Samen, you switch your grip and go from the right this time, hitting the snarling animal squarely in the temple. It falls bonelessly to the ground.
Wamblee, the west wolf is deeply cut by the sharp blade of the kama, but nonetheless follows through on the attack with its pack-brother.
That same wolf attacks with a renewed vigor, hate shining in its eyes. It bites much deeper this time, finally drawing some blood.
Samoon draws his bow instead, seeing the same threat that Marianne does - the pack leader.
Unfortunately the arrow goes wide.
---
Finally, the leader goes. Absolutely enraged by Marianne's lucky hit, he charges toward her, jaw slavering.
In his anger, the wolf stumbles over a rock that Wmablee's strange display of power has knocked loose. He overshoots you and misses entirely.
Round 4 Begins!
Uncle is doing far worse - he starts to breathe erratically.
Albreane jumps into the wagon to check on your mother.
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Samen sees his family handling things off in the distance, and his broken uncle at his feet and decides to try "helping" again. "This ought to cauterize your wounds. Or dissolve your flesh. Either way, this solves your problems."
For a moment, nothing happens. Then, the tiny, clear beads of acid seem to be absorbed by Uncle's mahogany skin. He takes one deep, gasping breath, then lulls into a steady, unconscious slumber.
The kamas are insufficient. So be it, now the sansetsukon.
In a blurred motion, Wamblee's hands move. The kamas are back at his side and the three part staff is in motion, a blow aimed at the same wolf.
He yells:
"Two wolves will not claim a student of the stone!"
The long arm of the three-section staff gains a terrible momentum as it whistles in the air. You strike true, dropping the western wolf like a bag of wet laundry.
The other wolf, seeing you knock over its pack-brother with almost no seeing effort, turns tail and runs.
Samoon does a double move to run near the wolf remaining. "Mar! I can't shoot--I may hit you!" he yells.
”Take the shot!” Marianne yells, scrambling away from the wolf, drawing it towards Wamblee and Samen even as Samoon starts to move.
Great idea with the acid Samen! Wait a minute... does this mean you can use acid splash for healing yourself too?!
Seeing a wolf battling Marriane, Wamblee charges, staff whirling.
Marianne leads the beast northeast, roughly between Samen and Wamblee. There is a gap between the two for a moment. Samoon takes the shot, trusting in his archery more than his daggerplay.
The arrow flys true, sinking an inch into the wolf's chest. The large wolf looks around, the motion strange with Marianne's arrow in its left eye. It sees Samoon, yet another threat; it also seems to notice all of its pack-brothers gone, or not moving. With a last angry snarl at Marianne, the pack leader dashes away, instantly swallowed by the yellow brush.
Combat Over!
Wamblee does not pursue the fleeing beast, instead stowing his staff and jogging towards the wagon.
He calls out as he reaches it:
"Mother! Uncle! Bree! Are you alright?"
”I just twisted my ankle a bit, and Bree’s fine too, she’s checking on Mother. Uncle should be back by you.”
"He's fine, but I'll need help getting him in the wagon. Is it still functional?"
"I'm fine," says Mother in a weak voice. "Took a little tumble, but nothing broken."
Wamblee looks at the wagon.
"Samen, I need you to give me a hand with this. Mar, Samoon, can you do anything about the pogona?"
"That's Mar's wheelhouse," says Samoon, walking over to look at the dead wolf.
He squats over the body, trying to figure out if it's a natural beast or corrupted by the Dark.
"We need to buy some Sky-blasted healing potions," he says to no-one, looking at the wolf still.
”Easy there,” Marianne whispers soothingly, approaching the pogona carefully. ”No more wolves, you’re alright now. Let us see to that cut,” she continues to speak quietly to the animals until finally they allow her to talks the reins and lead them back to the road.
Between Marianne's easy way with the pogona and the combined oread brothers' strength, the wagon is back on the road with no real problems. Uncle is loaded into the wagon, unconscious but stable. Mother stays in the back to look after him.
Wamblee will spend much of his time walking by the wagon, to the right.
Samen will ride in the back.
While some of you keep an eye out for wolves or other threats, the rest of the day passes uneventfully. The crags of Forge become the gentler slopes of home, and you all recognize familiar landmarks - Old Bertrude's hut, smelling of various herbs ; the Rocco farm, forever planting root vegetables; and the first real sight of Rokerenge, the Mayor's mansion sitting atop Toenail Hill. Dim will be upon you soon.
"Albreane, we're in uncharted waters now," says Samoon. "How do you wish to proceed regarding your father's claim? Should we to the mine or records first?"
Traveling up the dirt path, you smell chickens, and the traces of a cooking fire on the wind. A few of the hens cluck at you from the safety of their coops.
As you approach the entrance, a gust of wind roars up, seemingly out of nowhere. The wooden door opens with a clack. Within, you see old, thin-boned fingers gesturing. The smoke-smell is stronger now. Cedar, perhaps.
A friendly (if somewhat meandering) voice says, "Your wind told me you were coming ten minutes ago, love."
You enter a clean, functional workspace, all wooden tables, shelves, and tools. Bertrude is sitting next to a narrow table surrounded by medical supplies. You can see the healer is working on a sparrow's wing.
"You have grown stronger, have ye not?" She is obviously talking to Marianne.
Marianne smiles fondly at the old ele. ”Aye Bertrude,” she says. ”I. I probably should have mentioned this sooner,” the ele blushes, glancing at her family, ”but I found an aspect of Sky.” Marianne visibly stops herself from continuing. ”You should probably see to Uncle Howie first though,”
"He's in the wagon, Bertrude," says Samoon, brushing off road dust before entering, and bowing to an elder. "Took a bad bump on his head. We were set upon by wolves." .
He scratches his head, peering at the sparrow-work. "Er, our pogona started bleeding. Might have gotten footsore, but I'm not sure."
The wise ele looks back at all of you - one clear blue eye sees straight, while a dimmer-looking eye, nearly black, gazes slightly to the right. She nods, then returns to her work. She finishes sewing the wing, neatly and efficiently. She pats the sparrow, and it seems to go to sleep. Waving toward the door, she says, "Well, first thing's first, as they say."
Uncle's body is put on a longer table. Though Uncle has always been on the long-boned and skinny side, he seems truly skeletal now as he mutters uneasily in his sleep.
As she stands up from the smaller workbench, you see she is wearing a random smattering of hand-me-down clothing, some of which resemble worn rags. They are wrapped together in strange-looking knots. Her long sylph-black hair is tied back in another strange knot.
With skilled hands, she makes a foul-smelling poultice and tucks it behind Uncle's head, working more quickly than most of you can easily follow.
Just as Samen is about to peek his tattooed face in through the door, the witch says, "I'll not have yer kind in here, warlock. Stay out - that's your only warning."
Samen would've helped bring him in.
"Ugh. Fine, witch. Whatever you say. He'd have died out there without my help, but I get it, ink in the skin is definitely a good reason to shun people. Let me know if we need to schedule another funeral."
He leaves without further comment and heads home, hoping the book is still where he left it.
Wamblee brings Uncle in, knowing Samen would not be welcome.
"Hello Betrude. Unfortunately, there is more blood with our return than we'd like."
Bertrude shrugs. "Blood ain't n'ssarly the fault of the bleeder."
With Uncle resting more comfortably, she turns to Marianne and asks as if no time has passed, "And what aspect would that be, love?"
Samen, you head sharply north, planning on avoiding most of the town by staying east of it. You have to climb a rather tall, steep hill to go this way, but you have never found it bothersome. It gives you time to yourself. Your footfalls through the fallen leaves of autumn are noisy, but the rest of the wooded hillside is quietly falling asleep for the coming winter.
As it happens, the downhill route takes you close to your shack in the woods - your book might be there, not at home.
Better check at home first. I'm pretty sure I left it on my bed. Though I guess it's not my bed anymore. Hardly seems relevant right now.
Wamblee will assist as he is able. If not with the healing, then with cleaning dishes or anything else that needs doing.
He feels the need to do *something*.
”I’ve actually found two, but... I don’t really understand the first one,” Marianne admits, a frown creasing her face for a moment, before the joyous gleam returns to her eyes as she continues. ”The second one is Queen Zephyr, her domain seems to consist of wisdom and understanding. She governs questions, reflection, philosophy, news, those sorts of things.Prince Raven is the first I found, but like I said, I do not truly understand him. He is some sort of patron of seekers, questers after knowledge, especially if it is forbidden. But, there is also mention of the things called stars, and some vast void beyond that I don’t understand.”
Samen, the house is empty, emptier than it has ever been. Father is not coming back. Even his chair seems more like a cheap painting rather than a real object.
You find the book right on top of your (former) bed.
Wamblee, you do some general sweeping (you find a broom right by the door) to productively occupy your time. As you make your way to the kitchen and larders, Mother comes in from helping Albreane. She sees you, and walks over. "Even when you were a child, you were never still. You always found some little project to help you focus." She smiles widely, though there are a few tears in her eyes, as well. Brushing them away, she says, "Sorry, I'm going to cry and anything and everything right now."
Marianne, your former teacher is silent for a long minute. Both of her eyes look away from you, seeking different corners of the room. "Why did you leave town? And why are ye back in such a rush," she gestures back to Uncle, " and in such a mess?"
"Are you seeking forbidden knowledge, love, and getting into mischief?" Her mouth quirks at the corner, showing she is not entirely serious.
Wamblee puts the broom aside, and then steps in to hug Mother.
”The winds blew me,” Marianne says simply with a shrug. ”They’ve been restless since Father died, it was obviously time to leave. Honestly, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see Rockerenge again once we left, let alone be back in days.” Despite her words, the sylph’s winds are serene as she lays out recent events to the old ele. ”As for the more mundane reasons for leaving, father left some rather interesting inheritance...” she begins, reverently handing over the scroll for Old Bertrude to examine while she tells the tale.
Samen smiles at the empty house. He's reunited with his book, and everything is finally quiet. This is the happiest he's been in days.
He grabs some rocks out of the larder, lights a lamp, and relaxes down into his father's chair with his book. With any luck, it'll have something in it that pertains to these accursed curios.
Old Bertrude listens to your story, offering all of you simple fare from her cupboards while the tale is told. She banks the fire, keeping it low for the night.
She nods as you finish, and continues nodding to herself as she carefully examines the scroll. "Did ye say you can read this? What...what language is it?"
The rustling of the parchment startles the sparrow awake. It chirps in a high-pitched, meandering tone, then flies out one of the many open skylights in the witch's hut.
You can clearly understand that the bird says "Thank you" as it leaves, though you also know it is simply chirping.
Wamblee, Mother returns the hug fiercely. Sniffling a bit, she says, "Well, I'm worn out. I'm going to ask Samoon to escort me home before he makes a fool of himself in front of Albreane. Will you make sure Mari makes it home safely?"
Samen, flipping back to the beginning of the book (before the Urn Wars and all the other nonsense the ifrits subjected the other races to after Sky fell), you recall skimming over the odd projects the sylph population took on after the original city of Light disappeared into the Dark.
Many sylphs went mad after their god died. They devised endless schemes to revive Sky: the creation of gasworks that were the precursor to modern alchemy, in order to 'purify' the air into its basic essences ; the construction of elen-sized kites and giant balloons in the attempt to pierce through the Dark above ; and the assembling of strange suits of armor attached to hoses carrying air...
The last entry catches your eye. These 'diving suits', after being soundly rejected by undine society as a means of plumbing the depths of River, were used by foolhardy sylphs attempting to brave the Breathless Valleys. There is one apocryphal account of such a sylph surviving a brief trip down. The tale claims that the explorer floated about like a sylph-made balloon, and shortly thereafter stopped breathing.