Jon's Campaign

Blood Thrumming

These woods are strange. Our bear-changer and – what was the other’s name, our dark elf? Something long an unpronounceable. Like a good Icelander. They were snatched up, strange vines reaching from the dark. Nothing seems out of place, however – us remaining few were peculiarly unperturbed by this happening.

We’ve come to a maze, a labyrinth of some kind. The woods, drawing us in, inexorably inwards to an unknown center. I’ve been feeling stronger though. Finally, able to take off after days of mere hovering. I launch, take a look around. Eyes not good enough to see into the woods, see what awaits us in the walls. The river, crosses our proscribed path twice. Inwards, to a cave, a tree. Water from the river flows into it; not all, just some.

We forge forward. The children are getting stronger. Magic. Invisibility, the simple kind. Like mine, although I have not revealed that trick yet. We force our way onwards, inwards. The children, they fall. Their passion, their fanaticism, their deaths. Enthralling. My blood is thrumming. Passions rising. My flaming sphere proves its deadliness again and again. One battle has wounded me. One man – archer. Strong. I take him down in flame. But it hurts.

My creatures, my beings spring forth. We’ve made quick work though, they don’t always have blood to go after once they arrive. My poor eagles. A waste.

Do we forge onwards? Ever inwards? Into the maw of whatever awaits us? Or have we probed far enough for now? Do we retreat, rest? Enlist men of steel to blunt the arrows? We were to find out what is happening; not necessarily take care of it, wipe it out. Yet my blood thrums. The beating of the drums.



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