Nothing clears brain fog like someone collapsing right next to you.
Whether the last vestiges of her mutagen have finally worn off, or the sudden spike of adrenaline purged her weariness enough to finally see what's wrong with Sarge, she can't say, but she recognizes a heart attack immediately.
By the time the medic arrives, Catie is already slashing off the straps of the old man's armored plating with her knife, tossing it aside, and performing chest compressions.
With the medic's aid, Catie finally gives one hard thump on Sarge's breastbone and he gasps, though his eyes immediately roll into the back of his head as he falls unconscious.
The adrenaline slowly fades, and Catie drops onto her butt, knees drawn, and gives a deep, weary sigh. "If I hadn't been so damn distracted, I would've noticed it sooner." She glances to the side and notices the valerian root that had dropped from Sarge's hand, and barks a laugh. "Old bastard saved his own damn life." She shows the medic and the mayor the valerian root. "It can slow the progression of a heart attack if chewed while it's happening. I think it reduced its severity just enough that I could revive him. Gods, what dumb luck."
She slowly gets to her feet, sheathing the dagger. Thank the gods she decided to finally start carrying one!
With the medic's help, she gently lifts the old man into her arms. She should've expected the weight, given all the plate mail he's wearing, but it still surprises her. He's so old, she still expected him to weigh hardly anything, but Vargus is shockingly muscular for a sixty-year-old.
With the help of the medic and Crawbert, she slowly heads to the medical tents with her new charge.
Now that the excitement is over, guilt creeps into her thoughts. Her precious mutagen had muddled her thoughts, compounded by fatigue from days of fighting, to make her miss the incredibly obvious signs of a heart attack, and Sarge very nearly died from it. Not an enemy's blade or spell, but her own gods-damned carelessness. Some healer she turned out to be.
She lays him down in an empty cot and begins unfastening the rest of his armor properly, setting the pieces aside and re-dressing him in clean linens. She absently wonders if Vargus would be embarrassed by being naked in front of her, but somehow she doubts it. He might be an ex-paladin, but he's never struck her as a prude. Once he's clothed, she takes a damp, cool washcloth and places it over his forehead, checking his pulse every few minutes to make sure there are no spikes.
Aubrin sits next to Katia and takes her hand. She doesn't speak for a while, instead sitting in silence, taking comfort in the warmth of another human being. "I started as a ranger, you know, 20ish years ago now. I didn't hear Cayden calling on me until several years of watching my brothers and sisters in the Chernesardo fall. I suffered with survivor's guilt for quite some time before I decided to do something about it. And so I finally listened to what Cayden was trying to tell me: that I was His chosen and my purpose is to oppose the f~*%ing bastards of the world, like the Ironfang Legion." She pauses for a few moments, probably thinking back to those early days as a cleric. "I hated it, Katia. Why f#$!ing me and all that. I can't tell you how many times I cursed Cayden Cailean. But I kept doing it, and over time scenes like this started getting under my skin." She gestures through the open door of the temple, at the people of Longshadow banding together to clean up, tend to the wounded, and raise each other up. "What happened here is a tragedy, but it also a remarkable victory." She catches Katia's gaze and holds it. "You'll notice I didn't say 'miracle'. This victory was unlikely but it wasn't a miracle. It was the result of your and your companions' grit and fight."
She pauses again and lets out a sigh. "So. No, Katia, it doesn't ever end. No matter how many f%%$ing bastards we stop, there are always more f!!+ing bastards. But these f#$@ing bastards? We stopped them. You stopped them. The people of Longshadow have a long recovery ahead of them, but you saved them from death, or worse. Being called to oppose the f&~!ing bastards of the world is not fair, Katia. It is terrible and no one should have to do it. But we do it, because we are strong enough, and those we protect are not."
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Katia wipes the tears from her eyes and wraps the older cleric in a big hug. "Thanks, Aubrin. I needed that."
She holds the embrace as long as she can; she's never been one for displays of affection, and it feels deeply uncomfortable, but she also knows she needs it. Maybe Aubrin does, too. She's been in the thick of all this from the beginning, just like her. Just like Freyja.
Not Oona, though. Or Mac. Grevayne doesn't really come to mind for her, of course, since she never actually met the guy, but the fact that the rough-around-the-edges inquisitor and her mangy mutt aren't here hurts. She never even got to say goodbye to them; they died while she slept. It's so damned unfair.
With a final squeeze, she lets go of Aubrin, stands up, and adjusts her battered, blood-soaked dress and corset. "Okay. Let's go patch some people up."
She offers Aubrin a hand and a smile. It's a shaky hand, and a quavering smile, but they are there. For now, it is enough.
Aubrin and Katia work late into the day helping whom they can. At some point, Crawbert runs across them and repeats his offer to stay at his manor (which is damaged but still standing). When they can stand no more, they work for another hour, and then finally retire to the mayor's house (Aubrin left a message with the clerics in the temple to let Freyja know where they are when she wakes up). Aubrin collapses on the first piece of furniture she finds and is snoring within seconds.
Freyja dreams of Grevayne. Somewhat miraculously, the dream is a pleasant one; although they spend very few moments of actual peace and quiet together in real life, her mind graciously spares her the pain of reminding her how he spent his last hours. Instead, they are hunting together, though their conversation is loud enough that they wouldn't be making any kills on this hunt. The dream seems to last for hours, and they speak of many things, but hobgoblins, the Ironfang Legion, and the war never come up. It is the most pleasant few hours she has had in she doesn't know how long.
And then it's over.
She awakens with a start, and the first thing that goes through her mind is Grevayne is dead. The second thing is the agony that her body is in: as if fighting a battle nonstop for 36 hours wasn't taxing enough, she decided to cap it all off by sleeping in her armor on a stone floor. She winces and suppresses a cry of pain as she gets to her feet. Trjega isn't beside her anymore, but she can hear people in the next room talking to her, so she doesn't immediately panic. She gingerly walks into the next room and can't help but smile at the sight of Trjega comforting a young child who has lost an arm. The cleric delivers Aubrin's message and shares directions to the mayor's house. Freyja thanks him and gathers her things. On her way out the door, she starts to call Trjega to her side, but stops herself. She turns to one of the clerics. "Can I leave her here for a while? She seems to have found her calling as a nurse." The cleric smiles and nods.
Freyja rubs Trjega's ears, gives her a kiss, and leaves the temple.
Three days pass. The party spends their time resting, recovering, and helping out where they can. As the town clears most of the debris and accounts for all of its dead, it becomes clear that it persisted through the siege better than anyone would've dared to hope. Still, its losses are not insignificant, so there is little cheering. Despite the occasional curmudgeon who thinks that the party brought the Legion down upon them (which is provably false, though proof probably wouldn't mean much to the type of person to say that), the people by and large seem thankful for the party's presence; some even share quiet words of gratitude.
On the morning of the fourth day after the siege, the party awakens to a message from the mayor to meet him at the town hall. Once they arrive, he welcomes them into his office and beckons for them to take a seat. Once everyone is settled, he rests on the edge of his desk (as is his wont), and begins speaking. "I'll get right to it: you saved Longshadow. We got our nose bloodied, but the Legion wanted us for our mining expertise; we would have been enslaved to fuel the warmachine and no doubt worked literally to death. There is no way to repay our debt to you, but I can try. Elise!" He and Elise clearly had this worked out earlier, because the door opens immediately after he calls her name. Elise walks in, along with two guardsmen struggling with a large coffer. They set it down, salute Elise and Crawbert, and leave. The mayor nods, then opens the coffer. Inside are thousands of gold pieces. "This is 12,000 gold. The merchants and the Bank of Abadar raised it as a reward for your assistance. Additionally, the merchants have collectively decided to offer you a 5% discount for life. They think they will be able to reopen within a week or two."
If anyone tries to speak, he holds his hand up. "I'm not done yet. Navah!"
Again, the door opens immediately, and Navah enters. Her arm is in a sling, but she seems otherwise unharmed. She smiles at the party. "I owe you my life twice over, so the blacksmiths and I have been working on something special for you for the past few days." She displays an absolutely breathtaking set of chainmail. "This is celestial armor. I hope it will keep one of you safe in the fights to come."
Crawbert's adventuring days are long behind him, but he can't help but eye the armor enviously. "There isn't much more to say. Thank you, truly."
Catie looks uncomfortably from Crawbert to Aubrin. She can't quite convince herself to make eye contact with Katia or Freyja. "I, uh. Thanks. Look, I need to talk to you about something."
She clears her throat, shifting awkwardly. "I... need a place to stay." She forces herself to look at Katia, albeit guiltily. "Permanently."
She holds up a hand to stop Katia, even though the witch looks too dumbstruck to speak.
"Rainart is awake. He's recovering, but it looks like the damage from the heart attack was severe. He can't walk without a cane, and his swordarm is basically useless. He might get that back with some physical therapy, but not in the next few days. Or months, for that matter. We wouldn't have won this without him. His command, his blade, and his battle strategy. This place is my home. Or was. Maybe it can be again, I dunno. But it means a lot to me, so I owe him. And... somewhere around here are my parents. I haven't seen them in decades. I... I miss them. I want to find them, maybe reconnect, if they're willing. Besides, there's a lot of work to do around here to get Longshadow patched up. I want to help."
She puffs out a breath and turns to Freyja, now. "I hope you both understand."
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To her utter disbelief, Katia isn't angry. She isn't hurt, or even annoyed. She's... relieved. At first, she thinks it's because of what happened on the battlements during the fighting, but she quickly realizes that's not it.
"Good," Katia says, drawing a shocked look from the alchemist. She smiles, trying hard not to cry. "If you're here, you're safe. You're not out there fighting. I'm going to keep going. I have to. I need to see them stopped. But I... I can't stand to lose any more people I love. I don't know if I can take it."
The tears do come, now. "I'm scared. Not for me, but for everyone else. Our friends keep dying for this damned war. I don't want to lose anymore of them if I don't have to."
Catie, unsure how to take all that, opens and closes her mouth a few times. Wait. Did she just say...? Don't read into it, dummy. Probably not what she meant.
"But..." she starts indignantly. Why is she fighting her on this? She's agreeing! What the Hells, Catie! But her mouth acts before her brain can stop it. "But what about Freyja? Isn't she a friend? Are you going to tell her she can't come?"
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Katia laughs despite herself. "Of course not. I could just as soon convince a river not to run as convince Freyja to stay out of this fight. But yes, I'll worry. Every day, every night, every fight. But better to fear one loss than two. Besides, I would never try to stop anyone from doing what they feel is right. If you wanted to continue with us, I wouldn't stop you. But I would worry terribly. You staying here, taking care of Sarge, it will ease some of my fears. And that is a huge boon right now. I know it's not why you're doing it, but... but thank you anyway."
She wants to embrace Catie, but thinks better of it and sits back in her chair stiffly, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
Catie has no such reservations. She stands from her chair and yanks the witch bodily from hers, wrapping her in her big arms and squeezing her close. "You little dummy," she murmurs. She buries her face in Katia's dark curls, memories of her scent flooding back to her. Catie knows she made the right decision on the battlements, but that doesn't mean she doesn't still care for the stupid witch like crazy.
She finally pulls away, giving Katia a goofy grin, before turning and hugging Freyja, if the ranger lets her. "I'll be around while you're still in town, so don't be strangers. And gods, please be careful out there. And don't go alone! There's gotta be one or two good fighters in this town willing to join you wherever this fight takes you. And... when it's all over..."
She turns back to Katia, blushing uncharacteristically. "When it's over, if your path brings you back here... I'd... like that."
Freyja feels a sudden pang of jealousy that Catie is leaving the fight. She immediately flushes red, and then curses her damn face for making her emotions so obvious all the time.
But she can't help it: this war has taken so much from her. Oona, Mac, Grevayne, very nearly Katia, and now Sarge (but at least he still lives). She would love nothing more than to stop fighting.
But... the war isn't over. If she stops fighting, others still will. And she will still lose people close to her. At least if she is fighting too, she can try to protect those she loves. She doesn't feel like she has done a great job so far, but if she is honest with herself, she actually kind of has. She killed that dragon by herself.
Also, if she keeps fighting... maybe she will meet her end. She doesn't want to leave Trjega, and she doesn't feel suicidal, but she has to admit that it would be nice for it all to be over.
But now she is getting morbid, and she realizes that the room has been silent for a few long seconds. She gets up and hugs Catie. "I understand. Sarge is in good hands." She is surprised to have to wipe away a tear -- she doesn't know Catie that well -- but she supposes that nothing bonds two people faster than fighting a battle side by side.
She sits back down. "And thank you, Mayor Crawbert. I am glad that we were able to help. I am sorry we couldn't save more than we did."
Crawbert smiles at Freyja. "You did more than we dared to hope."
Then he turns to Catie. "You are doing a noble thing, Catie. And of course you have a home here. Once we rebuild, we will make sure to find a place for you to live. Until then, you are welcome at my manor for as long as you need." He looks at the others. "That goes for all of you. I know this isn't over, but I assume you'll at least stay until the merchants reopen so you can resupply?" He pauses for a second. "Actually, that reminds me: you were going to tell me what you found in Kosseruk's camp, but then Sarge... happened... and we've been so busy ever since that we never came back to the conversation. What did you find? Do you know where you are going next?"
Catie nods eagerly at the mayor to emphasize the ranger's words. "Agreed. You've been terribly generous."
She suddenly sits back down at the mayor's words, smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Of course! I'm sorry, mayor. It's been a wild few days."
She then proceeds to fill in the mayor, letting Katia and Freyja jump in with additional information when she misses something.
Crawbert nods grimly. "The Valley of Aloi. Nasty place, lots of morlocks. If only I were younger, I would go with you." He shakes his head. "But I suppose that isn't my life anymore. I will support you how I am able. When do you intend to leave? And... pardon me for asking, but is it just going to be you two?" He indicates Freyja and Katia. His forehead is creased with worry, and you genuinely don't believe he meant "how can two little ladies go fight the big scary hobs?"
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Katia decides to take no offense. The mayor has, as yet, not struck her as being stupid, and he's seen what they can do. It's a lot. But he's got a point; two people against an entire army is laughable.
"No," she says finally. "We'll need to find one or two to raise our numbers. Perhaps the Chernesardo will have someone they can spare. Or more. We can hope for more. We'll take what we can get."
Catie clears her throat awkwardly. "I, er. Better get back to my patient before he harangues the medical staff for taking his precious sword away. Like he can swing it anyway," she adds with a dramatic eye roll.
She stands and gives Freyja another hug, before taking Katia into her arms again. She holds it a little longer than she should, but it's hard to let go. "Find help, both of you. Don't do this alone. I'm... I'm sorry I'm not coming with you. Just, be safe. And come back. Please."
She bites her lip, wanting to say more but not sure how to say it, so she hurries out the door to the office as quickly as she can, hoping Katia didn't see the tears in her eyes.
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Katia nestles her head into the crook of Catie's neck, but she can't bring herself to return the statement. She just gives the alchemist one last squeeze and turns away, eyes wet.
Once Catie's left, she looks at Crawbert, wiping her eyes and feeling weird for crying in front of him. "We'll stay a couple weeks. Hopefully we find some additional bodies in that time, but even if not, we can use it to train and study. I've got some spells I'd like to track down and add to my repertoire, if I can."
Meanwhile, on the other side of Longshadow, an irascible old man is throwing a bedpan at a medic's head. He threw with his bad arm, so it basically just falls to the floor in front of him, but it also wasn't empty and some of it splashes on the medic's shoes, which satisfies him.
"You tell that pink-skinned ogre I am not some doddering old fart! I am a gods-damned soldier! My armor is my second skin, you can't just pop it off to the cleaners! It is magical, for f$+*'s sake! It practically cleans itself!"
The medic states flatly that it sure as Hells didn't smell like it cleans itself, to which Vargus angrily tries to scramble out of the cot to choke the insolent young man with the nearest length of rope, but instead collapses in a heap on the ground with a groan.
In the piss puddle. Wunderbar.
"I hate this place," he grumbles.
It has now been two weeks since the siege. All of the debris has been removed, the partially destroyed buildings razed, and the dead honored and buried. The townspeople continue to work together on the rebuild, with the walls taking priority due to the continuing threat of the Ironfang Legion.
The obsidian tower through which the Legion entered the battlefield has been crumbling slowly since Kosseruk's death, and now it is nothing more than an enormous heap of black stone. Crawbert has plans to turn the area into a memorial.
Lest the people forget the Ironfang threat, about a week ago, word reached Longshadow that the Legion had burned Nirmathas's capital, Tamran, to the ground, surely in retaliation for the embarrassing loss it took at Longshadow (and perhaps as a warning against other settlements accepting help from the party). Tamran refugees have been arriving in small groups ever since; despite Longshadow's own problems, the town has welcomed them with open arms.
Crawbert had called for a meeting with Katia and Freyja this morning. When they arrive at his office, there are two men there that they do not know. Crawbert speaks up. "Good, we are all here. As you know, Tamran was destroyed earlier this week. We survived, but others are not so lucky. I know you have been champing at the bit to get out there and take the fight to them, and I admit that I have been purposefully keeping you busy with the rebuild, out of fear of you two taking the fight to the Legion on your own. Fortunately, the risk of that delay may have paid off." He gestures to the two strangers. "I am pleased to introduce Veldanis and Randall. Veldanis is a Chernesardo Ra... well. I'll let them get you up to speed."
Standing next to his friend, Randall Shadowcrown looks like a child, albeit a demonic one. (Are there any other kind? he asks himself. Ba-dum-tsh!) At five-nine, he's over half a foot shorter, and probably weighs at best two-thirds of the burly ranger.
It's forced him to be a little more outspoken than he's used to, in order to not disappear in the big guy's shadow. Not that he blames V; it's not like he can help how big he is.
"Hey!" he says with a boyish grin. If it wasn't for his unnatural brass-colored skin, sharp teeth, and strange crown-like ridge of bone and horns on his forehead, he might actually look charming when he does it. As it stands, he's pretty much used to people cringing at the sight. "We've kinda been inadvertently on your trail. When we got to Trevalay, we heard all about what you did there. Badass." He folds his wiry arms and nods sagely.
The bigger of the two sighs and gives his friend a patient look before turning back to the other two. He bears a breastplate that you would swear is mithral, except the gleam is heavily muted, as if in constant shadow. The effect seems to spread out to his limbs and face, which is currently under the hood of his dark green cloak. His battered brown pants, padded and plated with boiled leather, cause the whole of him to seem to want to vanish from sight despite his immense size. A greatsword with a battered hilt wrapped in careworn leather strips juts from his back. He finally pulls his hood down to reveal frizzy black hair cropped down to the scalp in a buzz cut, but with intricate whorls and jagged lines shaved into the sides. His deep gray eyes and slightly pointed ears belie his half-elven heritage.
"What he means to say," he says, "is that his name is Randall. I'm Veldanis."
He nods to Freyja. "Heard you took Ibziriak out almost entirely by yourself. That's one helluva feat. It impressed a lot of hard-to-impress people. Cobb wouldn't shut up about it." He grins to show he's also impressed.
"The mayor filled us in, and I already talked to the other Chernesardo here. They agree Rand and I would be better used taking the fight to the Legion. Word is, that's what you're doing too. We wanna help."
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Katia frowns, considering the two. The big guy's value is pretty obvious; big man, big sword, big hurt. But the small guy... what's his deal? He's not even wearing armor! Is he a spellcaster, maybe? But she doesn't see a component pouch, spellbook, or even scroll case. No holy symbol, so not a cleric. He does have serious calluses on his fingers. Maybe he's a brawler of some kind? The loose pants cinched with rope at the waist and cloth strips at the feet, comprising makeshift open-toed shoes, and sleeveless gray tunic, do all seem to point to this.
It sounds a little like how Grevayne fought, from what Sarge and Freyja have told her. She wonders how Freyja's going to feel about that.
After a glance at the ranger to see how she's feeling, she cautiously offers, "Yes, we do intend to continue on in hopes of further disrupting the Legion. I take it you've heard about Tamrin by now?" Their suddenly sober faces tell her they have, in fact. She nods. "At every turn, this fight gets harder and harder. It's taken the lives of several of our friends. If you're really Chernesardo, you know about risks, but still, just wanted to make sure you understand how dangerous this will be."
Rand snorts. "Relax, we know our s#~~. You ever heard of an irlgaunt? V here took one out with his bare hands." He opens his hands in a vice grip around a giant invisible neck to emphasize.
V scowls at Rand. "Don't exaggerate." He turns back to the other two and shrugs. "I did help kill Boneslurper. Part of my initiation into the Wardens. But I was only one of five. Still, two of them didn't make it out alive. I did. I'm good at what I do, but I'm also not infallible."
He pulls up the padded tunic under his breastplate to show his muscular abdomen. The dark skin is a patchwork of acid burn scars.
"Rangers die. We know the risks when we sign up; the initiation hunt drives that home pretty succinctly. We can hold our own. Rand may have a big mouth, but I've seen him drop guys twice his size without breaking a sweat. You'll be glad to have us around when the fighting starts, I promise."
Freyja has definitely never heard of an irlgaunt, but it sounds impressive. Especially if killing it granted him the title of Chernesardo Warden. She tries to hide her fangirling at being in the same room as a Warden, but, as usual, she can't keep her emotions off her face. She figures she might as well lean into it, and responds to Katia, "If he is a Warden, and he is the Warden's chosen companion, then we are in better shape than we could have possibly hoped for." She stands up and, surprising even herself, hugs both men. "We have been through a lot to get to this point. We have suffered too much loss. Thank you for volunteering to help."
Then she sits back down, her face as red as Katia has ever seen it.
Crawbert smiles, but there is sadness behind his eyes. "Good. Longshadow will support you however it can. You need only ask. As of this morning, all the merchants are open, so please take today to resupply and prepare for your journey. May the gods be with you."
Rand blinks in surprise at the hug, but grins like an idiot after. "Hey, alright! Hug from a pretty lady, this day just keeps getting better!"
He opens his arms toward the witch in hopes of doubling his luck, but at her withering glance, he just puts his hands up in acquiescence. "Cool cool. One's plenty, I got you."
V has literally never been gushed over before by anyone. Plenty of people who have recognized him as Chernesardo have given him respectful nods or even a free pint at a pub for his service, which is embarrassing enough, but nobody has said anything quite like what Freyja did. When she hugs him, he immediately freezes in place, giving a look toward Rand that says What do I do??
His friend obviously gives him a look that says Hug her back, stupid! but V can't quite translate that correctly and instead pats the hugging ranger stiffly on the back. "Uh... thanks. We, uh, we do what we can."
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Katia does her best to hide her amusement, though she makes sure to let the tiefling know his attempts at spreading the love her way are not even remotely welcome. She decides when people can give her affection, not them.
Hope she doesn't develop a crush, she thinks amusedly, but pauses. Why not? Freyja could certainly stand to have some attention her way. But it does raise the same concern that Katia had with Catie. The closer she gets to people, the more terrified she is that she'll lose them to this bloody war. She wouldn't wish it on anyone, least of all Freyja. But that has to be balanced with something, or else this road can get soul-crushingly lonely.
She decides these thoughts are way too heavy for first encounters. "Well then. Come on, boys. The merchants have opened up and we have some gear to unload. We can get to know each other better along the way."
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After arranging for the party to leave at dawn the next day, the others find Katia already up and prepared, walking in a slow grid pattern in a spot not far from the main gate, studying every lump in the soil, studying the patterns of the stones and logs in the nearby city wall.
When the others arrive, she doesn't look up. "Just a few more minutes. I've been coming here every day for the last week, studying this spot. I want to have it as well-memorized as I can. For teleporting. The more familiar with the spot I am, the less chance of a mishap. We... don't want a mishap."
After a few more minutes, she sighs and nods. "That will have to do. We have some ground to cover. Horses will be easier. Do we want horses?"
Rand shakes his head. "I don't need a horse."
Veldanis sees Katia about to protest but raises a hand. "Trust me. He's quicker on foot than all but the fastest horses. It's kinda nuts."
Freyja only thinks for a few seconds. Though she spent most of her time before the war in the forest, this is still her territory. "It's only about 20 miles, so we could take your magic horses 19 miles and go stealthy from there. I'm pretty sure Kosseruk threw everything she had at us, so I wouldn't expect more than a token force still in the Valley; but there are still morlocks and probably wild beasts to deal with, so stealthy is probably the way to go. Little reason to think we'd run into trouble in transit, though."
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Katia nods, then pulls out a pair of scrolls from her bag of holding and stuffs one into her belt, reading the other one aloud.
A dark patch of haze on the ground billows and warps, forming into the shape of three spectral horses. Each is a dirty, ashen gray in color and seems incorporeal, but are in fact solid to the touch. Each is complete with saddle and bags.
Katia clambers somewhat gracelessly into the saddle, having ridden very few times in her life. She adjusts her skirts to be as dignified as she can manage, tilts her chin up defiantly and says, "Shall we?"
"That," Rand says mildly, "was really cool. Kinda wish I'd said yes to a horse, now."
A fourth horse appears from the smoky haze, stomping impatiently at the grass with its hoof.
Rand blinks. "Oh! Cool."
He also scrambles to get on, though significantly more gracefully than Katia did.
Veldanis shakes his head ruefully at his friend, then hops easily into the saddle. He's no cavalryman, but he ran outrider patrols a few times so he at least knows how to mount a steed properly.
He's pretty sure he remembers the way to Aloi, but he tilts his head in deference to Freyja. He and Rand are the guests here, and he doesn't want to step on any toes quite yet.
"Ready when you are."
After a day of hard travel (made much simpler by Katia's magic horses), you finally reach the entrance to the Valley of Aloi. It is currently about an hour from sunset. As you got higher in elevation over the past couple hours, a misty fog grew heavier and heavier until you couldn't see much further than a few dozen feet in front of you. Still, Freyja (and V) are familiar with these lands and navigated the rocky terrain and switchbacks with ease.
Also over the past couple hours, the relatively well-worn trail you had been following had become more overgrown and less prominent until it was barely a rough animal path. This path comes to an abrupt end at the head of a fog-shrouded mountain valley. Hills rise to the east and west, with a near-vertical face of the Mindspin Mountains barring the way further north. Water rushes down the sides of
the mountain, carried in crumbling aqueducts before pouring into a tumbledown ruin. Grass and weeds choke the ground ahead, with interspersed rocks and the occasional black pool or pillar of stone. The valley stretches on for thousands of feet, eventually plunging into a deep crevasse at the base of the northern mountains.
A few wooden buildings -- far newer than the stone ruins littering the valley’s northern end -- huddle to the southwest, while a creaking, weather-grayed wooden tower peeks above the fog near the valley’s center.
Dwarves from Kraggodan settled this valley thousands of years ago, building sturdy aqueducts to support a large fortress and dungeon complex which stood guard over the Darklands entrance. Long since abandoned, these architectural wonders have largely collapsed, leaving only two aqueducts and a few sturdy walls aboveground. The eastern aqueduct collapsed centuries ago, and now pours its water directly into the crevasse, but the western sluice still transports water into the dwarven ruins, where it tumbles into the morlock warrens below.
Many failed mining expeditions dot the terrain, as dozens of inspection parties disappeared over the past centuries.
Over the past hour, the fog has thinned out a bit, improving visibility, but you still can't see more than a hundred feet at best.
At this altitude and due to the unique terrain of the Valley, it seems likely that the fog persists throughout the day, then dissipates around sunset. You think the fog is likely to be a daily occurrence, though the severity should vary based on the temperature.
"We're going to have to deal with this fog every day. It should diminish at night but we won't be able to see very far in the daytime."