mana. I am lost in my musings as a group of Banderling’s run past me. They are chasing and catch a hapless warrior. He is dead before he hits the ground. I look to the lifestone to see if he is bound here. He is not. Suddenly an imperil spell springs up around me! Followed by an impossibly fast series of spells weakening me and rendering my magic near useless. The portal nearby is my panicked goal as two berserk banderling’s run up to engage me in combat. With my protections up and my vitality full I would be able to withstand them. As I am now I feel I can barely escape with my life.

I am wrong. The catch lay and me me low. As I coalesce at the lifestone four of them are already pounding on me, trying to bypass the protections of Asheron. My wand was left on my last body. I have lost track of which body has what gear. I need to recall away from these creatures. I fumble for my explorer wand of Item. It has been awhile since I have needed them. My first attempt fails and I note my mana levels are much to low. I use the life skill to deplete my stamina and restore my mana. In my haste I trigger a drain spell instead and the banderlings pound me into mulch. They are still pounding me as I again appear at the lifestone. This time the recall succeeds and with a sigh of relief I am in portal space.

The Titus Lugian awaiting me outside the Pantipicon eagerly relieves my body of the burden of my head. As I return to the banderling hoard I see that they are running away. I slump on top of my corpses and realize that perhaps hunting Tuskers isn’t so bad after all.
_________________
-Fahren al-Heit (loyal follower of the Silver Citadel)

Original Thread : 11 D-note Death (Fahrenheit Journal entry)