Fawkes was morose, trudging along with her collar raised against the chill and her tricorne pulled low over her face. Hunter had asked her whether something had happened. She’d said she just had a bad night. She clearly wasn’t in the mood to elaborate, so he didn’t press the subject any further.
He wasn’t exactly a ray of sunshine himself. The misty gloom around them and the weight of his own thoughts pressed down on him, leaving him sullen. Biggs and Wedge were unusually quiet, too, scouting ahead without their usual playful chatter. Even Fyodor seemed subdued, sticking close to Hunter’s side rather than bounding ahead to sniff around as he usually did.
Back near the Grove’s treeline, everything was just as they’d left it the previous evening – except for one unsettling detail. Thin, wiry roots had emerged from the ground, coiling tightly around the remains of the Blights they’d killed. The twisted tendrils were already halfway to dragging the broken bodies underground, as if the forest itself was reclaiming its own.
“I guess that’s how the Grove creates more of the creatures each night,” Fawkes remarked. They stood just outside the invisible border, cautious not to cross it. Hunter had a gnawing suspicion that the moment they stepped inside, they’d be swarmed by Bramble Blights.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.
“Same as yesterday,” Fawkes replied, saber already in hand. “We get in, fight off a couple of the things, and retreat if it looks like we’re about to get in over our heads.”
That’s what they did. Hunter sent in Biggs and Wedge to do a sweep of the area for any signs of an ambush. Once the ravens gave the all-clear, Hunter, Fawkes, and Fyodor stepped cautiously across the border and into the Grove, their senses on high alert.
Nothing had changed much since the previous day in there either. Bramble Blights came at them in twos and threes, as if the Grove couldn’t handle sending more at a time. Biggs and Wedge kept to the skies, keeping an eye out for anything out of the ordinary, while Hunter and Fawkes systematically dismantled the advancing creatures.
Fyodor pitched in too, barreling into the Blights, body-slamming them and throwing them off-balance. With their weak points exposed, Hunter and Fawkes swooped in and finished the job with ease. They slashed at Bramble Blights’ limbs and throats, crippling them and letting them slowly bleed out, then took a step back to purge themselves of the curses the creatures pelted them with.
It was good training. Progression notifications popped up in his HUD every few minutes, but he willed them away. He’d have plenty of time to sift through the details later. For the moment, his focus was on the rhythm of the fight – slash, step, evade, repeat.
Keeping up with that rhythm wasn’t easy. It required absolute focus. Every movement, every step, had to flow seamlessly into the next. Yet sometimes, one of the creatures would break through his defenses, a heavy slam from a gnarled limb sending him staggering.
The impact always jolted him, but he knew as long as he slipped back into the rhythm quickly, he’d be fine. His Adaptive Defense made it unlikely for him to be struck by the same creature twice.
Beside him, Fawkes moved like a force of nature, her saber a blur as she severed vines and splintered limbs with grim satisfaction. The longer the fight went on, the more her spirits seemed to lift. Each precise strike, each toppled Blight chipped away at the gloomy air that had clung to her earlier. Now she looked younger, fierce, exhilarated.
They fought for a while, making short work of everything the Blood Grove threw at them. Then, the tempo shifted. A trio of Bramble Blights emerged from deeper into the Blood Grove together, closing in on them all at once.
“Retreat?” Hunter asked, panting.
Fawkes landed the finishing blow on the creature she’d been fighting, severing its jugular vine with a clean strike. She straightened, frowned at the approaching trio, and nodded.
“Yes. Let’s catch our breath for a moment or two.”
They moved back outside the Grove’s treeline, where they knew the Bramble Blights couldn’t follow. As expected, the creatures stopped dead at the invisible border that separated their Grove from the rest of the Weald. They stood there and glared at Hunter and Fawkes menacingly, unable to cross.
Hunter sat on a nearby fallen log to rest, leaning on his glaive for support. Fawkes handed him a waterskin, and he accepted him with a nod. The direwolf curled beside his feet, ravens perching on his back.
“You’re getting better,” Fawkes said as she leaned against a tree. “And I don’t mean just your glaivesmanship. The way you read the flow of battle has improved too. You’re starting to see the bigger picture.”
Hunter nodded thanks. If the steady stream of progression notifications popping up in his HUD was anything to go by, Fawkes wasn’t just being kind. This was actual field experience – the kind of learning you couldn’t get just from sparring or drills. He was growing at a pace far beyond the other Aspirants back in the Sacred Training Grounds, no matter how much Elder Wroth pushed them.
“When are we getting back?” he asked Fawkes.
“What, are you tired already?” she teased. It was nice to see her in a good mood.
“Not at all. Just asking.”
She looked at the three Bramble Blights lingering at the treeline and gave it some thought.
“As far as scouting the place goes, I’d say our job here is done,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “We should clear out whatever’s left, head back to camp, and set off for the Sacred Training Grounds first thing tomorrow morning.”
“What about what’s deeper in the Grove?”
“Whatever’s in there doesn’t seem to be too bothered by our presence, as long as we stick to the edges. I say let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Agreed.”
It wasn’t that Hunter wasn’t curious about the Blood Grove of the Penitent or what might lie at its center.But if there was one thing he’d learned during his time in Elderpyre, it was that tapping away on a gamepad and actually being there were two entirely different experiences. Curiosity was one thing. Living through the consequences was another.
Stolen story; please report.
“Do you think we might get a chance to grab a few things off the remains of the creatures inside?” he asked. “I’d like to stock up on as many crafting materials as possible while we’re still here.”
“Sure. I want to see how many of the creatures we can put to the blade before the place runs dry. After that, you should be able to carve them up to your heart’s content.”
“In that case,” Hunter said as he rose to his feet, brushing the dust off his poncho, “we should get back to it.”
“Right behind you,” said Fawkes with an eager, lopsided smile.
Before getting back inside the Grove, Hunter and Fawkes would have to take care of the trio of creatures still giving them the stink eye from the treeline. He set out to do just that.
Biggs and Wedge had been on lookout duty so far, seeing how their Ill Omen attacks were ineffective against the Bramble Blights. Still, Hunter sicced them on the creatures and told them to fire at will. Ineffective or not, it was still a good opportunity to rake up some points in Augmented Familiar, and every bit of practice counted.
As the ravens were flying around, pelting the Bramble Blights with blasts of lime-colored magic, Hunter decided he might as well give Eldritch Power another go. He stood a good twenty feet from the creatures, set his glaive aside, and started cycling his Essence. Curious, Fawkes watched from the sidelines.
This time, gathering Essence in his palm and compressing it into a magic bullet of sorts proved far easier. His reserves were almost full, and the flow in his channels felt steady and controlled.
A pea-sized bead of colorless luminous energy coalesced just above his palm, growing denser and brighter with each passing moment. Unlike before, it didn’t flicker or threaten to disperse. It hovered in place, steadily growing larger the more Essence Hunter fed into it.
Hunter focused on the glowing projectile and made it as large and dense as he could, then aimed it towards one of the Bramble Blights. He took a steadying breath, locked his gaze on the target, and let it fly.
The bead of energy streaked through the air like an arrow and slammed into the creature with a sharp crack of energy, blasting a splintering, fist-sized hole into its gnarled torso, sending it reeling.
Fyodor tilted his head, ears perked, and let out a curious whuff, startled by the sudden burst of magic. Fawkes let out a low whistle, clearly impressed.
“Now that’s what I call a solid hit,” she said, slow-clapping. “All this time, you could do that? We might make a sorcerer out of you yet.”
“Or maybe not,” Hunter replied, though he couldn’t deny the effectiveness of the attack. The Essence Bolt had been impressive – far more so than he’d expected. The damage it dealt was no joke either, hitting with about the same force as a well-aimed critical glaive strike.
On the other hand, casting the Essence Bolt had drained a significant chunk of his Essence reserves – a cost he couldn’t afford to ignore. Worse still, it had taken him several seconds to gather and compress the energy, leaving him vulnerable in the middle of a fight. It was powerful, sure, but hardly practical in the heat of battle unless he found a way to speed it up.
Judging by the “200%” in the combat log, it seemed the attack had been a charged version, which likely meant there were weaker, faster, and less resource-intensive versions he could use. That was important. Trading raw power for speed and efficiency could make Essence Bolt far more practical in a real fight – though it still required a free hand, as far as he could tell. Given his weapon of choice, that would prove to be problematic.
“You got another of those in you?” Fawkes asked.
“A few,” Hunter replied. “Though I’d rather conserve my Essence for purging the curses.”
“ Smart man.” She eyed the Bramble Blights and put her hand on the pommel of her saber. “Come. Let’s see how many of those things are still in there.”
***
It was early in the afternoon when Hunter felled the last of the Bramble Blights. He and Fawkes stood in the eerie quiet, waiting for the Blood Grove to send another their way, but none came.
“I think we got all of them.”
“Seems so. How many?”
“I’m counting twenty-nine,” said Hunter, tallying the number of slain Bramble Blights laying around on the ground.
Fawkes frowned, rested her saber on her shoulder, and did a second count herself.
“Good. Start cutting them up. I’ll keep watch in case anything decides to show up.”
This time, Hunter was more selective. His bag was already full to the point of overflowing, so he took only the most valuable-looking parts from the Bramble Blights. Using his dirk, he carefully extracted the hearts, the eyes, and a handful of twigs that the System had tagged as Twisted Heartwood Branches. These, he figured, would be the most useful for crafting – and worth the effort.
No other creatures emerged from the depths of the Grove, but Fawkes wasn’t one to take chances. They spent another half-hour sitting near the outer circle, waiting for any sign of movement. With nothing much to do but wait, Hunter decided it was as good a time as any to go through his notifications. He opened his HUD with a thought, the familiar cascade of messages scrolling before his eyes.
Biggs and Wedge had spammed Ill Omen till they were virtually out of Essence, and that had worked. Augmented Familiar was now at 24, almost maxed out for his current Ascension rung – which also meant he was just another point away from getting an extra Inspiration.
As expected, he’d also gained points in some of his melee combat-related Abilities; Adaptive Defense had climbed to 19, Glaive Expertise to 21, and Opportunist to 19. Purging the creatures’ curses again and again had increased his Essence Purge to 14 and his Reinforced Channels to 18, and pushing himself to keep fighting despite growing increasingly tired had earned him a single point in Conditioning, putting it at 14.
But that wasn’t all; getting more familiar with fighting the Bramble Blights had made him more confident in his movements. He’d grown comfortable dodging their attacks, rather than giving them a wide berth – and that had helped his Evasion Skill finally climb to 20. Like clockwork, the System rewarded him for the milestone, unlocking two new Abilities.
“Fawkes,” he called out, his gaze still fixed on the glowing notifications. “I got new Abilities I can learn.”
Lately, Fawkes had taken a keen interest in the ins and outs of his System, so Hunter read the descriptions out loud. She listened intently, eyes narrowing as she absorbed every detail.
“Both solid picks, lad,” she said, her brow furrowing as she mulled over his options. “How much Inspiration have you got, again?”
“Two,” said Hunter, checking the Qualities section from his Character Sheet. “I got one for maxing out Survival, and another from that Place of Power. I’m going to get a third one any day now, too.”
“Could you please add those to that journal you’ve been keeping?” she asked. “Looking at them jotted down helps me think.”
Hunter pulled out his notebook and spent a few minutes updating it with the new information, and Fawkes a few more studying it – especially the list of new Abilities he could learn.
“Thoughts?” he asked.
“Thoughts?” she echoed, still not looking up from the notebook. “Oh, yes. I have some.”
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