The calm and stillness prevailed over the second half of the night. The three companions sat nearby the dying embers and waited until sunrise. Marque stared off into the dark. His thoughts drifting from the Hermit to the part he played in his abduction.

Bastian offered comforting words to Marque but they fell on deaf ears. Bastian tended to Martydom's injuries. He cleaned and dressed them as best as he could with the supplies he had. Afterward, he placed his hands on them for about a minute. Who was to say his gift couldn't work on animals as well?

Lorenzo petted his hound and supported him throughout the rest of the night. How could he sleep at a time like this? His friend was hurt and needed his master by his side.

Col slept like the log his companions sat on. Already having taken the first watch and doing the brunt of the fighting, he was exhausted. Even still, his dreams were filled with dark figures and shadows. He tossed and turned in the Wood. Merlin tried his best to sleep near his master's side. The events had shaken him greatly. Distant howls bellowed in the dark.


The night passed by and gave way to the morning. The sun broke through the trees lighting the path before them. Something called to each one of them. It drew them further. They felt like turning back would deprive them each of what they sought. Whether that be a man, a dream, or purpose. They had to follow the path ahead. Despite the danger.

The group ate and drank some of their provisions. Then they packed their belongings and headed deeper into the Glittering Wood. Lorenzo rode atop Merlin with Col steering the reigns. Martyrdom walked alongside. Bastian and Marque followed behind. There was a somber feeling in the air since the night before. The Hermit, who once sang songs of joy had been dragged into the night. His fate looked grim.

This hung on the party's shoulders. Even still they moved on. Lorenzo tracked the movements of the group before them without much trouble. There were dozens of footprints, hoofprints and dog tracks to follow. They travelled for a few hours eventually reaching a trickling stream. The stream promised fresh water for their weary souls. None of them slept much last night and the sleep Col did get was wrought with terrible nightmares. As man and beast drank from the stream they felt a little stronger. A little more energy flowing through them. Martyrdom seemed to recover much of his pep as he indulged himself. He barked happily. Then everyone filled their waterskins by the stream.

As they prepared to leave, something caught Marque's eye. On one of the rocks was a fairly small symbol he was very familiar with. He immediately recognized it as the key Gardevoir wore around his neck. To Marque's knowledge, he never took it off and was hyper vigilant about who he allowed to see it. Gardevoir had explained to him at one point that his key is what inspired him to open his theater. Gardevoir wanted to unlock the emotion of Milborne. Marque always thought he was being figurative.

Seeing it now snapped him out of his stupor. His mind was sharp and alert once more. Upon closer inspection, the symbol did not look like a new image. It seemed old. Hundreds of years old.

Then Marque felt a great stirring in his soul. A whirlwind of emotion hit him suddenly. Pain, wrath, terror and hopelessness. His knees buckled under the fear. He perceived that nearby behind a blanket of trees was where the emotions originated from. He didn't know how he knew this, but he knew that he knew.

The tracks perceived to move in that very direction.



1. Continue forward unchanged pushing into the fear.

2. Inform the others what you sense.

3. Something else.

Though Col had slept through the night with nary a chance of waking, he still felt somewhat drained by his dreams, if one were generous enough to call them that. A mostly silent meal and they moved along, taking a moment of respite at a stream they found. Just as they were ready to leave Marque spoke up. What he said was rather disturbing. Col take a moment to mull it over. "Well it seems we could find the origin of... Whatever this is. However, I'm not sure we want to. We might end up running into more trouble like whatever happened last night. What do the rest of you think?"

---

Lorenzo looked at the peculiar structure in front of him, patting Col's steed as he inspected it at face-value. He smiled at Martyrdom's revitalization from the water, but he could only spare a little time to acknowledge and appreciate the dog's excitement. He took everything into account as he looked at the area at a glance. Everything seemed normal aside from the key-shaped carving in the rock and the... tracks? They looked foreign from the greaves of the knight, the slippers of the Marque, and the boots of the doctor. Additionally, the Marque seemed to recall the feelings of negativity. Lorenzo could feel them too, if only faintly through the Marque's own aura.

Though, despite the negativity, Lorenzo remained largely unmoved. He'd been through these emotions many times before, the remnants of them were absolutely god awful, but he didn't want to cower. He felt the negativity, sure, but he didn't feel like he should cower because of it. He still certainly didn't trust the emotions, and they made him shiver harshly, like they were a brisk cold feeling. To the group, Lorenzo whistled twice to summon his trusty hound to his side, following up with an explanation. "Fellows, observe these tracks. Martyrdom can lead us in the direction of what made them. He wouldn't mind at all."

Bastian was a bit skeptical about Marque's feelings towards this mysterious symbol. It could very well be him suffering from trauma after what had happened the previous night, or there was maybe something to it. Regardless of whether or not it was fueled by mental unease, Bastian didn't need to have Lorenzo's tracking skills to notice that the tracks before them went off in that very same direction. If there were trouble ahead, they would not be the first to find it. The squire asked the rest of their opinion on the matter at hand while Lorenzo stated his hound's capability in following these tracks.

"I think it's worth a look," Bastian said. "The tracks concur with Marque's suspicions. It can't just be coincidence."

Lorenzo led the way toward the clearing with his hound atop Col's horse. The closer they approached the more Marque felt like his heart would explode from the waves of emotion that crashed over him. Even so, he pressed on through gritted teeth.

They witnessed a peculiar sight. They noticed the trees were becoming increasingly barren the closer they got to the clearing. Their leaves cracked beneath the group's feet. These leaves had no moisture. They were dead and lifeless. When the group broke through the clearing, they were met by a horrendous sight. Men's bodies littered the ground. Some were in pieces, while others simply lay still. There were soldiers in various attire and weaponry. A few dog handlers could be seen laying in the distance, bloodied. The horses bodies lay near their former masters. Ripped apart. None had been eaten. Even the dogs had not been consumed. They were torn in half.

Marque felt the culmination of all the terror, pain and anguish that resonated from this resting place. He fell to his knees and clutched his heart in pain. How could this be? Where was Gardevoir? Nothing made sense and his mind raced from corpse to bloody corpse.

Col looked on in horror. The bodies of many soldiers were those who Col perceived to be some of the best and most loyal to Lord Bryce. Even the Captain of the guard laid unceremoniously by a tree, sword still clung to his hand. How had they all been slain with nothing to show for it?

Bastian stared on in shock at the sight. Many of these men he had helped treat in the past. Now all were gone. The wounds were consistent with the wolfborn from the night before. His physician's instincts kicked in and he began looking over the ones closest to him. Bastian noticed that all of the men he checked had no pulse. Except for one. This soldier barely held a pulse, but he still maintained labored breathing.

Lorenzo could only sit on Merlin and look on. Martydom whined and cowered into the dry leaves. Lorenzo recognized the two trainers from back outside the city. The bodies had apparently been mauled and the tracks of the wolfborn could be seen everywhere. What could be done now?

Bastian's blood ran cold at the sight before him. How could this have happened? It didn't make any sense. How did their motley little crew fair better than trained soldiers? And with nothing to show for it? His shock and disbelief was soon overridden by his duties as a physician and he set to work checking the less mangled bodies. There was no point in checking them all. The man who had both of his arms torn off was very much dead by now.

One by one, he checked for signs of life. To his dismay he even recognized some of the faces he saw. Especially one in particular.

"Oh, Felix," he said softly. "Not you too."

Bastian had treated him just last week after he had accidently cut himself while trying to whittle a chicken out of a tree branch. He was around Bastian's age as well, far too young to have died in such a manner as this. Bastian took Felix's sword and laid it lengthwise on top of him with the hilt resting in the center of his chest. He then gently crossed Felix's arms over his stomach and on top of the blade. This was a common burial practice from his homeland, though he knew Felix wouldn't actually get a proper burial. He knew what he did would seem strange to the others, but it was all he could do for the lad at this point.

At this point Bastian had almost given up all hope in finding any survivors. There was but one more body to check. He knelt down beside the man and dutifully checked for a pulse, though he doubted it would be there. To his surprise he felt a small push against his fingertips causing him to perk up. Then, he felt it again. He was alive! He was barely alive, but alive nonetheless. Bastian threw off his medical bag and turned to his companions. Marque was in shock, he would be useless. Lorenzo couldn't walk. That left Col.

Bastian jammed a finger over in Col's direction.

"You," Bastian ordered. "Come here and help me. This man is alive, but only just. If I treat him now he may have a slim chance at life, but I need to get his mail off so I can treat him properly."

Bastian knew it was rude to be so demanding and boss the squire around in such a way, but there was no time for pleasantries. Time was of the essence. Hopefully, Col would understand. Bastian plunged his hands into his medical bag and began digging out everything he would need to patch the poor man back together.

Col's grip on his weapon and shield tightened as they moved further and further. It didn't feel right. Those trees shouldn't look like that at this time of year should they? The air didn't smell right. Col felt clammy. They were in a forest, but he couldn't hear anything other than their own footsteps. Something was wrong. Merlin began kicking up a little bit as well, only reinforcing Col's feeling. When they came into view of what could only be described as a massacre Col froze as though the very life had been stolen from him. His eyes wandered over the scene in a detached sort of way, categorizing the horrors he saw. It was only through a supreme effort of will that Col didn't throw up on the spot. What? What was this? What the hell was this? How did this many people die here? Why had so many corpses been left here? Rolfe had praised Lance, the captain of the guard, as a man of indomitable will, terrifying physical prowess, and having a mind akin to a steel trap. Traits Col knew for himself to be true. Still he lay there, dead with his sword still in hand. Similarly lauded great men lay around the gory scene, men that Col had talked to, trained with, eaten with. Now they were strewn about like horribly realistic dolls someone had broken in a fit of rage. These thoughts pulsed through Col's mind at a staccato pace, striking a harsh contrast to his still immobile frame.

Bastian had apparently managed to gather his nerve and step forward, approaching one of the bodies and treating it. Col himself managed to take a few staggering steps forward as his mind feebly tried to see if anyone could still be living amongst the rent apart bodies. He had only just began to examine the bodies for such a thing when Bastian spoke up and ordered Col to help him. Though he might be struggling to process the scene before him, his body had no qualms responding to orders, and he quickly strode over the man Bastian was next to. His experience with the armor in question aided him in quickly removing it from the wounded man, while he attempted to avoid causing any additional harm, Col considered time to be the limiting factor and moved with haste. Hopefully Bastian would be able to do something to help the poor man.

---

Lorenzo carefully guided Merlin over to the trainers in the back, the man simply looking down upon their mangled flesh with a grief-stricken face. This is what had happened to them in the end. This was how their books had closed, and how the painting had finished. He... he wasn't happy about it. He could only hope to send their families his condolences after all this was over. "... sorry it happened to you two, Jacob and William." They were two fine trainers. Nowhere able to muster the control Lorenzo had, but still quite fantastic.

The artist pulled out his notebook before writing on the pages, tearing the pages out once the names and general looks of the faces were scribed. He then dropped them to their remains before pulling the hood of his cloak over his head and hiding his tears. One man, a more stout and religious sir with shortened hair, had the name of "William Righton" scribed onto their paper, the other man was a tall and lanky figure, a series of art materials poking from the bag that he had with him. "Jacob Twiggins."

Lorenzo turned the steed towards Martyrdom's hiding place before walking back over there, keeping his hood drawn.

---

No. No no no. No no no no nononononono NO! So much death, so much suffering, gathered and left to stew, to coalesce, as though the machinations of a malevolent witch crafting her brew of pure malice and suffering. And Marque felt it. Emotions washed over mind and body, threatening to drown him like a pebble at the mercy of a great torrent. He dropped to knees, sobbing tears into leaves. Perhaps to an outside observer he appeared of weak constitution, or incapable of managing such grisly imagery. The truth would easily be lost on such ignorant to his hidden potential. It was not sight nor smell of such offal breaking him down. Nay, such honor belonged to the ghosts of the victims. Like a swamp of emotion, left behind after this atrocity, Marque could not avoid sinking in. He... He had to back away. To remove himself from such radiating despair, lest that be all which dominates his heart and soul for years to come.

Stumbling, the stage actor moved back, leaves crunching with every pounding beat of the heart, pumping fear across every pore. Once a certain distance had been attained, one of nearly forty feet, he spoke out to others in a voice quite shaky, for the lessened emotions had not been quelched entirely. "I find myself haunted by the spirits of these men, and cannot approach without madness. I seek a specific man, and pray he lies not amidst these deceased. He is known as Gardevoir, might you keep an open eye?"

Marque then went on to describe his mentor to the others, in hopes their vigilance could be his strength in this time of great weakness.

Col successfully unfastened the man's chain mail with great speed. Bastian's voice was urgent and time was not on their side. This man looked to be one of the soldier's squires. He was younger and Col recognized his face to be that of Colley Thierri. He had trained with him on occasion. They had talked philosophy and the politics of the land multiple times. Col couldn't help but be relieved he was still breathing.

Once the mail was removed, Bastian set to work on the man's chest. There were large puncture wounds that pierced the man's outer garments and stopped at the mail. There were small puncture marks on Colley's body, but the real injury was his broken rib cage. The bite was consistent of that of the wolfborn from earlier. Apparently its' bite was so strong that it crushed the rib cage. A dangerous beast indeed. Bastian wrapped the man's ribs with bandages. Then he tilted his head and poured a vial of herbal medicine down his throat.

After the liquid had been swallowed, the man began to cough. His chest heaved with great strain. Once the coughing had subsided, Colley's eyes opened wide with terror. He struggled to speak for some time, but finally managed to whisper, "They came...at night...So many. The theater ma-" he began coughing violently. Blood spilled out of his mouth. He tried to continue, but with greater difficulty, "Found him...ran...there." He leaned his head to the side over in Marque's general direction.

Marque faintly heard the voice of a wounded man. However, he was in such pain and anguish that he could not take another step to aid him. As he was backing up, he caught something out of the corner of his eye. There it was. The symbol. Etched into a another large stone that was halfway buried in the ground. Marque knew this was no coincidence. A second key. Even in his weakness he ran his hand over the rock. It felt warm.
Lorenzo found Martyrdom cowering and tried to soothe him with his shaking voice. His tears spilled down off of Merlin unto the cracking leaves below. Lorenzo began to hear the faint whistling of wind in the distance. He heard it get louder and louder. Then that breeze howled through the trees around Lorenzo. It kicked up the leaves which went spiraling into the air. It was ice cold. His ears picked up on something else in the midst of wind. There was howling. The very same from the night before, only this was within the wind itself.

Merlin whinnied in terror. His head swiftly turned in the opposite direction from the howls and he bolted away. Martyrdom followed as quickly as he could. They were not having any of this nonsense. Even when Merlin passed by his master it had no effect. It did not stop Merlin from continuing his flight. Lorenzo held on for dear life and tried to calm the horse. It took longer then he would have liked, but he finally managed to reign him in, stopping near the stone Marque was. Martyrdom followed soon after them. When the dog had finally calmed down he began to sniff the rock Marque was in fascination. He moved from it to a couple of feet away and back. Then he began to sniff Marque and the rock again. It was clear to Lorenzo that Marque's scent was in some way connected with this stone. How could that be unless he had been there before?

Col and Bastian felt the icy wind. They saw the leaves swirling through the air. They didn't know what to make of it, but they certainly heard howling within it. Col and Bastian shivered. When the breeze hit Colley, he had a much different reaction. He began to cough up blood. His chest heaved in great pain and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Within a few seconds, Bastian realized he was gone. There was no way he survived that amount of blood loss. Suddenly, the howling winds intensified. The leaves whirled in a beautifully, terrifying display. Red, yellow, and gold colors danced around them brilliantly until it was all they saw. Whatever this was, it was unnatural. They felt like it would freeze their very bones if they stayed too long within it.
From Marque and Lorenzo's perspective, the wind and leaves were isolated near Col and Bastian. Nothing was coming near them. That's when they all heard it. The sound of howls in the distance. Not just in the wind itself. The wolfborn knew they were there, and they were coming. The group heard at least a dozen howls all around them. There would be no running from this...


1. Attempt to retrieve an item before moving toward the group.
2. Stand your ground and retrieve all you can from the bodies.
3. Move toward the group immediately.

1. Call out to the others and prepare for battle.
2. Try to discern the symbol and its meaning.
3. Something else.

Col felt a weak sense of relief upon hearing Colley speak, but a greater sense of despair immediately after. He sounded so weak. Too weak. Colley tried to speak but Col couldn't make any sense of his words, something about a theater man and Marque. He didn't manage to speak anymore before a artic wind screamed through the clearing like a hungry pack of wolves, stripping away any heat, stealing away his breath, and causing an angry torrent of leaves to rise into the air. Colley's reaction was immediate, he began hacking up blood before suddenly stopping and falling back. Although Col couldn't medically declare the man dead, he could practically see the life leave his body. Col swallowed back the noise he was going to make upon processing this and looked around.

Somehow the wind was blowing in such a way that the leaves that it had kicked up had effectively walled Bastion and Col off from the world. Except for the bone chilling howls that were coming from outside. Col's brain kicked into overdrive. It sounded like at least one of those Wolfborn monsters were out there. If they were all Wolfborn they would undoubtedly die here, more bodies in the clearing. He absolutely couldn't fight without an offhand. No one else here was prepared for a fight either. However, loath as Col was to admit it, the equipment strewn about the battlefield could give them a better chance of surviving. Perhaps they could take advantage of this leaf storm too? It was impossible to know how the Wolfborn would react to it. Impossible to know many of them there were. Impossible to know all the factors. Impossible.

"LORENZO, MARQUE, GET IN HERE AND GRAB A WEAPON!" Col bellowed, fueled by a mix of frustration at his situation and desire to fix it. "Bastian that goes for you too." Col said as he shucked his battered shield to his feet and grabbed Colley's, along with a knife from the dead man's belt which he promptly stuck in his own. Not enough information. He didn't even know if they had heard him. Ideally they should find a tree or rock face to help them fight against what was undoubtedly greater numbers. And as long as he kept thinking of solution, even if he couldn't implement them, he could continue to believe they would survive this.

---

Marque steadied himself against the etching of Gardevoir's key, the literal pillar to his metaphorical structure at this time. A biting wind carried with it a chilling howl. Somehow, beyond all reason and logic, mother nature bent to the will of another, changing in such an isolated place as to only affect the immediate area surrounding Col and Bastian. Col called for aid, yet Marque dared not to move any closer. Perhaps the squire would remember why Marque could not approach again, an explanation given only moments ago. It likely slipped the warrior's mind in such a dire situation. Or perhaps the truth was that he simply disbelieved in his associate's empathic ability. Marque knew such would not be the first time he was considered a liar for his capability, yet if he did not find a solution, it would definitively prove to be the last.

The actor took comfort in the warmth of the etching against the biting wind. So much so that it demanded his attention, despite the imminent danger posed by more attacking wolfborn. He had been attracted toward the swirling torrent of anguish before, distracted, but now at this opportunity the etching finally registered to him as having significance greater than originally perceived. A perfect match for his master's key, yet the wear of the stone proved to be ancient. Far more ancient than a simply playwright could be, yes? Words of the past stuck out to Marque in this desperate moment, words uttered by Gardevoir with the greatest of jubilence. To unlock the emotion of Milborne. There would appear to be some manner of magic at work, of that much Marque was not certain, but felt could be reliably assumed. Felt.

Yes, perhaps his unique ability would be of aid in this mystery. Marque did his best to shake the despair from his mind, for he needed to concentrate and complete the task before dangerous predators tore them each to shreds, only for the purpose of fun. He concentrated hard on how he would feel to see Gardevoir once more, to be reunited with the man who completed his life. Doing so, a single index finger traced along the key marking as he poured all the joy he could muster into the action.

Bastian was slightly relieved when he heard the man speak. Perhaps there was hope for him, but he would still need time. As he spoke he mentioned a 'theater man' and turned his head in Marque's direction, who seemed very interested in a rock.

An icy wind then swept through the clearing. Bastian couldn't tell what chilled his bones the most: the wind, or the howls carried with it. The wounded man suddenly began a violent coughing spell. Bastian quickly dove into his medical bag to find something to help him, but then the man fell silent. He was gone. Bastian punched the dirt in anger and frustration. He had failed. He wasn't able to save even a single man.

Bastian was brought back to reality by Col's shouting. It seemed he had regained his wits. It seemed as though the squire wanted Lorenzo and Marque to join them in the storm of leaves that surrounded them and find weapons. However, Marque was obsessing over a rock and Lorenzo was still unable to walk, so he wasn't sure what Col expected to happen. At least Lorenzo had a bow. Bastian was, however, certainly in need of a proper weapon, so he took up Colley's sword and fastened the scabbard to his own belt. As he quickly packed up his supplies he attempted to come up with a plan. To his surprise he actually did come up with something, but he wasn't sure how good of an idea it truly was.

"I have an idea," he said to Col. "It's not a great idea, but an idea nonetheless.

Bastian reached into his pack and pulled out his flint and steel.

"These beasts, as savage as they are, seem very uncomfortable around fire, and we are sitting in the middle of a very large tinder box. It may buy us some time."

He would leave Col to use his imagination to figure out what he had in mind. Bastian could think of no other way to hinder the beasts other than their innate fear of flame. Standing and fighting was unwise given that they were unaware of exactly how many wolfborn were coming. However, perhaps slowing them down and masking their scent with the smell of burning leaves and smoke would be sufficient. Not to mention a massive fire would surely attract attention and therefore, perhaps, some much needed assistance.

---

"... horsecock." Lorenzo immediately heard the sounds of the wolfborn and feared for the worst. He was terrified of these wolfborn after seeing the ruckus they caused last night for the group... and after having seen Lorenzo's companions of long ago destroyed by them...

The dog trainer pulled on the reigns of the horse he was riding, only to find the beast unwilling to move. "D-dammit!" he called to Col. "Merlin's unwilling to move! The leaves are intimidating him!" The cripple looked around for another way to evade the assault of the wolfborn. He looked to the forest and got a curious idea. "Col, I think that Merlin, Martyrdom and I just need to run! I'm not much use when I can't be with the group!"

Martyrdom cowered for a few seconds before darting up to Merlin's side and started pawing him. He wanted to move, and he wanted to move then. Lorenzo looked at Col and simply shouted his question. "Do you trust me?!"

The icy winds blew the leaves around Col and Bastian. While they took Colley's equipment they began to shiver. Not even a minute had passed when they found their movement had slowed down considerably. They could see their own breath when not minutes prior they barely needed a cloak. This wind was unnatural. It was not on their side. Col's shouts went unheeded by the others to come to them. Meanwhile Bastian devised a plan. To set fire to the leaves around them. But would it work? If he could pull it off and ignite a few leaves, perhaps the wind would blow the fire even larger. They were running out of time.

Bastian took his flint and steel out. He proceeded to strike them, making sparks fly toward the leaves around them. The wind howled and swirled about. It was unclear whether or not he could actually start a fire in the midst of this icy wind.

Lorenzo yelled to Col about trust and purposed it in his mind to flee the scene. He was well aware of his own handicaps. However, as he began to take charge over Merlin, Lorenzo found him completely unwilling to move. Not one inch. Merlin was remaining as close as he could to the key-stone Marque was fascinated by.

Marque attempted to interact with the warmth he felt from the stone for some time. He faintly heard the sounds of his allies and the winds. However, the warmth of the stone consumed him. It was a comforting feeling and he never wanted to let go. He began to search deep within himself for all the joy within his life he had ever experienced. A war raged within him. A war between the death around and the love he experienced before. The stone helped draw out these feelings and Marque resonated with them. Suddenly the keyhole began to glow under Marque's hand in a brilliant orange-red light.Marque could feel the stone beginning to shake ever so slightly. Something was happening. he could only speculate as to what exactly. Merlin and Martyrdom didn't seem very surprised. They moved even closer to the stone and its' warmth. A welcome contrast to the icy wind. Even Lorenzo could feel the warmth now.

Col and Bastian shook from the cold that whipped through their clothes. Afterward, the wind did something strange. It tossed all the leaves up high into the air. They began to descend as if something that held them had let them go at the same time. The leaves danced and twirled all around the two until they rested upon the ground. It was eerily quiet for a few seconds. Then they both heard the crunching of leaves in the trees before the clearing they were in. About two dozen Wolfborn. They were waiting for something. An order? A signal?Then a single red leaf descended ever so slowly directly in front of Col and Bastian. Twirling in the windless air. It landed softly upon the other leaves. That's when every Wolfborn advanced toward the two isolated companions. As they approached, Col recognized the one he had done battle with the night before. The left side of its face was still slashed. Its eye useless. But it moved with a purpose toward the squire. The beast's intentions were apparent..

There still was a gap between the stone, Col, and Bastian. No Wolfborn blocked their path. Bastian worked franticly to set fire to the leaves around them with flint and steel. Sparks flew in the air. Col took up a defensive position behind the physician with Colley's shield. If he died he would die fighting. They were both cold and moved slower then before the wind.

When the beasts perceived the sparks from Bastian they charged forward toward the group. For their size, they moved very fast. Closer and closer they advanced. Massive creatures with no other purpose then to extinguish life. Martydom howled in anguish upon seeing them. Within a few seconds they would be overtaken. That's when in a final strike of desperation, Bastian's flint and steel ignited a clump of leaves in front of him. Those leaves caught ablaze alarmingly quickly. It spread for a good few feet around in less then seconds. The Wolfborn skidded to a halt at the sight mere feet from the two.

If they did not move quickly they would be burned. If they moved too quickly they would be mauled. Was their journey to end in this field of death?

Marque acted as though he hadn't even heard Col and Lorenzo found himself unable to control Merlin in the slightest apparently. "Fire? Whilst we're in the middle of a tinderbox? Don't-" Lorenzo called out to Col. Run? Lorenzo couldn't even get Merlin to move, how did he fancy his chances of running? Bastion had began trying to start a fire anyway, before Col could finish dissuading him. Fire? They were in the middle of a forest, in the center of a tornado of leaves. Wasn't the best case scenario them quickly burning to death? The glacial wind only made things worse, Col could feel his actions slowing with the bitter cold, barely noticeable, but perhaps enough to make the difference in a fight to the death.

Col stopped in his frantic thoughts as the leaves whirling around them suddenly drifted to the ground as though time had stopped, as though in response to the Wolfborn that had appeared on the edges of the clearing. He saw more than a dozen of them in the brief headcount he took. An impossible fight at best. One last leaf feel in front of them, and it felt like the entire world was watching that one little leaf. Even the chilling wind had stopped for a moment. When it peacefully landed the Wolfborn suddenly strode forward, crushing the corpses of leaves and people alike beneath them. Col was desperately thinking of what to do, his eyes roaming anywhere for inspiration, when they caught on a scar that one of the monsters bore.

It seemed that the creature hadn't taken kindly to his attempt to murder it, coming back with friends to finish the job. Still, it seemed missing an eye hardly even slowed the thing down. What did it take to kill these things? There was very little time for thought now, as Bastian's attempts to start a fire brought fourth a spark in the leaves as well as the Wolfborn. Well perhaps a fire tornado was just the thing in a case like this. Col to protect Bastian, gear ready to provide what pitiful defense he could in the face of the overwhelming force that opposed them. Bastian however finally managed to spark a flame, and it spread in seconds, whooshing out in front of them and causing the Wolfborn to pause.

If nothing else, it seemed these creatures had a severe aversion to fire. Col made a sweep of the situation. "Bastian follow me, weapons pointed at the Wolfborn, we're moving to that glowing rock." Col said, jerking his head in Marque's direction. "If we leave the fire we die, but better to burn all the flesh off a limb then lose it to these beasts." Col said brusquely and began inching, painfully slowly, both physically and mentally, towards Marque and his glowing rock.

Between the heat of the fire, the chill of the wind, and the dreadful gaze of the Wolfborn. Every step felt another step along the edge of a razor's edge, each one painful. The sweat dripping down his body felt like blood. His eyes were locked onto the Wolfborn, waiting to see if he'd stepped too far out, or if they would brave the fire to rip him apart. It took conscious effort to prevent his teeth from clenching together with painful force, too prevent any unconscious action that might cause him to slip in any way, physically or mentally.

Bastian's snowy homeland had made him rather accustomed to the cold, but as he tried again and again to get even one measly spark to catch on the leaves the icy wind was becoming too much for even him to handle. He could feel his hands begin to sting from the cold as he tried in vane to produce even so much as a small flame. Then, everything went still. Leaves drifted to the ground around them as the wolfborn finally became visible. It was just as he had thought. There were far too many for them to handle, so what were they waiting for?

A solitary red leaf slowly drifted to the ground in front of him. As soon as it finished its descent, the wolfborn began surging forward. Bastian's eyes widened in panic and he began vigorously scraping the fling and steel together praying to whatever god that would listen that just one spark out of a hundred would catch. His prayers were soon answered when a single spark landed on a leaf, glowed for half a second, and then produced a small flame. This small flame quickly grew, however, as it devoured the dry leaves that coated the ground. Bastian had to move back a bit, but his plan had worked. The wolfborn had no interest of nearing the blaze. He had bought them at least a bit more time.

As they hid behind the flames, Col said something about following him to a glowing rock. Bastian turned and only then noticed Marque sitting over by this glowing rock that Col had spoken of. There was no doubt in his mind now. Magic was definitely at play here. Bastian knew of the existence of magic, but it was never something he would bet his life on. There was, however, a first time for everything. Not to mention their options were very, very limited.

As Bastian followed close behind Col on their way over to Marque and his rock, Bastian offered a response to Col's second statement.

"I'll take my chances with the burns. Burns I can cure. I have yet to reattach a limb."

---

Dammit, Merlin! Why now?!

Lorenzo felt the warmth of the glowing rock that the Marque had held, but he honestly didn't concern himself with it. This was quite the predicament indeed, and it was enough to take up all of his attention. The hound trainer drew back the bow, aiming it at the wolfborn in defense as he watched Bastian and Col make their way over to him and Marque. He was just... not in a good position. The archer looked at the Marque with a desperate gaze. "I hope you know what that is, Marque. I certainly don't recognize what stone that is..."

Martyrdom was copying what Merlin was doing, looking at the stone and staying as close to it as possible. It was clear that he still minded Lorenzo's actions, but it was also clear that it trusted the stone, much like Merlin. What in the bloody hell is this stone? He was utterly confused by it and only wanted to know what kind of fresh hell the Marque had recruited him for.

---

They had appeared. Growling, hungry wolfborn, monsters constructed from the nightmares of the human mind. Certainly no natural wolf could be so large or voracious, and no natural creature combust like paper to the flame. Yet despite these beings of nightmare so close by, so threatening, Marque could only concern himself in the matter... Of Dreams. The warmth, the passion, the key radiated such light that could only come from a burning human soul. It spoke to Marque, but not with words. It spoke in a more natural way, a primal way. The young man, he was connected. Connected with the dreams of his master.

Gardevoir, heed my thoughts! Heed my feelings! Our lives stand upon the precipice of death! Aid is what we require, in whatever can be mustered! Please, your student beseeches you, aid us where death has overtaken so many before! Marque poured his heart and soul into the key, he bared his emotions, his fears, his desires, his longings. Without help, they would certainly perish. He came into these woods searching out Gardevoir, longing to meet up with his master more than anything! Now that desire only intensified at the doorstep of death...

Col and Bastian moved with painful purpose toward the glowing stone. They found that the flames around them were erratic and moved in no singular direction in particular. They went wherever there was fuel. It did help to warm them, but being so close to the flames began to do more than that. They felt the intense heat on their flesh. They gritted their teeth and bore it all the same. For the alternative was a fate far worse. The Wolfborn surrounded their fire. Always glaring, always watching. Eyes wide in anticipation. Pacing back and forth a good distance away from the flames. They licked their teeth preparing for the group's inevitable doom. There was no redeeming creatures like these whose nature was pure evil. With no other purpose then to extinguish life itself.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo notched an arrow and fired it off toward the beasts. He could not tell if it had any effect. It seemed like a lost cause. Like holding back the tide with a tiny board. Marque felt a sensation of power shoot out from the stone. Then he heard in his own mind a still small voice, "Trust me."

Suddenly, Marque and Lorenzo noticed the stone glow bright red. The ground began to rumble underneath them. At the same time, the flames around Col and Bastian fanned out into two separate firewalls directly toward the stone. They stopped a few feet before it. Their flanks, and rear was encased by the 6 foot tall flames 5 feet from them in all directions. It made the perfect path.. The Wolfborn snarled in rage and howled loudly behind the walls.Col and Bastian looked on in wonder at the bright display before them. Wasting no time, they began to run toward the stone. The leaves cracked beneath their feet. The fires shot out loud crackling of their own which blasted into the skies. Though the flames originated from Bastian, these flames were of another nature entirely. Further and further they ran, being warmed on all sides. Their bodies felt vigorous and full of energy. Something supernatural was on their side. What kind of place had they come to? Unnatural winds, flames, wolves and stones. In all the years of their lives they had never experienced such things. Strangely, they did not hear the Wolfborn anymore as they made their way to Lorenzo and Marque.

When they arrived, Merlin greeted his master with joy and nuzzled him, licking the warm face of Col. Martyrdom yipped in greeting to Bastian. Obviously happy to see he had made it. When they turned to look behind them they noticed the Wolfborn simply stared at them through the thick walls of flame. What they would do next was a mystery to the party. But the important thing was that they were protected by this stone or whatever was on the other side.

Then what was only a dull rumbling became a loud roar. The ground trembled even more violently beneath them. Earth shifted and fell. Crashing, breaking and tearing below their feet. It was deafening. What one could describe as an earthquake shook the very core of the ground. The party fell over from the shock. Merlin neighed in surprise, but managed to keep Lorenzo on his back. Martydom barked. Through all of this, the stone remained even still and glowed ever brighter at each passing moment.

All at once, it seemed time itself had slowed to a crawl. Everything fell silent. Not even a single sound could be perceived as the dirt caved in beneath them. It was as if the earth was completely hollow under their feet. Only the top layer had any substance to it. An empty black opening that encased them. They felt the sensation of falling, falling below into the silent abyss.