Avatar of Mas Bagus

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2 mos ago
Current Forever alone.

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Just your average Joe.
Bagus Surya is the name.
From Indonesia.

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Dimitri was unresponsive, but at least he breathed. Vesemir was still applying the pressure when Roxas performed her field surgery, and all things considered, the man would survive.

For now, at least.

The chaos had been shifted, now everyone was chasing after that fleeing Arachnee. Had he not been so occupied with assisting Roxas, he would have gone after them. It was not unusual for a predator of that type to lure its pursuer into a trap, so he heard.

Of all people, Gray Flame should know better, that was why he saved his breath and did not shout another warning at them.
But he hoped that they would find the others.

Looking back at Dimitri, the optimism he felt earlier was somewhat diminishing. A forest is not an ideal place to recover, even less so in this Land of Twilight. They could afford to have Roxas taking care of one wounded person, but what about three more?

Biting his lips, the idea of having less manpower alone had already been grating his senses, let alone abandoning the entire expedition for the sake of those who were thoughtless!

"Are we done?" he asked Roxas, coldly, yet his gaze was straight toward the pursuing party. Seeing them like a scholar witnessing a wasted opportunity.

"If he will be alright, you should catch up with them. Just leave Dimitry to me, I will watch over him."
Gray tried to yank his sword back, but the combination of bad angle and the sudden jerking from the gigantic eigh-legged monstrosity caused him to lose a grip on his jian. A series of reckless retaliatory reactions then followed in response to Fia's unadulterated blasting, and the only sane option to not get himself smacked by one of those nasty appendages, or get squashed to death by its gigantic rear, was to move away.

And he did. It turned out that Engelbert thought the opposite.

The leap was spectacular, and the strike was equally so. Engelbert's one-and-a-half-meter greatsword plunged deep into the spider's eye cluster, and he nailed it even deeper now with his iron fist--- unnecessarily so because the greatsword was now stuck in that thing, and it wasn't dead yet.

Recoiled, likely by the pain or fear, it was quick to rely on its survival instinct. It rapidly turned around, haphazardly brandishing its front legs to scare away the potential attacker, and dislodged Gray's jian in such a wayward process. The masked Rezello was not quick enough to capitalize on the opening, for the spider had already started to flee and the distance was too far already.

"Ah great! Just what I need right now!"

Gray Flame immediately started his pursuit but then stopped the moment he saw Tillius launch his spear toward the retreating spider. It was too dark to ascertain whether the spear found its mark, but the plan was sound.

His diamond-shaped arrowhead shone in pale luster as he channeled for a power shot and unleashed it before the Arachnee could get too far. Even in the dark, its massive abdomen was certainly hard to miss.
To the trained eyes like Gray Flame's, The White Spider wasn't fooling anybody. Not a beautiful, singing lass floating in the darkness; It was a monstrous being, ancient with a voracious appetite. It showed itself rather prematurely as if more confident with its raw strength rather than its trademark deception. For some reason, it wasn't really a good sign, especially in regard to the missing porter's fate. It likely had devoured them all, save this wounded Dimitri, and greedily sought more than a few Tretagorian to quench its hunger.

Gray flame made his move as soon as Carnathia lunged forth to fearlessly swing her blade toward the giant monstrosity in front of them. The naked humanoid being attached to that spider's head swayed helplessly following its main body's movement. It was still singing in agony, and although looking more like a half-decaying zombie, still a relatively normal-looking person. One could only imagine how many life was lost trying to rescue it.

With Carnathia hurting that monster and having it recoiling back, it was only sensible that they would expect a counterattack. The thing flaunted its protruding jaw, and with its attached body, they shrieked in morbid unison. Surely Carnathia can handle a predictable retaliation, so Gray went to the Spider's front leg; it looked like a sturdy hairy log that had been hardened by time, so he slashed it on its less-chitinous joint.

Behind them, Vesmir hastily approached Roxas and hung his lantern on his belt. "My dear, we have to relocate! It's too dangerous here," he said to the elven healer as he reached under Dimitri's arm and grasped his own wrist ready to drag that man somewhere safer.
"Not much that I know about this one." said Gray enigmatically, only to continue before Carnathia furrowed her brows.

"Even the myth about it was never consistent. Some account says 'she' was an elf, captured and mutated by Dagorlad warlocks and transformed into a weapon of war, the other said she was a powerful djinn that inhibited this land even before the elves. Most rangers in my era never raise our blade against that creature, because we know how to avoid its lure."

When Gray saw Roxas spring forth and bash the wounded man with her sword pommel, he followed the healer carefully and positioned himself in front of her. A stream of flame ignited on his blade as he put up a stance to guard the elf.

"A long time ago, we called her the white spider. If memory serves right, she is not supposed to be here. But many things had happened in decades and we never thought a Tretagorian and their fondness for Vodka was a bad mix in this land. Vesemir! Get your lantern here, Master Nanashi, I need you and your sword here with me. Engelbert, guard our rear! Everyone else be on your guard!"

As if trying to deter the resoluteness, the singing continued.

Avea, avea, mont kein, Híris Ingwën
Im ithen ava heliañ

Pedir sén heimnya sánë bezañ míra verian
Adh ithnan nitya seldë

Even someone as seasoned as Gray Flame was somewhat distracted by the singing, and although the ranger was quick to regather his senses, he did not expect the dying Tretagoran porter to suddenly reach his hand upward and stiffly but surely brought himself to stand.

"Yes, my lady! I will come for you..."

Gray was alerted and retreated from the shambling wounded man, reaching for his eastern sword as his eyes scanned the surrounding darkness. Vesemir was visibly disturbed by the scene and was the first to call that man out and seem to have intended to stop the man.

"Dimitri, where is Stepan? Hey, Dimitri! Where are you going? Someone stop him! Look at all that blood!"

A tiny announcement. The campaign will resume (hopefully) normally tomorrow.
@Lunamaria HawkeLike Random said. We will back to it on the 3rd of next month.

However, with the current number of participants, I would like to see some new players
Either Roxas' healing spell soothed the soul as it was to the physical injury, or it was simply the charm of a lovely elven lady, the young porter no longer throwing demented fits anymore, and soon was convinced to rest inside the wagon after someone assured him that his friend will be found.

"I've known Stepan for almost a decade. There is no way I am going to leave him behind!" Declared Vesemir with a sheer resoluteness. He then returned to the group that would conduct the rescue effort.

When the disembodied eyes formed on a vantage point Fia had choosen, Gray couldn't help but be curious. He thought the sorceress had magically dismembered her own eye and had it floating in thin air, but then came the explanation, and that wasn't the case.

"That's a useful spell..." Gray muttered before counting the participants and looked up to the sky, where the Polaris shone. He nodded at Fia's commentary about their delayed resting time, and notified that they still had a few hours until the dawn.

"And, yeah, let us not waste any time."

And so it began another march into the forest. The first trek after they walked past the paved road was anything but dry, likely due to the heavy rain several days ago. It allowed Gray to pick up the missing henchmen's trail immediately, and as far as their sole prints indicate, it seemed all four were drawn together like a herded flock.

The lantern shone ever bright, but it did little to accelerate their speed. The trail was getting a more vague as they took a turn and routed past a giant boulder on the left side of the path. The forest were thicker in this area, and there was a great tree, and before that great tree (that hopefully wasn't another ent) the pathfinder finally stopped, his masked face stared at the bushes nearby, where stains of blood could be seen in its silky leaves.

With great caution, he walked slowly, and as he arrived at the other side of that tree, Gray suddenly unsheathed his eastern sword and placed the lantern on the ground, which revealed strange marks on the soil, akin to something that was made by dozen of poles being stabbed to the ground repeatedly.

"Ready your weapon!" he commanded before kneeling near a silhouette of a man lying on the ground. His coughing and wheezing indicated that this unfortunate poor sod was still alive, but severe wounds on his body and blood-frothed breath didn't make his condition look optimistic. He would not survive without any immediate medical attention.

"I am wrong," said Gray, the direness of this situation seeped out from his emotionless mask. "This is not a work of a phantom, not at all---"

Suddenly a melodious voice sounded in the cold misty air. It felt distant, but also clear at the same time. The ominous singing resonated like magic that halted the flow of time. Like a lullaby sung in unknown language that somewhat felt soothing.

Avea, avea, mont kein, Híris Ingwën...
Im ithen ava heliañ...



Pedir sánë bezañ qualin rhovan
Lyen ket lerta tremen


The singing came from the east.
The Gray Flame




"Where are you going?"

Gray asked wearily when Vesemir picked up his lantern again and headed to the road. At Gray's inquiries, he stopped, unsure if talking to the masked elf was his original intention or if he was hell-bent on going into the forest all by himself.

"We're going to save them of course." answered the middle-aged elf. "Sir Gray, I know you and everyone else are not in the best condition, and for that, I can understand if unwilling to be involved in this endeavor. Please take some rest. But I would appreciate it if you would enlighten us on what kind of evil that lured my men into the forest."

"Honestly, I never heard about this shrieker. But there are types of spirits that can entice with voice. So our prime suspects right now are the phantoms. I did not want to blame your porters, but it seemed they were taken when drunk." he indicated at the bottles near the campfire and shook his head. "It is easy to be influenced when you do not keep your wits about you."

"I should have forbidden them from bringing booze in this expedition." huffed Vesemir.

"Too late now." The masked elf stood up and crackled his knuckles. "Give me some time to catch my breath, and then I will go with you. If this was indeed the phantoms's handiwork, then we might be able to save them..."

Gray had his own share of doubts but chose not to express them. He hoped his speculation was right. "Let me take that lantern from you."

There was a small talk after Vesemir appointed Gray to be their pathfinder and further inquiries with the surviving henchmen about the direction those men had taken. Nothing was new to them.

"If anyone wants to stay at camp please do!" Vesemir said, and Forbann was the first to express his decision to stay, which was a welcomed proposition. After the accident, they would be more careful not to leave the camp without sufficient guards.

Gray's only preparation was by drinking water and munching bread, and that was all. This quest to rescue will start soon, and nobody was expecting or even wanted to do this. But they will do it anyway, nobody gets left behind, that was Vesemir's promise, and he intends to honor it, no matter what bleak their chance was.
The Gray Flame



Despite the banter, there were no disputes on the distribution of treasures. Tillius took the spear, Fia had the bow and Carnathia claimed the dagger. The last one was the trickiest, but Fia's spell seemed effective enough to contain its enfeebling aura.

It was time for them to leave, finally and Vesemir would be the one who lead, though he did so with a heavy heart.

"Goodbye, Theriadore. Your legacy will always live on!" He said as he watched the door seal itself shut after he inserted the access card. "On a less evil day, we would enjoy our time sitting in the library and honoring the knowledge, but now we must go, hopefully, that's for the better days."

The monocled elf sniffed the air as if fighting against the tear, before walking away. His commentary about the stairs making him feel rheumatic was the last rambling before they started the climb to depart from Lasse Municipal Library

I presume nothing is happening while we are inside? See anything unusual?" Asked Vesemir intensively to Forbann when they reached the building's front door. He wielded the so-called powerful protective scroll, but his tone was vigilant, and although the Oni answered with a resolute no, his eyes still wandered about.

And when someone asked what he was expecting, the answers were short but effective in hindsight: "Varenheim authority". And no other explanation was given when he reached in to grip something behind the layer of his clothing and declared: "We made it. We got what we are looking for. Let's move out!"

Still with a lantern at hand, Vesemir was taking the lead. The night was still dark, and it seemed they only spent two hours inside the library. The foul breeze was still whirling in this cold night, and from the corner of his eyes Gray Flame could see the shadowy silhouette creeping out from the ruined building, but then those shadowy entities retreating back again.
They were taking the same route, but now they just realized that Vesemir was not as cautious as before. The path they took was almost straight, and no amount of overgrown or sprawled part of the ruin would make Vesemir change course. Not even the shadow, that now congregates ahead of them.
He only stopped once, looked over his shoulder, and smiled. "Fear not, Friends! Never again we shall fear the darkness, for the echo of the past and the remnants of the departed have no righteous place in the world of the living!"
And he walked forth, through the encroaching shadow. And that layer of shadow shrunk and disappeared. More awaited in front of them; the wailing silhouettes of the past. It offered no resistance, nor even the slightest movement as it disintegrated into the light.

"The power of the scroll protects us all."

The group halted and crowded anxiously behind him, but who could blame them? The entrapment was still fresh in their mind, but now the evidence was clear as a day, and Vesemir demonstrated it in every step he took.

The march back to the camp was uneventful and felt shorter now with the phantoms no longer posing any meaningful threat to them. For Gray, it was a welcoming situation because fatigue had set in, and now he wanted nothing but a proper sleep.

They arrived at last, and at first glance, everything seemed normal. The campfire was lit brightly, but immediately he felt something was amiss. Out of five porters and henchmen Vesemir hired, he saw only one of them, standing aimlessly in front of the campfire with a hysterical expression. He held a woodcutter axe, and initially, prepared to swing it the moment he saw the group walked closer.

"Sire! Sire! Good Gods you are here!" The man was frantic, and he dropped his weapon as he knelt down and embraced Vesemir's shin like a frightened child with labored breath. "That thing! That thing took them! I saw it myself!... Into the forest! Sir Stepan and the others!"

Another minute was spent to calm that survive so Vesemir could extract meaningful information. The man repeatedly pointed southeast of the camp, across the paved road, where he said there was a dark entity taking away his friends.

Gray Flame said nothing. His vexation was well hidden behind his white mask. As the only ranger in that group, his first course of action was to analyze their camp. Besides the missing porters, everything seemed orderly, the horses were still calm and tied on their posts, the supplies were still on the carriage, and there was no sign of fierce assault. However, he noticed a dozen bottles of ales and bears scattered around the campfire and a few empty tankards along with unfinished meals. The survivor's account mentioned that the accident happened less than an hour ago.

Sitting on one of the chairs (that graciously did not topple over after that supposed ruckus!), the masked Gray sighed exasperatedly, his eyes glanced at the unmoving giant tree at the corner of the camp side. Meanwhile, the survivor was frantic again, this time he buried his index fingers in his ears, and screamed "The shrieker! Gods! Spare me! Spare me! Forgive me! Please stop!"

What the hell is happening?

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