The Lantern Guide

[Randalla]

“Seneca,” came a familiar voice from outside the bedroom door. “It’s time.”

Seneca winced, letting his blurred vision recover, taking a slow, deep breath, ignoring the spicy aroma that quickly found its way into his lungs.

I left it burning all night…

He felt the damp fabric of his bedsheets beneath his feet. The room was freezing cold.

If only I could linger here a little while longer...

A flick of the finger sent the used up stick of incense crashing down like a great oak, only to scatter to dust into the ceramic platter on the nightstand.

Smart as a bear, strong as fox…

Seneca snickered to himself.

Whatever bleak bit of light this morning brought along its dew, came creeping through the nearby window, turning the smoky interior into a shimmering pale cascade of dancing hues of blue.

Just like the lake of lost dreams…

Stooping over the edge of his bed, the floorboards squealed beneath his bare feet. With each looming step towards the window. It felt like stepping on ice, jagged, worn, ice.

No fire...

Stepping out from the shadowy confines of his sweat stained sheets. Towards the bedroom window. His naked frame suddenly engulfed by a beaming white beacon of light. Bright enough to reveal both heart and soul, inside his now translucent shell of a form.

Oh, I see now…

Before him was nothing, absolutely nothing. Just a dim blanket of fog, gently brushing against the opalescent window, yet unable to enter.

The sun had never felt so good before…

No doubt an ill omen for what was yet to come.

[Randalla]

Spoiler: show

“Wait! where did you go?”

No answer, only the howling chill of a spectral dawn. Along with the omnipresent fog which engulfed the northern Mistlands, which were especially treacherous during the flood seasons.

I can barely see my very own hands...

Seneca reached into a leather pouch that clung to his belt. Fishing out a dried up husk of moss. With a lantern helt aloft with his other hand, Seneca pulled the latch open and filled it not with oil, but with the patch of moss.

Enough games, we have work to do…

Taking a deep breath, letting the scent of morning dew wash over a sense of tranquility. A soft incantation was muttered, followed by a snap of the finger, and just like that, the moss within the lantern was engulfed. Spreading a luminous halo across the dense fog in a prismatic array of colors.

Hear that? The whispers…

A soft hum, present, yet unknown. Then all of a sudden, like a shockwave, the fog parted ways. Snaking and coiling like a candle being snuffed out. Revealing ways of a deep rooted clearing of moss, pine and looming willow. Even still, the fog remained, skirting the edges of the clearing, letting only branches pass through the great white barrier, like treants grasping for unsuspecting prey.

“Took you long enough.” Snickered a familiar voice.

Atop a gentle hill, leaning against the trunk of a great willow. A tall and slender elven figure stood perched, with arms crossed, along with a unlit lantern in hand.

Why does she test me like this?

“We must always remain vigilant, you know this.” Seneca replied, clutching his lantern as the dull rainbow flames flickered within.

A single wrong step is all it takes…

“We’re heading west today, towards Achleon.” The woman uttered the words, in turn setting her lantern alight with a similar glow.

“Across the river?” Seneca replied with uncertainty.

Unwise…

“Lest you wish to feast on somnos berries. Tis your call, baby brother.” Without another word, she turned heel to walk down the opposite hillside.

“H-hey, wait for me!”

Seneca hurried after, guided only by the dull trail of a distant flickering whisp through the fog.

[Randalla]

Spoiler: show

“Look, over there!”

A firm grip coiled around Seneca’s arm, jerking him to a stop. Lowering him to a crouched position amongst the rolling, damp moss, and sprouting lichen, which painted the snaking willow trees in a wash of earthy pastels.

Grave lights…

With a keen eye, in a seemingly rhythmic fashion, Seneca scanned the gnarly forest for any possible threats. Between the dense treelines of hunched over, vaguely humanoid shapes. Crawling vines, eager to ensnare and choke the life out of a lonesome hunter. One false step among the slippery stones and overgrown shrubbery, could mean the end of anyone foolish enough to brave these forgotten glades.

“Y-yes, I see it. But why all the way out here? We’re in the heart of the forest. Closest settlement from here would be Viaki.” Seneca cleared his throat, gripping the shaft of his staff tightly, trying to remain calm. Letting his worried gaze linger into the distance, eventually locking onto a small dancing orb of phosphorescence.

We should turn back…

“This could mean one of two things; someone went through a lot of trouble to bury the remains out here. Or we’re stepping on hallowed grounds.” His sister slung a hunting bow from her shoulder, after fastening her lantern to her belt. “Keep your guard up baby brother, watch for more of them.”

She is diverging from our path…

“The rites have been made. You know what that means, a storm could hit us at any moment.” Seneca motioned towards the dancing orb in the distance, his words shaky but still hushed.

“Let us-” Before he could continue, his words were quickly cut short by the audible snap of a branch, followed by a gurgled, grotesque howl coming from somewhere behind them.

Run, run, run…

“Mandragonae!” His sister exclaimed, nocking an arrow with deft accuracy. Before she had even fully turned to face their stalking predators.

Dashing out from the impenetrable depths of the forest came two deformed animal-like creatures. Winding through the moss covered rocks in a flanking maneuver, making it near impossible to keep track of their camouflaged forms. Though even from a distance, they seemed more plant-like than canine. Their beastial snarles mixed with an eerily low, near moaning whimpers, sent shivers down Seneca’s spine, out through his limbs, paralyzing him to the core.

Lycan, mistlings, mandragonae! By fang and claw they come! With it... Our doom!

A sudden impact to the side of his face sent Seneca back to reality. “Stop trembling in your boots and do something!” His sister yelled, her arrows not finding their mark as they snapped against the many rocks that provided ample cover for the now fast approaching monsters!

Barking, snarling, jaws snapping, along with the terrifying moans. The sounds grew louder and louder. The icy cold grasp taking hold of him once more, replaced by the thumping in his chest, as if his heart was about to explode. Louder and louder, to the point where all he could hear was the high-pitched ringing in his ears. All of it, just a cloudy haze.

“SENECAAA!”

Like the flick of a switch, Seneca once more slipped back to consciousness, only to be faced with one of the ghastly shamblers charging right at him in mid-pounce. Its wide gaping maw filled with several rows of both rotten canine fangs and humanoid shaped teeth, greyish foam spilling out from every corner of its horribly stretched out jaw. Yellow eyes bulging out from its deformed skull, glossed over with the same sickly white puss that covered the rest of its mutated body. Even insects had managed to find perches, burrowing into the infected fur, crawling around its face, as if they had become one with the beast.

Sister…

Not another thought passed by as Seneca held his arms stretched out, as if he was about to embrace the lunging beast. Sparks coursing through his veins, and out towards the tips of his fingers, bracing himself for impact.

"Fortano! Fordygema!" The incantation was spoken, right as a vicious claw came raking across his face, painting the damp moss next to him in crimson. He lived, fueled by adrenaline, seeing only red. The powerful beast had him pinned against a rock, ravaging his form into a bloody pulp. Desperate hands digging into the decaying form, channeling the final spark of lightning into the beast. Blue arcane tendrils fully engulfing the beast, further echoing a pained but distorted yelp from its maw. Smoke began to billow from the thrashing form, even though the beast had his maw firmly sealed shut around Seneca’s arm. But it did not matter, for Seneca held the beast within his shocking grasp just as tight, gritting his teeth, screeching at the pain. Eventually the beast would fall limp on top of Seneca’s gored and near lifeless frame. All that remained of the defeated predator was a sizzling darkened husk, arcing with leftover energy. A final sight of relief escaped Seneca’s lips, as sudden rainfall came to wash away the taste of iron in his mouth...

I'm sorry I failed you...

[Randalla]

Spoiler: show

Soaring above the pallid treelines, through a dizzying pink sky. Feathered wings taking flight through a crisp morning breeze. A welcome change of pace from the now fading summer, as the new dawn ushers in the fall, shifting the landscape from hues of deep evergreen, to the waning colours of autumn. As golden yields are stored away, ushering in the harvest’s close. Yet another grave reminder that the hour of ascension is fast closing in towards the threshold.

In the vast distance, forlorn towers of broken marble and clinging ivy watch from the great beyond. Poking through and scattered about a sea of endless mist.
Tempting the fates of scholarly minds and foolhardy adventurers alike, to brave the white gates that shroud the lands, only to never return.

Through the eyes of the feathered creature, its vision locked onto one of the towers ahead, edging closer and closer. For a brief moment, the pinkish clouds are split open, above the fast approaching dilapidated tower. As if a knife had cut through the very fabric of the sky itself. Like a flash of radiant sunlight, the entire vista is drenched in a reddish orange glow.

A light most bright and pure, enough to flush out any sense of being, other than the howling winds that dull out all hearing. Red turns to orange, turns to yellow, turns to a misty white... Just like that, the vision of the creature is suddenly pulled back in an instant, shaking Seneca into consciousness, finding himself inside the confines of his own bedroom.

One day perhaps…

The slightest attempt at escaping his bed sent a painful reminder through his feeble form, making him wince at the sudden agony that began to pulsate inside of his skull.

So thirsty…

Muffled voices from one floor down could be heard, along with the faint spicy aroma that crept through the floorboards, teasing Seneca’s nostrils. Though the prospects of sustenance were short lived, as a sudden tapping against the nearby window broke his concentration from staring blankly into the ceiling.

“Hmm?”

As he peeled his gaze from the strange figures in the ceiling, rolling to his side with a low groan, his eyes were met with a feathered figure perched just outside of the window. Flanked by the pale morning light, casting a looming shadow across the interior of the bedroom. Hooting and staring back at Seneca with beady yellow orbs was a majestic owl, its head tilted to one side, as if it were questioning him about something.

Yes, yes. I’ll get up…

At the back of his mind was the image of the great tower, dwarfed by a golden horizon, as he lingered in bed a moment longer.