H'aanit stands there, paralyzed for the next few minutes. She is speechless. It didn't make any sense. What matter of sorcery is this? What happened? This is her master, right? It's unmistakable... But he'd been turned into some block of still art. She slowly reaches out with fear to touch that familiar face. Looking into his eyes, she can see that he had the rare expression of something like fear and desperation. It stabbed her in the heart.
"… Thou… thou old fool…" H'aanit says quietly with incredible restraint to keep from breaking down and screaming, "How hath thee…"
The stone is cold, colorless, unyielding, unanswering. She had hoped maybe to find something like warmth within the stone shell by touch. It is cold and solid…
"Something changed him into stone," Primrose clears her throat awkwardly, "Whatever that is… is very dangerous. I read of powerful rituals that can do so… crossing someone who knew that sort of magic though…"
"T-this can't be… a real person, right?" Ophilia asks nervously as she nears the huntress, "… H'aanit…"
The huntress plops down heavily on her rear, sitting in pretzel position at the foot of the statue. She hangs her head and buries her face in her hands.
"… Tis him… There cannen be no mistake…" She whispers with a shaking voice.
"R-really?" Ophilia purses her lips and looks helplessly at the statue, "But... how?"
"I knowe not..." H'aanit mutters, "Tis impossible... for a statue of master to be'en here... with such detail..."
"Primrose, do you know how this could have happened? How it can be reversed?" Ophilia turns to the dancer hopefully.
"... I'm afraid not... Honestly, I thought it was something so incredibly rare that the chances were nigh impossible..." Primrose sighs, "Because of that rarity, few ever write about more than the condition's cure."
Therion runs a hand through his hair and lets out a puff of breath. It is awkward standing here while H'aanit seemed to be on the verge of breaking down after finding this weird statue. This whole thing reeked of bad juju since they re-entered the forest. Thieves did have superstitions about certain traps in ancient ruins that had the power to petrify those who came to steal their treasures... but, like the dancer, he had never heard of a cure.
Hägen lets out another disconsolate howl.
"My master... weren in pursuit of a creature called the Redeye..." H'aanit says hoarsely. She lifts her face from her hands slightly, showing the weariness in her reddening eyes. But she isn't straight-up crying just yet, "It muste haven had such a fearsome power..."
"T-then all those statue fragments we passed... where actually people...!" Ophilia pales and gasps as she glances back the way they came.
"THE CREATURE THAT HAD DONE THIS FLED SOUTH OF THE WOOD 'ERE," The Lord's voice emanates for all but the dancer, "IT HATH FEARSOME RED EYES THAT TURNED BEAST AND MAN ALIKE INTO COLD, BLOODLESS STONE."
"That's terrible..." Ophilia mumbles and kneels next to the huntress, hand on her shoulder to try and assure her of her presence.
"...Well, nothing we can do," Therion clears his throat. Primrose slaps his chest with the back of her hand, "What, it's true."
"You could learn some tact," The dancer sighs at his insensitivity. She looks at the statue. It's incredible how even the leather armor and furs are also petrified. There are different effects she recalled, many which only turned flesh to stone... At the very least, this statue is intact. If it were not, even reverting this condition would result in deformity... and even death at worse.
Linde prowls a bit closer to some boughs of trees nearby and growls at something. They all turn and look to see something sticking out from the tree, but almost hidden completely by foliage. It is in the direction that Z'aanta's statue faces...
H'aanit stands with Ophilia's help and walks near those trees. She sees it to be another arrow of her master's, but with a scrap of parchment pinned by the head. Judging from the trajectory and his position, he likely shot this arrow from where he stood, probably before the petrification took him prisoner... so it was not an instantaneous change, it seems. Still, it must have been quick enough to be frightening him of all people.
"..." The huntress dislodges the arrow and pulls the paper off. It isn't a bit piece and not much is written on it. However, it is unmistakably Z'aanta's writing. Somehow, it is even messier than usual. He must have written this in a hurry as he was turning to stone, after all. On it is only three words.
"Find Susanna Grotoff."
Susanna Grotoff... the name is unfamiliar to H'aanit.
"... what's that you found?" Primrose walks over, "A note?"
"...Master liken hath used his last moments to shooten this," H'aanit sighs and shows her companions the paper, "It liketh were a quick stone-coming... I knowen not this name."
"Susanna Grotoff?" Primrose and Ophilia look to try and make heads or tails of the note.
Therion stands by awkwardly. He didn't really want to stand around where there could be broken fragments of people underfoot. He mutters quietly under his breath to the Lord, "Last night... you stung me, didn't you..."
"I GAVE YOU A FRAGMENT OF THE FOREST'S LIFEBLOOD TO OPPOSE THAT MONSTROSITY."
Therion might have expected it after Yvon had pummeled the thorn thing into submission. In this case, he would have to let being used slide, probably. At least he didn't end up mushy jam underfoot.
"... We should go back and figure out what to do next..." Ophilia says optimistically, "Maybe the others can help. Alfyn is a genius with these sorts of things."
H'aanit nods numbly, "... Thanken thee all for haven accompanyen me..."
"But of course," Primrose folds her arms and glances back the way they came, "If Cyrus is awake, he'd have a good leaf to add or two as well."
"Or a couple thousand," Therion says under his breath.
"Rowr..." Hägen sits by the statuesque Z'aanta's feet.
"...Hägen?" Ophilia glances to the wolf, "Uh, we're going..."
"..." H'aanit sighs and goes to pet the wolf, "Thou willen stayeth with Master, hm?"
The wolf nods. Linde gives a soft growl and nuzzles the wolf before going back over to the others. H'aanit pulls back and nods, "We willen return, for sure. Watchen o'er him..."
"Growf!" The wolf growls with determination in its eye.
"Uhh... is it safe out here for Hägen..." Ophilia asks with concern.
"The wolf is a natural hunter, dear," Primrose scoffs, "He's probably right at home here. Plenty of bounty for him to feed himself with."
"... Tis correct. Hägen and Master woulde spenden days in the wild hunting for their owne," H'aanit says as she walks back over, "But I willen not haven them wait long."
"Riiight. So back we go. Great," Therion folds his arms and is relieved as they finally exit the clearing. The huntress doesn't look back to that statue, trying to keep a memory of Z'aanta moving and talking in her mind instead of that cold, motionless face...
A sprig of newly grown white nettle slithers from the earth and seems to dance in the gentle breeze overhead. It could almost be waving goodbye.
…
Back in the inn, nothing much had changed. Therese had woken up. She is experiencing some weakness still in her limbs and fast movements made her head spin. Alfyn has her drinking hot herbal tea that he concocted. Cyrus still has not regained consciousness. His pallor and breathing have unfortunately not improved. Alfyn tries for testing reactions on his fingertips and toes to no avail.
"Erm, if I may..." Simeon speaks up as Alfyn checks Cyrus' eyes, "Whatever shall be done with the elephant in the room?"
"Huh? Ele... fat?" Alfyn blinks.
"Ah, I mean the obvious thing," Simeon explains, "The stone, in this case, that's in his chest?"
"Oh!" Alfyn chuckles, "I was wondering why you were talking about whatever an ele-fat is!"
"Elephant, Alf," Tressa rolls her eyes as she stretches from her bedroll with positions prescribed from Alfyn, "They're those giant things in the tropics with the long nose and wrinkles."
"They sound like weird monsters to me!" Alfyn glances to the stone now, "I'm honestly stumped though. I feel we oughta do something... But I can't be hurting Cy, ya know?"
Olberic returns into the room carrying a tin tub of water he fetched from outside. He puts it down with a thud, "Alfyn, do you need anything else?"
"Nah, that's plenty for now... Thanks, Ol'Berg!"
"Hmm... It is true that it appears in a rather precarious situation..." Simeon rubs his chin as he looks at the blood crystal's faint pulse, "I am, of course, still at a loss as to what it could even be? A magic stone of sorts?"
"It's... a blood crystal, pretty sure..." Alfyn sighs and rubs the back of his neck, "Saw a guy making them back in Quarrycrest... That wasn't fun at all, nope."
He remembered Gideon's laboratory with a shudder. Those casualties and the reeking scent of blood in that place. He avoids speaking too much in length about it since Olberic is still in the room. The warrior was one of the subjects whose blood was used in the making of these crystals after all.
"Anyway! Uh, yeah, other than that, can't really say..."
"Blood crystals..." Simeon mouths the words a few times, rubbing his chin, "They do definitely ring a bell... in a story, that is. Back in the days when it was the Thirteen and not the Twelve, there were some stories passed through oral tradition. Some of these were preserved. I was a fortunate soul to have lain eyes upon a few of these."
"Uh-huh, go on, second Cyrus," Tressa teases as she touches her toes, "Aaagh, owww..."
"Don't force the pull too much, Tress!" Alfyn warns as he washes a rag.
"Hmm... old books you say..." Olberic seems to think a moment.
"Uhm... W-while I was there..." Therese pipes up timidly from her bed, "I-I heard them talk about a master stone that could... control the lesser, impure stones..."
"Ah, right, you are..." Olberic looks to the student with puzzlement.
"Therese," The girl sighs and glances to Cyrus' prone form, "I am one of Professor Albright's students in the Academy... Well... was."
"Oh yeah!" Alfyn slaps his fist into his palm with realization, "Wait... what are you doing out here? What were you doing down there, actually?"
"Uhm... It's a bit of a long story..." Therese shyly curls a loose strand of hair behind her ear, looking down at her hands.
"I do enjoy a good story," Simeon takes a seat, forgetting whatever he was talking about earlier, "And you had endured quite a bit last night. Perhaps speaking of it may be therapeutic, even beneficial."
The royal relative sighs, "I... had just left the Academy not more than a few days ago... You see, I had known of the Headmaster's plot to kill the professor..."
"Huh? The headmaster wanted to kill Cyrus?" Tressa raises an eyebrow, "What the heck kind of work environment was this?"
"I-I don't know exactly why... but he seemed to want to stop the professor from finding something. The headmaster, Yvon, bought a ticket through Middlesea with a buggy to meet and bring him up to Stonegard. I bought a similar route and paid a waggoneer to follow him on land..." Therese sighs, "But he caught me just outside of town."
"Geez... And was he the guy we saw?" Alfyn thinks now, "Didn't get the best look at him though..."
"The one that became a monster last night... the one the professor and you all were fighting... I'm positive that was the headmaster," Therese clenches the sheets in her hand, "I don't understand it myself... what he was trying to do..."
"He was a madman then," Olberic says tersely, "He would hurt even you, his own Academy student."
"Quite, I have to agree," Simeon taps his chin with a finger, "Did you come to stop him or warn the professor? And the headmaster surmised this?"
Therese nods, "I... I was honestly foolish. You see, I... I am a relative of the royal family of Atlasdam. I thought he wouldn't lay a hand on me..."
"Yeesh... Wait, you're royalty?" Tressa nearly jumps off her bedroll, "Are you, like, a princess?
"Erm, no. I'm not in line for the throne..." Therese says shyly.
"Oh wow, that still sounds really neat," Alfyn just nods.
"So, the headmaster subdued you and then..." Simeon lowers his voice a little here, "Did he do anything else to you?"
"... Not that I can really recall," Therese grasps the side of her head with a frown, "He made me drink something very bitter... and everything just became a huge blur. I wasn't sure how time passed down there... but I was put in a dungeon, I think?"
"Do you recall what happened that rendered Cyrus in such a state?" Olberic asks to the point, "You would be the only witness we have."
"Y-Yes, I do. By then, I could speak and move a little more... They wanted the professor to consent to Yvon putting a blood crystal in him... The headmaster said it would allow for him to be controlled like some other students he had done that to..." Her voice trails off and she pales in fear at the realization that she would have been made such a zombie slave if not for Cyrus' sacrifice.
"... Hey, it's alright now," Alfyn gently rubs her back, "Take yer time. Take another day nap if ya need."
She grasps at her upper arms, as if hugging herself. There is a brief silence before she resumes, "T-the professor... accepted to save me... Yvon wasn't going to let us go...! It's... it's all my fault..."
She curls into a ball on the bed, whimpering, "It's all because I... Oh, forgive me, professor..."
Simeon seems to digest this all and rubs his chin before standing, "I... will take some air."
Olberic nods as the playwright leaves, "... To think that whatever that Gideon figure was doing... could be found here in the Highlands as well..."
"Yeah, it's freaky..." Alfyn frowns, "Both you and Cy now got hurt. It ain't right! Who are these guys? Why're they doing this?"
"My guess is money!" Tressa says as-a-matter-of-factly, "They gotta be trying to do something lucrative with this stuff. Blood crystals... Maybe they're valuable. There's a market for just about anything, even the dark illegal stuff..."
"Did you ever dabble in that sort of thing?" Olberic teases the merchant girl.
"Nuh-uh! I may haggle, but that's far from buying something like human organs!"
"Human organs?" Alfyn balks.
"Yeah, like I said, market for anything," Tressa sighs and then wiggles her toes, "... So you think they found anything?"
"Ehh, I'm pretty sure they're safe, and that's what matters. Therion and Prim are real savvy," Alfyn chuckles, "Plus, whatever ruckus we made mighta scared away anything else there, haha!"
"That Ophilia is with them is also assuring," Olberic nods, "Her healing arts are very potent... I only hope she does not end up exhausting herself."
"She and Alf both do that regardless!" Tressa sighs with a nonchalant sigh.
"I suppose that is true," Olberic chuckles.
"Hey!" Alfyn indignantly puffs his cheek.
Olberic glances back to Therese with her face buried in her arms on the bed. He looks at Cyrus, who hasn't moved an inch. He sighs, "Would you like to be alone, Ms. Therese?"
"..." Therese shakes her head, her voice shaky, "N-no, I... I've imposed enough as it is... You have all been so kind to... tolerate me here..."
Tressa looks about ready to open her mouth to tell just how much she spent on these rooms but Olberic gives her a stern look to silence her.
"Aw shucks, it's alright. A friend of Cy's is a friend of ours!" Alfyn says jovially.
...
The party reconvenes in the big group they are shortly at the inn. To everyone's relief, Cyrus appeared to regain some color from his deathly pallor over the last few hours. It was very little progress, but it was a welcome sign nonetheless.
"Hope he wakes up soon, too..." Alfyn says with a bit more relief. He rubs his eyes a bit, still having slept very little. Despite that, he is far from falling over in fatigue. He is too vital for his own good.
"Alfyn, please do rest yourself..." Primrose sighs with exasperation, "Cyrus seems to be recovering, so you had best not wear yourself out. We can watch him as well."
"Nah, can't just dip! Plus, I gotta keep an eye on H'aanit's wounds, too!" Alfyn protests, "And Tressa's exercises!"
"Alf, stop being such a mom," Tressa rolls her eyes.
"I doth feelen better..." The huntress lets out a heavy sigh. She'd looked a bit defeated since their return, "The open air hath well doen."
"But you still need rest..." Ophilia purses her lips, "You have a lot on your mind, don't you?"
The huntress does not answer, merely averting her eyes. Primrose raises an eyebrow. The huntress seems frustrated and... maybe ashamed?
"... What is it?" Olberic asks, taking note, "The four of you haven't told us yet what you found in the forest..."
"W-well..."
"Some freaking monster turned her master to stone," Therion blurts out simply, "The wolf stayed behind to watch it grow moss."
"Huh?" Alfyn snaps out of a yawn, "Stone? Ya mean petrification?"
"Oh my," Simeon rubs his chin, "I thought that sort of power was but a myth! Found only in fairy tales..."
"That was what I thought as well..." Primrose sighs, "But yes, we found the remains of some people who were supposedly petrified... and I don't know of any way to break that sort of condition."
"Uh, m-maybe Mister Alfyn..." Therese speaks up.
All eyes suddenly turn to Alfyn. The apothecary folds his arms with a frown as he closes his eyes, deep in thought. It's about a minute before he speaks.
"... Ahh, sorry guys, no dice. Never heard of it! Not anywhere in the books I used … and I thought Zeph's old man had everything in there!" He scratches his head.
"Tis fine," H'aanit sighs, "Master hath me a clue left... I neede to finde a way to understanden it..."
"Does anyone know the name Susanna Grotoff?" Primrose asks the room. She's answered by a lot of blank stares.
"Uhm..."
"Nope."
"Hmm..." Therese furrows her brow a little and puts a pensive finger to her lip, "It has a familiar ring to it, somewhat..."
"Doth it?" H'aanit turns with a sudden and intense gaze at the royal relative. Therese almost jumps at her urgent tone.
"Uh, well, I don't fully recall but... Uhm..." She racks her brain.
"... Pardon," H'aanit sighs slightly when Ophilia pats her shoulder, "I ...weren too hasty."
"No, no! I really want to help... It's just... the memory eludes me. Where could I have heard it..."
"Well, don't push yourself too hard!" Alfyn jumps to his feet, "I'm starving! Anyone else? Let's grab some food from town and eat in!"
The apothecary ends up with Primrose and Simeon accompanying him out. Tressa drags herself along, unwilling to risk anyone overspending their funds without her careful eye watching. She lags a bit behind as they walk through the streets, and she didn't even bring her enormous rucksack with her.
"... Tressa, you needn't wear yourself out like this..." Primrose suppresses a soft chuckle, "The drain of an uncontrolled Gate is powerful, and you need rest."
"Quite. You are still young, after all!" Simeon agrees.
"Oh, be quiet and lend a girl your arm!" Tressa pouts. She sighs as she holds to Simeon's arm to steady her gait, "Geeeeez, no one ever looks this drained when they pull a spell!"
"Well, that's because many of them would just die from overexertion," The dancer laughs, "Or they fall over and get killed once they've been spent."
"Ya gotta take it easy, Tress!" Alfyn chuckles, "Hmm... what to eat, what to eat... Hey, what's good?"
He strikes up conversation with some passerby. Primrose gives a small scoff with a smile. Simeon takes note of that and follows her gaze to the eager apothecary.
"You've found some very good friends, Primrose," The playwright chuckles.
"... He is a very good friend. And a very good man," Primrose says softly. Her eyes show something like a warm feeling and bely the other part of the admission.
"Let's get some meat!" Tressa says with a huff, "I can't keep living off nuts!"
"But that would be rather expensive, no?" Simeon looks to the firecracker holding his arm.
"Jerky! That's cheap and it's meat!"
"It's also a bit unhealthy, from what I hear? Too much dehydrated meat," Primrose laughs airily.
"Hey guys, there's a restaurant we can get some nice grub at, according to some locals!" Alfyn comes back over from his conversation cheerily, "Let's go!"
Stonegard, despite having a woodland nearby, is largely focused on the industry of books and paper. Unlike Cobbleston, virtually no resources are allocated to agriculture. A lot of what foodstuffs come from farming are imported and traded for books and stationary materials. Meat is procured from local monsters like goats and such, of course. What is done for a living is largely harvest of trees, production of stationary stuffs, and everything else is minor industry. Some populations of scholars who relocated to Stonegard for residence attribute mainly to furtherance of the book industry by writing, thus reinforcing and increasing Stonegard's appeal to the academic demographic.
But that does leave something to be desired in the culinary scene.
"They joked in the play Doror's Feast that Stonegard would resort to eating pages of their own books... because that was the finest thing in the city," Simeon chuckles lightly.
"If they try selling me that pile of fishmeal, I am not buying it!" Tressa declares with a huff, "I mean, nothing really beats my mom's cioppino anyway..."
"Come to think of it, we didn't really get much of a taste of the local flavors," Primrose looks to Alfyn, "Save for that feast in Cobbleston... but that was a special event."
"Well, Sam, the guy I talked to, was talking up some stuffed goat stomach," Alfyn grins, "They also got some pickled radish or some other root... A rutabaga, I think?"
"It certainly makes sense. A terrain such as this is not optimal for farming. Hardier species of plants are probably the best that can grow here," Simeon nods, "Well! I'm sure we will be fed well enough nonetheless."
"Yeah! Worse comes to worse, don't worry! I got plenty o' herbs to keep us healthy in a toasty stew!" Alfyn chuckles confidently.
"Oh, you actually cook, Alf?" Tressa raises an eyebrow.
"I think I will try some of that goat's stomach," Primrose says with a flawless smile belying the slight strain.
…
The food group ends up getting some takeout from the local pub and pantry establishment. It was essentially a market and kitchen put together, with an open-air drying area replete with hanging animal carcasses, fur and all. The odor didn't quite agree with Tressa, but the merchant girl was too hungry to care by then. She is, however, delighted at the prices. Compared to a seaside town of finer tastes and worldly cuisine, Stonegard's food prices are far more reasonable. Their highest priced items are their books, after all.
"Oh my," Olberic stares as the four of them haul back an entire leg of mountain boar. He hurriedly helps them carry it in, "All of this?"
"Hey, it's a bargain! We got a buncha mouths to feed!" Tressa says proudly of her purchase, "Whatever we can't eat, we can dry for ham and even save the bone for soup! It'll last us a bit!"
"I-I suppose it's great to be thinking so far ahead!" Ophilia chuckles a bit nervously.
"... Tressa speaketh correct," H'aanit pulls out a hunting dagger, "I cannen butcher the leg."
"I'll get the pot nice and hot!" Alfyn goes to find the kitchen in the inn for guest use, "We gotta fuel up after that crazy night...!"
"Looks like we will be well fed," Simeon chuckles.
It's a simple meal of salt-boiled meat flavored with herbs. H'aanit throws some of the tough parts to Linde, who chews on them heartily. They have some bread to go with the "broth" and everyone gets a bowl. While it wasn't much of a culinary feat, it was nonetheless a welcome change from just rations. Alfyn's herbs turned out to add some decent flavor and aromatics as well without being overpowering like in his energy balls.
Now, they can resume the conversation of loose ends: What transpired in the manor and the woods, and who Susanna is.
"I recalled vaguely who Grotoff might be," Therese says as she timidly sips the hot broth from her bowl, "It's the name of a local in the Frostlands... renowned for their wisdom. Scholars had done interviews with them. Perhaps this Susanna person is them?"
"Hmm, that would be sensical. If it is a sage, they might know of cures we do not," Olberic says simply. He takes a second to pick some gristle from his teeth, "So it would mean returning to the cold for you, H'aanit?"
The huntress nods somberly, holding her bowl, "... Knowen I do where I must goeth. Thou musten all haveth thine own paths as well. I asken not for any to followe."
"You can't just go alone!" Alfyn protests, "Heck, ain't Goldshore on the way? I'll come with!"
"Yes, I as well," Ophilia says adamantly.
"... Well, the rest of us have some business left over here in the Highlands..." Primrose puts down her spoon, "Though you had best rest sufficiently before departing. Who knows, maybe our paths intertwine more than we thought."
Therion just finishes his and leaves the bowl as he goes to vault out the window into the late afternoon. It's a good time to hit up the pub about those treasures Pequod talked about.
Olberic thanks Alfyn and H'aanit for the meal before hauling up to go and ask about for the mysterious Gustav. To his surprise, Tressa zooms out the door before even he does.
"... Tressa, you're running already?" Olberic blinks.
"Yeah! Oh, you're right...!" Tressa looks down at her legs, "I guess I got the stamina for this after all!"
"Thank the Flame!"
Primrose sighs as she also prepares to step out, "Don't get overconfident out there."
The merchant girl chuckles and leaves first, followed by Olberic, Primrose, and Simeon. Alfyn, Ophilia, and H'aanit are left in the room with Cyrus and Therese.
"...Oh boy..." Alfyn leans back on the bed now, over Cyrus' legs. He seems tired at last, "I think... I'll take a quick nap!"
Ophilia blinks and then giggles, "Please do. I will watch over everything here."
…
The warrior sets out on his own, as his quest is no one else's. Pequod had mentioned Gustav's origins may be from this area... but it isn't the easiest thing to inquire about someone you don't even know. He starts off by asking about the alias of the Black Knight. He's met with some turns of heads and scratching, mostly.
"Black Knight? Which historical war are you thinking of? Wait, don't tell me..."
"Hmm, no, that doesn't sound like any herb I know in the area. We are talking herbology, yes?"
"Can't say I've heard of that save for a move in the local game of draughts. It's named quite inappropriately, if I do say so myself. You see, the etymology of..."
The town's bearing of scholarly bookish types yields many people who only know their own subjects and rarely seem to venture outside that body of knowledge. So, it was a less than fruitful search. It is possible that Gustav left the town before making a name for himself... which would attribute to the lack of knowledge on him here. It also wasn't an uncommon name in these parts.
Olberic sighs and looks about at the dimming daylight. People are ready to call it a day around here for the most part and begin returning to their homes. It will be more difficult to ask around. But, even given the chance, he had the feeling that this was a dead end.
As he begins walking back to the inn, a small spark of brilliance strikes. Why doesn't he ask that sage in the north? At this point, it wasn't like he had much to go on. Consulting a sage is not the most ridiculous idea.
…
The crossings where she had met Simeon were a dead end. They were indigenous tribes and local tradesmen who apparently prowled the roads. However, they weren't the criminals she sought. She thanks the local general store owner for the information and leaves with a sigh. Outside, she finds Simeon talking with some well-dressed man about fine art.
"Yes, the paintings of Bastian, in my opinion, are extremely overrated," The man drawls, "For sure, his style evokes the emotion of a living subject, but that alone is the only thing that makes his art-"
"Ah, Primrose!" Simeon turns from the conversation, "Find anything?"
"No," The dancer replies curtly and folds her arms, "I'm guessing the people here are too busy engrossed in their own interests, including the provisioner..."
"Well, perhaps we should find some other fellow out-of-towners then!" A bulb goes off on Simeon's head as he excuses himself from the previous conversation, "Surely there are others here that may have had eyes and ears elsewhere!"
"I suppose... I just hope they aren't all dry scholars as well," Primrose sighs with a soft smile of amusement.
"It is difficult in a town so dead set in its ways of life," Simeon chuckles, "That seems to be most of the Highlands. They are a very stubborn people."
"Indeed... Make a wheel in the Highlands and it rolls all the way to Middlesea," Primrose looks to Simeon, "Right?"
"You flatter me! That you remember that obscure line from Dazzling Waves," Simeon's eyebrows arch up in pleased surprise, "That wasn't even your favorite book!"
"Well, I've come to appreciate everything you read to me a bit more. I've tried to remember all of it as much as I could," Primrose says thoughtfully as they ascend the stone steps from the working-class area, "Those memories... kept me sane all these years, you know?"
"... Ah."
Primrose can practically hear his expression change behind her. He makes a grab for her hand... as she thought he would. He holds her hand and pulls her to the side of the steps, by some houses. His eyes look deeply into hers. It was as if time hadn't moved at all. After that brief connection, where he apologized for everything without a word, she pulls away from his arms with a wry smile. However, her hand pulls his along now.
They come near the depression in the mountain before the city entry. A new troupe of people seem to have arrived from elsewhere. They look to be dressed rather thickly, even in spite of the wind chills.
"Oy those goats be packin' some fierce rage...!" The dancer hears one mutter as they unload goods from their cart, mostly furs, "Almost lost the second wagon!"
"Better the goats I'd say than dealing with that darn scalper..."
"Shh, ya never know if Rufus' got any ears lying around!" One of them says with fear, "Them Obsidians got crows in all sortsa places."
Jackpot.
The dancer quickly walks up to the group, striking conversation immediately, "Excuse me, gentlemen. Where did you get these fine furs?"
"Hm? Oh, uh," Almost at once, they are all tongue-tied at her approach out of the blue, "H-hello there, miss. We, uh, came straight from the Frostlands...! Bloody hard to dress for the trip, yes!"
Primrose chuckles, "The Frostlands... Where indeed? I think I'd like to get some of these for myself."
"Why, Stillsnow, miss! Heart of the Frostlands with the best furriers!"
"Aye, any further north and ye'd run afoul of some shady figures!" Another thumbs his nose a bit, "Though... a lass like you might still want to be careful if yer serious about going up even near there..."
Primrose bats her eyelashes innocently, "Why so?"
"Well, farther deep north from the church's town..." One of them starts reluctantly when one of his fellows elbows him into silence.
"...Oh, do tell, please," Primrose puts a finger to her lips, encouraging them to continue.
"Err... It's not quite business to talk by a lady..." The troupe shares some glances, "... There's some unsavory business there operated by them Obsidians... Maybe it's too dangerous a trip after all."
Assassinations, prostitution, human trafficking... Primrose could guess a handful of what they might mean by unsavory business. She smiles.
"Oh, thank you for the warning, gentlemen... I hope you enjoy Stonegard."
As she walks back over to Simeon, she hears some of the troupe exclaim about a beauty in the Highlands. She suppresses a small chuckle. The playwright tilts his head a bit as she returns with a skip in her step.
"... I suppose you heard something favorable, my lady?" He smiles slowly.
"Quite. It seems we are headed also to the Frostlands," Primrose grins.
…
The local pub of Stonegard is still rather empty when Therion walks in. The one patron here the other day isn't even sitting there. The owner seems to be idly cleaning some tankards. Therion can't really tell if they were dirty or he was just bored with no patrons to serve. The thief decides to be nice and plops down by the bar.
"Give me something... cheap," Therion says bluntly, plunking down some leaves.
"Coming right up," The bartender merely chuckles without batting an eye before sliding over a filled tankard and collecting the coins, "Looking for someone?"
"Something, more like," Therion sighs as he takes the tankard in hand and sips without care. It's just cheap alcohol. It doesn't have a distinct aroma or taste. None of them ever do. It's all a ploy device in the end.
The door behind opens and the familiar sound of a girl panting can be heard entering. Tressa plops down on a seat next to the thief.
"Geez, you ran all this way... for a drink?" Tressa huffs at Therion.
"I didn't run. You just have short legs," Therion scoffs, "What are you following me for anyway?"
"Well, no reason... yet," Tressa plops some coins down, "Gimme your best cider!"
The bartender nods and obliges, handing her a tankard with dark, sweet-smelling liquid. She takes it in both hands greedily and sips a bit.
"Oh, that's good...!" Tressa's eyes light up.
"What do you want," Therion grumbles.
"Like I said, nothing yet!" Tressa turns her nose up, "I just felt like coming along!"
She didn't always know exactly where and why her scales pointed her one way or another. But following them had always led her to some good luck one way or another... so she followed it and wound up with the thief. Simple.
"Well, I was about to say, on your search for something... It wouldn't happen to be some priceless artifact, would it?" The bartender turns to Therion, "Anything like that and the scholars would be agog over it all day."
"Oh yeah?" Therion raises his eyebrow nonchalantly, "So just boring books here?"
"About. The artifacts are usually carted up the continent, even if they were unearthed here, if that's what you seek. The big museums and artificers in Noblecourt like to have that in their hands. Same with Atlasdam... Though, these days, you might find the trade going as far off course as the Frostlands and even Sunshade... if you know what I mean."
Therion got the hint. Illicit trades of stolen artifacts... They aren't going to any egghead's study, but probably to some fat cat's mansion... a cat with a wallet and leaves to burn.
"North, huh..." Therion considers this carefully now. This info sounds about right, honestly, given his knowledge on those other places. The Sunlands though... he is not eager to return to those sands at all. For a moment, he remembered the old man who traveled with them who is now buried alongside his daughter outside Sunshade.
"Now this sounds like a real scoop!" Tressa pipes up. She had been listening in, and her eyes light up at the conversation.
"No way," Therion grumbles, "Stay out of this, squirt."
"Hey! This could be the perfect chance for me to find a thing for that contest Ali mentioned in Grandport! These artifacts," Tressa looks to the bartender with a sparkle in her eyes, "They gotta be real priceless, right?"
"Well, I'm no expert," The bartender touches his nose coyly, "But they are supposedly lost relics from the old kingdoms that fell in these very mountains. These civilizations have been buried for who knows how long, and they certainly aren't making a comeback anytime soon. So yeah, I'd say it's worth something... at least, according to the scholars I've heard from."
"Alright, Frostlands, here we come!" Tressa grins as she whips out her journal, "Perfect! On the way with H'aanit, I guess. It all works out."
"Hold it, who said you could join in," Therion looks with annoyance at the girl on his side.
"What? Like you're the only one looking for a good deal? Puh-leeze!" Tressa scoffs, "Not like you can stop me anyway! We talked about this! I can come along with you guys!"
"Tsk, yeah but not on my errand."
"What errand even?" Tressa squints at Therion, "You don't seem the type to like artifacts much, come to think of it... unless you really would just steal anything."
Therion flicks her forehead for mentioning his thievery. The bartender chuckles.
"Ow!" Tressa clutches her head, "Meanie!"
Therion scoffs. Artifacts were one thing... but what he is looking for... What is it, even, a dragonstone? Of course, he hadn't been given too many ideas by his hiring party. He wasn't that interested either, after how much trouble he got in trying to steal one himself. It might not be an artifact, but just some valuable tchotchke. But all valuable things end up one way or another in the dark markets somehow, as long as they had value... At the same time, this was a slippery slope deeper in an already nasty goose chase. How long would he be led like a dog following crumbs?
The bartender rubs his chin, "You both seem pretty interested in this."
"Well, a good merchant knows a good opportunity when they hear one!" Tressa announces proudly as she sips her cider, "Gee whiz, this really is good...!"
"Haha, it is a local cider with some flavor from the wood itself in the Spectrewood," The bartender cleans some more cups, "Certain parts of that wood are blessed with abundant fruits and verdant wood. It's unlike anything else, even out here in these mountains..."
"Ohh, wow..." Tressa rubs her chin with an appraising attitude, "They could totally capitalize on that instead of just boring books the whole time."
"Haha, right you are, little lady. There is a small initiative to get the ale industry invested in here..."
Therion tunes out their business-like banter. He could more or less guess the fecundity of the woods might have to do with the Lord of the Forest's presence. After that weird steroid shot he got via the white vine, he hadn't felt as much fatigue as he should have after a harrowing night of battle. Even Alfyn would have trouble doing that.
Now though, he had another decision to make... Where to go with this new lead?
"... what a pain in the ass..." The thief sighs under his breath as he drinks the last drop from his tankard.
…
Cyrus walks through a strange void that seemed to slowly change into something material under his feet. The space overhead becomes something like the color of blood. The ground at his feet becomes dark and hard. The air itself feels like it is extremely moist and dry at the same time somehow. It made breathing feel a little strange. There is also a strange smell in the air... but Cyrus can't quite put his finger on it just yet. Up ahead, the reddish dark theme deepens and he feels like he is going through some kind of tunnel.
There is a feeling of heavy dread in the air... And yet he can't seem to stop and turn around. It starts to feel like something is compelling him to keep going... To his own oblivion, possibly.
The smell grows stronger. Temperature can now be felt palpably rising. The professor blabbers to himself a little under his breath.
"Of course, that explains the moisture content in the air... perhaps there is a source of liquid from below, and the steam would rise up... But the upper dispersion of the droplets would mean there is also strong heat from above, thus making both an arid and wet front. Yes, that makes sense..."
He wipes a trail of sweat from his chin. He needed to keep talking... he feels like he's about to go mad.
The stone under his feet shows strange, red veins between the dark cracks. He recognizes the smell a bit better now. It is reminiscent of Gideon's blood-soaked lab... and something else...
"Brimstone...?" Cyrus loosens his cravat.
The tunnel he walks through narrows and he can now see the arched walls that line this place. His eyes widen as he nears one of the sides and sees the reddish stone's bulbous nature is grotesquely reminiscent of human heads. It's an entire wall of humanoid faces in various forms of agony and pained expressions. The scholar swallows hard seeing how life-like they are. There is a low hum in the air that sounds almost like moaning maybe... could it be from them?
"Where is this..." Cyrus wonders nervously as he continues on.
Indeed, as he ventures deeper, the faces slowly become more and more animated. They moan and wail softly. It's a cacophony of suffering, yet somehow melts together into a single, haunting melody. It's almost like it's building up for his passage through here.
Magenta and reddish lights lie at the very end of the macabre tunnel, which opens up to a cavern. Cyrus feels something telling him to turn back. He wants to obey, but something still compels him forward despite his own will and caution telling him otherwise.
The moans and their siren song slowly grow in timbre as he tries to drag his step now. Suddenly, he can hear a voice surging above it all. It is a deep, throaty voice that echoes with raw power in its tone.
"ALL FLESH, COME SERVE ME... ALL BLOOD, FLOW TO ME..."
The voice sends a chill down the scholar's spine. He had never been one to back down from curiosity. However, even his often-ignored common sense is screaming to turn back. Dread grows as he sees the path ahead leads to some kind of abrupt cliff, where the tunnel also ends. The opening appears to be some kind of gate. Beyond it, Cyrus hears the symphony of agony's origin, as well as that voice. He can glimpse fiery, bloody colors and dark, writhing chains amid the swirls of what look to be blood and flame. Humanoid wisps swirl towards its nexus.
"COME, MORTALS..."
The heat builds and Cyrus tentatively steps near the edge. He gazes down in awe at the center of this hellish landscape.
Down in the center of what looks like some dark, swirling pit, all the energy, noise, blood, and everything, coalesces around a single nebulous shape. From its size at this distance, it is enormous. Cyrus can just barely make out something like flesh and armor on a vague form in some sort of coccoon position maybe.
"FEED ME... SATE MY HUNGER... WITH YOUR MINDS, YOUR BODIES..."
Cyrus looks with a start to see something like an apparition fly past him and down into that hole where that thing is. Everything that flows towards it seems to swirl about before slowly being absorbed into its bloody cocoon. The smell of blood and fire is very prominent, and the song reaches a climaxing height.
"Oh, lord of blood, bone, flesh, Galdera, we offer our souls and bodies to you..."
The scholar gapes and hangs back for dear life. He cannot be compelled further and almost stumbles taking a step back. Then, he sees the bloody form of a familiar looking face form along the flesh walls of the cavern sloping down into the pit. A bead of sweat drips down his face.
That's Yvon, isn't it... It looks like a grotesque flesh form of him without much of his skin, but that is him...
The former headmaster mindlessly follows along with droves of these flesh avatars. They move like viscous droplets of honey that drip down into the pit, where they are absorbed into that thing.
Galdera... they said Galdera, correct...? Cyrus' teeth chatter a little as he moves to scoot back. The fear is finally seizing, and his limbs are even more inefficient than usual.
Those blood crystals... led him here... That dark magic... Is tied to the accursed thirteenth god. From the sounds of it, the crystal leads back as some sort of conduit for sacrifice to the imprisoned god... Then, the book from where the recipe for these crystals originates, as well as the origins of the book itself... perhaps even the devilish machinations of its maker... All tie back to this...
Such revelations run rampant in his head. But he had to get out of here. He is in danger of being swallowed up as well in this parade of feeding madness. The lull and tune grow strong as he scrambles to try and scoot further away from the edge. That voice sounds as though it's calling to him specifically... He can hear the voices of his mother, the headmaster... all calling to him. He does not hear the voices of Mercedes or Russell though... Then, perhaps...
"The dead..." He whispers as his lips blister a little from the intense heat that swirls about, "You... You can't lure me with visions of the dead!"
Having shouted his defiance, he finds sudden strength in his wobbly limbs and scrambles to stand and stumble out from there. All around, he feels a dangerous vibration in the walls of flesh and agony as they suddenly reach for him. They grab his coat, which he sheds hastily as he makes his escape. He nearly trips several times on his unreliable feet, but he desperately continues getting back up and running. The tunnel was long when he entered. Now, it seemed to have no beginning at all.
"GIVE ME YOUR FLESH, MORTAL... SURRENDER TO ME..."
"I'm not dead yet, am I?!" Cyrus shouts as he runs on, his lungs burning, "I don't have to give you anything!"
He feels hands grab at the shirt on his back. They pull and tear the thing to shreds and he nearly falls flat on his face. Up ahead, he sees a light, perhaps at the end of the tunnel at last...
"IMPUDENT ANT... YOU WILL ALL BECOME MY FOOD SOON..."
Cyrus doesn't have much time to contemplate what ominous undertones those words hide. He reaches towards that light as his legs feel like they're about to fall off.
"Don't keep them waiting..."
He heard her voice again once more before he bid goodbye forever.
The scholar's eyes open with a snap and his breath wheezes and gasps. He immediately makes out the worried faces of Therese, Ophilia, and Alfyn staring down at him, as well as some wooden ceiling behind them. He feels everything below his neck is vaguely numb. Sweat beads on his face.
"... Professor... Professor!" Therese cries and hugs him suddenly.
"Cyrus... You're okay..." Ophilia tearfully wipes her eyes.
"... Welcome back, Cy!" Alfyn grins, wiping his nose.
"... I... I'm back..." Cyrus croaks.