Legend of the Spellthief

Countless leaves flew up from the floor and were whisked away on the wind as Logan, Marcus, and Amalia apparated within a lush thicket. Vibrant green hues and brown trunks surrounded the trio, which was a welcoming sight when compared to the scene that could have been painted with several monsters of varying colours.

Logan clicked his fingers as an invisible wave of sound washed over the surroundings, rebounding off of objects and creatures alike. Numerous reflected “hits” poked at Logan’s form, updating his mini-map with obstacles as well as possible threats. Thankfully, their entry was devoid of the latter.

“We’re good for now”, Logan announced.

Marcus stood up taller, exiting his combat stance. “Good. We’re in the circle, right?”

Logan nodded.

“So. I guess we’re going to try and find my quest. Yeah?” Amalia asked as she placed her thumb and finger on her helmet, the metal retracting to a small headband in her grasp.

Logan scanned the canopies above. Trees twisted like ancient and ridged fingers, interlocking in an attempt to save each other from deathly falls. The forest breathed life all its own, a strange sensation rolling over Logan’s skin, pins and needles fading in like a bad reaction to offensive stimuli.

“We’re being watched”, Logan alerted his party.

Amalia quickly placed the headband over her brow again, forming her protective guard.

Logan’s green eyes glistened against the early day’s sunlight, the dew on the flora mimicking the same sight. The leaves of the trees filtered the light into haphazard shadows and god rays. An emerald garden of gold, though its touch deadly to those who harboured greed.

The brush concealed protectors of this part of the world, though their protective stance was unneeded against this particular party.

Logan flexed his fingers and held up his hands in an inoffensive manner.

Logan spoke in the shrieky tongue. A mash of h sounds and hushed tones, “Gashriek, I come in peace. We are here to help. Please, do not be afraid. The leaves know our colour.”

Amalia looked at Logan with a puzzled look, as much as one could see through a full helm. Marcus understood half the words, so didn’t have many issues keeping up.

However, the secret keepers kept themselves cloaked in secrecy. The only reply Logan got was mother nature’s natural tunes of chirping birds and grass caressed in wind.

Logan then made a claw over his heart and continued to speak in shrieky, “Sire of the forest, bind me in roots if I speak falsehoods. Your garden is secret, your garden is safe. Call upon the name ‘Mova’ or have flowers bud from my eyes.”

The Spellthief’s eye twitched a bit as he noticed his recent speech affected two people in hiding, the common recital for letting the gashriek know you were an ally. It was lucky that Logan had helped gashriek in the past, the Movas from Tinte.

A deep masculine voice replied from the greenery in shrieky, “Paint the forest with sustenance.”

Logan nodded and slowly drew a knife from his hip, cut his finger, and flicked blood onto the grass. The field flowed from green to red and back again.

Seven individuals dropped from branches and erupted from the ground, bows and swords in hand and prized at the party. They were easy to identify as gashriek, the ridges across their faces visible behind grass-patterned helmets.

The same voice asked, “What is the meaning of your visit to these woods, and why do you want the gashriek?”

Amalia leaned towards Logan and asked what they were saying.

“They want to know why we’re here”, Logan replied normally, before swapping to shrieky to speak to the man, “A divination released to my friend here revealed troubles in your forest. We propose a trade of service for information.”

“Hold”, the man replied before moving to two of his allies, their voices too quiet for Logan to overhear. “Wait here. We’ll confirm your allegiance. Name?”

“Logan Hall. I aided the Movas in Tinte.”

The man nodded and left with another, leaving five behind to watch over the party.

“They’re confirming our intentions”, Logan explained to his party.

A few minutes passed before the pair returned, the man had removed his helmet to show a shaven head and face, lacking any hair whatsoever. Replacing them was a masterful tattoo from his right chin to the left of his dome that represented an old tree. His blue eyes were in adversary to the greens and browns of his tattoo, his whitish-yellow skin blending nicer.

Now speaking in Ava, the man announced, “Logan Hall. I have confirmed your heart. We welcome you. I am Tarrishna, one of the forest guardians. Your divination came at an opportune time. I have been granted allowance to extend you entry to our sanctuary.”

“Thank you”, Logan nodded.

“You know our tongue, do you know our customs?”

“We will not speak a word of your locale”, Logan answered as he looked at Marcus and Amalia.

The pair nodded in agreement.

Tarrishna extended a clawed hand, his fingernails rather long. Logan did the same and had rock form over his fingers. The men shook hands and had their nails, magic and mundane, pierce the other’s flesh, blood dripping to the floor.

“A pact is made. This way”, Tarrishna accepted as he motioned the other guards to sheath their weapons.

“Lead on”, Logan ended as he waved his hand over the floor to use his Clean mick to remove any possible components of his body from the scene.

Moving through the forest with more noisy footprints than before, the ten humanoids proceeded without blockers. Logan, Marcus, and Amalia felt a weird jelly-like barrier wash over their bodies as they progressed, the latter forming a headache and eye strain as she was able to perceive through an invisible defence.

The greens and browns of the forest faded into bright hues, with purples and reds added into the mix. A collage of varying seasonal plants and trees, among them many gashriek who peered at the party’s entrance.

Magical means hid this sanctuary from any non-gashriek, almost all of their senses being blocked. Logan looked around for any threat, but he was just met with wary eyes and inquisitive youthful gazes.

The settlement was larger than Logan expected, the barrier they used was similar to that of what a mobile dungeon employed. Tall red-brick buildings hugged and wrapped around trees, a meshing of man-made and nature-born establishments. Smoke billowed and fed the canopies above from chimneys that carried with them the seasonings adorning meat and fish.

Yellow rock roads accepted the footsteps of the visitors, their sound echoing into the distant forest and replied with whispers and chatter about the newcomers. Ooran caws also met Logan’s ears.

Speaking shrieky, Logan asked, “You use oorans too? I didn’t read about that.”

Tarrishna looked back as he led the party, “Yes. We have to breed special kinds of them, though. They only understand shrieky and have a negative response to other tongues”, he admitted in shrieky.

One of the other escorters whispered to their friend, “His grasp of shrieky is really good, right?”

“It is. I wonder where he learnt it”, his friend replied, her tone a bit shocked.

“He’s a quarter-man. Probably spent a few years among the Movas learning our speech.”

Logan looked over and smirked, “No candlelight on my parchment”, he said in shrieky.

The woman burst out laughing, causing the other guards to turn and look at her, “Sorry”, she apologised in shrieky.

“What did you say?” Amalia asked.

“A local slang. She probably found it funny coming from a foreigner.”

The leaves of the forest shifted as the group spoke amongst themselves, alive with the conversation of the natives, most of it beyond Amalia's comprehension.

Eventually, the party arrived at a large brick building, four stories in all with three chimneys that puffed like old gents in the pub.

Tarrishna announced normally, “Here’s our house of leaders. They will hear your pleas.”

Logan nodded and removed his gloves, “Take your gauntlets off”, he instructed.

Marcus and Amalia did the same, while the guards had already done so.

Tarrishna opened the wide oak doors that had carvings of beasts on them, revealing a wide entrance hallway. The interior was made up of sandstone and slate, an off-putting combat of yellows and blacks. Several scones roared with flames to light up the interior, while the smooth floor was being patrolled by attendants in flowing robes to their ankles.

Two guards followed at the party’s back while Tarrishna led them through the halls to a room under the large staircase.

Knocking on the door, Tarrishna announced in shrieky, “Lord and ladies, we bring the visitors.”

He quickly washed his hands in a nearby basin before opening the door and entering.

Logan used Clean on his and his friends’ hands before following.

In the heart of the leaders’ mansion, where the whispering winds failed to follow, laid an ancient meeting hall. Crafted from warm, golden sandstone alongside deep, rich slate, the hall radiated wisdom and industry within the serene forest.

The walls were adorned with breathtaking depictions of monsters, creatures, and humanoids. A reoccurring theme was that of all their hands, claws, and talons being easily visible and clean, blood only painted the weapons and body. In the centre of the depictions, near the middle of the ceiling, were grasping mandibles of varying species.

At the centre of the dome hall, atop raised slate, was a massive sandstone table. The corners held large clawed sconces of fire that kept nearby food warm and lit up the elders’ faces well.

Two women and one man sat at the table, wearing mostly dark green robes that covered all but their hands and faces, all of their eyes were completely green which made it hard to see who they were looking at.

Tarrishna introduced from left to right in shrieky, “This is:”

“Macarra”, a woman whose flowing green robe had hints of soft blues that complemented the greens wonderfully. Her skin was sun-kissed and darker than the others, a more youthful complexion that seemed to go hand-in-hand with her left position being that of the “youngest” leader amongst them. A few strands of white hair hung for life from her hood over her forehead, their swaying almost hypnotic.

“Fionnghu”, the woman in the middle, with depictions of water dripping down her sleeves and onto the table, though thankfully it was a trick of the eye than actuality. While her eyes were still green, small pinpricks of blue dotted the centre of them, almost like a minuscule pupil. Her curly black hair was hidden well if not for hugging her ears. Logan noticed only the tip of a black spiderweb tattoo that went down the woman’s neck and most likely down her chest.

“Earc”, the only man that was sitting on the right. His wrinkles had wrinkles. Sunspots dotted his forehead, a dark complexion of old oak that showed age in the bark. The rest was hidden by a full head of auburn hair, surprising at his age, though not as much when magic was involved. Faded tattoos of flames could be spotted just below his ears, from his youth, but gone with time, only embers were left. His temperament was still energetic though, the fire still burning bright in his heart. It seemed his use of magic for youthful hair did not extend to preserving his body’s artwork.

Logan cleared his throat and spoke in shrieky, “The hunt is young, and your wisdom keeps it so.”

The three leaders all replied with smiles, Earc the biggest so.

Macarra was the first to speak in the normal tongue, her voice metered and slow as if contemplating each syllable. “Tarrishna gave a foreword that you came here in search of information by trade for assistance with local issues. Please, inform us of what you know.”

Logan waved his hand at Amalia, motioning her to reply.

“Through divination, I have learned that your settlement is being attacked by a monster known as a Jinmerru. It has stolen many of your kind as well as other adventurers in the area. My party will deal with this foe, and in return, we request information surrounding a man by the name of Drustan who was last seen heading in this direction”, Amalia recited.

Fionnghu listened intently but shook her head slightly towards the end of the explanation, her hair vying to escape her ears’ trappings.

Earc leant towards Tarrishna who was translating for the oldest of the bunch, at the end he replied in shrieky, “It is uncommon for us to allow entry to non-gashriek, even rarer that we allow them to deal with our issues. The option of trade does not make this offer any more enticing with the lack of owement to one side.”

Logan replied earnestly in shrieky, “Sir. We do not ask for any further hands to be grasped with this deal. To the betterment of the settlement, us finding this Drustan quickly will both lower the foot traffic of others as well as deal with something that may cause issues down the road for your people. He is engaging in strong forces, and if left alone, could make where he lies a hotspot of activity.”

Marcus leaned in towards Logan as if to hear the words easier, parsing a handful and getting the general meaning, while Amalia’s head spun in confusion at the fantastical language unbeknownst to her.

With each passing word from Logan, however, the gashrieks’ tones lightened with smiles adorning their faces. This was so adamant in Earc that the oldest man stood and walked around the table with arms wide for a hug. His smile formed even more wrinkles across his face.

“This man! He speaks better shrieky than my great-grandson”, Earc confessed in a boisterous shrieky tone. Waving an arm around, he clasped Logan’s hand tightly with his own, causing Macarra to let out a quiet gasp.

Fionnghu added in shrieky, “Earc. We’re not here to eulogize our guest’s grasp of—”

“Nonsense”, Earc interrupted as he turned to face the two seated ladies, his hand still shaking Logan’s, “If a man such as this has learned our tongue so, then we can lend a hand just as willingly”, he ended with a flourish of a handshake, letting go of Logan.

Fionnghu then spoke in Ava to the trio, much to Amalia’s delight, “As our longest-standing leader has shown, we’re accepting of this ‘trade’. However, there are other traditions we must see to.”

Logan pulled out a modest-sized parsnip-adjacent vegetable and handed it to Tarrishna.

“Quite… but also—”

Logan then rolled up his sleeve, laid his bare arm on the table and placed a dagger next to it.

Earc quickly tugged on Logan’s shoulder, “There’s no need for that outdated tradition. It’s redundant with the feeding of the forest”, he assured in shrieky.

Fionnghu frowned but the seniority of Earc seemed to have her bite her tongue.

Macarra then spoke in Ava, “You’re quite well-versed in our culture. Where did you study?”

“Selt-taught”, Logan admitted.

Earc raised his eyebrows and extended his eyes in an expression that could only be translated as “What?”

Tarrishna quickly explained what the pair said in shrieky, to which Earc continued to be overjoyous at.

Logan was relieved at the fact he fluency in their language and knowledge of customs let him turn the mind of one of the leaders so easily. He would have thought they’d be the hardest to convince.

Earc moved back around the table to his seat, the old man rubbing his face as if he had been chewing on insanely sour sweets. “Macarra, your stance?” he asked in shrieky.

Macarra hesitated for a moment longer than anticipated, but eventually, she returned with the shrieky word for, “Yes.”

“Fionnghu?”

The older woman had barely a second in thought before her shrieky reply, “No.”

Earc then turned to look at the trio of adventurers on the other side of the table. “A majority vote leads to your answer being yes”, he then raised his hand at Tarrishna, “Allow our guests stay and passes. Relinquish all information on the Jinmerru to them.”

Tarrishna moved his hand over his head, removing sweat from it onto his bare skin. “Please, this way”, he asked as he motioned the party to follow him out of the leader’s building.

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