A marvel. Lives on the line. Yet they ran together.

Val was starting to suspect that Sar might be every bit as mad as the pyromancers from his story, but supported him as they ran. Pepper was practical to her core, yet ran beside them. While Keana feared death not at all, being torn apart was an all-consuming nightmare – yet she too ran beside them.

The group dodged emerging Ravagers and avoided those already mobile as best they could. With Sar’s staff left behind, and Val helping to support him, they were forced to bat leapers aside with hands or daggers. They accumulated small wounds, but Sar seemed to find a groove, picked up his pace and pushed Val off, and they gradually left the worst behind.

Through the terror, each thought of Arn in their own way. Val mourned Arn’s sacrifice; perhaps Arn never understood that he could truly die, but that he saved them was undeniable. Sar gloried in the inferno Arn left behind, and only his pain and Val’s insistent tugging kept him moving. Pepper grimaced at Arn’s idiocy and ignored the small part of her that grieved. Keana never admitted it to Arn, and did not want to admit it to herself, but she liked Arn. It doesn’t matter. None of it was real anyway. She tried to believe it.

They ran. They jogged. Finally, they stopped, and Sar clutched at his side, gasping and coughing up blood. After a moment, he collected himself enough to speak. “Ahhhh, Hells that hurts! Can’t you heal me full up?” Pepper scowled. “I’m already mana burned saving your whiny ass, feels like a war hammer striking my head with every step, but we both have to suck it up and keep moving.” Val noted “we do have one more potion.” Pepper shook her head. “No, you don’t give a potion the day after if you can help it. Doesn’t undo any scarring already formed, heals up around the scars, makes the body think its done and that’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

They walked, frequently looking back over their shoulders and not talking. When they emerged out of the forest, they paused, relieved they were alive, and to varying degrees, feeling guilty that Arn was dead. Sar seemed to get worse, not better, as they approached town, with several more fits of harsh bloody coughing. Pepper grunted, the first time anyone spoke in over an hour. “Got to get him to the healer before he passes out or worse.”

The group had seen the healer’s sign when they first arrived in Reach, and headed straight there. Inside, a row of rickety chairs was mostly full with what looked to be a higher-level adventuring group. Sar chose that moment to launch into his worst fit of the day, hacking for two minutes and spraying blood into his hands and beyond. A grey haired woman in a priestess’s robe peeked around the corner and absorbed the scene in a glance. “I’m sorry, but he has to skip ahead. Bring him.”

The group helped Sar around the corner and onto an examining table. The woman took Sar’s leathers off without asking, prodding at the raw pink wounds on his chest. She asked, “what happened, and what healing did he receive?”

Pepper explained. “Bitten by a Dracolisk yesterday late afternoon. Low-grade potion right away, low level druid’s Restoration maybe a half-dozen times. Aggravated it running from a Ravager swarm a couple hours ago, has bites on his legs. We all do.” The steely priestess’s eyes became enormous and her jaw dropped, but she recovered quickly and snapped at them. “Have you told the Mayor or the Guard?” Pepper shook her head.

The priestess spoke calmly, but with steel in her voice. “One of you needs to run for the Mayor. Run. Might save lives. I’ll take care of your friend, but one of you needs to go NOW.” Val started to speak, but Keana cut him off. “I’m the fastest. Going.”

Keana realized that she had no idea where to find the Mayor, and shouted questions as passerby who directed her to the inn. Keana stormed in, immediately spotting the Mayor in the corner eating. She ran to his table and . . . he held up his hand and pointed to a chair. “Sit.”

Keana wasn’t having it. “Sir, we were attacked by a ravager swarm about ten miles up the blue diamond trail. Thousands of them. Lost a party member.” The Mayor frowned as though inconvenienced. “That was supposed to be next year. Every seventeen years, like clockwork. Hmm. Have you told the guard?” Keana shook her head. “No sir, just took our wounded to the priestess and ran here.” The Mayor wiped his chin and calmly stood up. He looked around the room, and didn’t seem to like what he saw. “I need to ask you to run a bit more. Captain Saris should be in the training yard, to the east of town, near the wall. Tell him what happened and where I am.” With that, the Mayor sat back down and resumed eating.

The Mayor’s attitude made Keana’s blood boil. “We lost a party member! A friend. What the Hells is happening? I never heard of Ravagers before yesterday!” The Mayor looked greatly irritated, but returned his fork to the plate and turned his attention back to Keana. “Ravagers swarm every seventeen years. Supposed to be next year. If you are lying . . . no, no, I can see you’re not. Anyway, they kill literally everything below about level 15 that can’t climb a tree, or isn’t fully armored. Saris will send out scouts, track the swarm, try and reach any parties that were late to head out this morning, set a watch, get word out, and prepare the oil for the moat. We probably won’t need it, but the swarm shifts some every cycle. Attacked the town six cycles ago, bout a hundred years. Now go!”

* * *

Turns out that needing little sleep does not allow one to indefinitely sit on a tree branch sixty feet above the ground. Who knew? Arn was fully healed, had flaked off all the ash and dead flesh – but his ass hurt, and he was getting very, very tired. It probably didn’t help that he stopped eating and drinking – going to the bathroom had been a logistical nightmare, and seemed to excite the ravagers way too much, so he hoped to avoid the need for a repeat. Worse yet, he dropped both pebbles. If you bastards have hurt Stony and Rocky, I’ll…I’ll make you squeal like bugs.

Arn’s dream of riding out on a flaming phoenix, or at least sending a message out, went nowhere. When he tried the Summon Phoenix skill, he got an Insufficient Mana message. Some reward! Eventually, Arn decided on optimism – the skill description gave some hope that he could eventually summon a phoenix without wasting points on intelligence to boost his mana:

Summon Phoenix: Summons a phoenix familiar that can gain experience and self-resurrect up to once per day. Phoenix gains experience from combat it participates in. Experience and level gains are locked in on voluntary de-summon. Loses all experience and gained levels that are not locked in if banished or killed more than once in a day.

Based on the description of the summons as a “familiar” – and the fact that familiars do not require mana upkeep – Arn hoped that by temporarily exceeding his natural mana limit via a potion he could summon the phoenix. Even if he didn’t need to worry about mana burn, mana potions weren’t free, so locking in the phoenix’s experience gains would be an issue. Still, at least there was hope that the skill wasn’t useless.

Examining the Ravager profile was a good five-minute diversion:

Ravager (Hiveling): Ravagers are tier-one self-propagating Hivelings that serve as scouts, ranging far from the Hive and consuming all available biomass. Ravagers that reach a certain threshold evolve to their tier-two variant, the Elder Ravager, and return to the Hive. Ravagers that do not meet the threshold for evolution prior to exhausting local biomass resources enter a lengthy dormant period during which they reproduce asexually through fission.

Arn didn’t understand all the words, and many of the words he did understand were used in odd contexts. For example, there were many kinds of hive, but what was “the Hive?” All Arn really took from the profile was that they would burrow back under ground once anything they could eat was gone. Surely that can’t take that long with so many?

Although Arn fancied himself patient and had 10 in Will to prove it, the endless wait was grinding him down. So, inevitably, his thoughts shifted. Killed 100 for level 8, so how many for level 9? Their numbers have declined a lot. Still declining, just maddeningly slowly. Can’t be more than 10 of them within fifty feet of the tree. Even if more come running, I could survive down there for a while. Kill 10 or 15 and climb back up. Safe enough? Should be, as long as they don’t climb. What if I kill some as I run? Hmm, not that . . . I trip again and that could get nasty quick.

Resolved to exploit the situation, Arn roped his pack, shield and broken sword to the tree, double-checked his two daggers, and began his descent. When he got to within five feet of the ground, Arn paused and looked around. There was only one ravager in sight . . . but it seemed to be staring right at him. Waiting.

Arn jumped down to the ground, quickly turned around to face the ravager and drew both daggers. The ravager sat. Still staring. Suddenly, there was movement from multiple directions as a half-dozen ravagers charged. Arn crouched down, and got his stab on, ignoring the shrieks of dying ravagers. The battle was messy – one of the ravagers jumped on an arm, and one that came from behind scurried up his back, but they weren’t individually tough.

Arn’s Focus on the enemies around him nearly got him killed. It wasn’t until a tiny lull in the fighting that he noticed larger numbers of ravagers incoming. Arn Screamed to cover his retreat, momentarily staggering with the stamina drain. Realizing the danger, Arn recovered, turned around and threw himself into climbing the tree. Adrenalin warred with searing fatigue. The climb was HARD. Arn eventually made it to his perch, arms trembling, and allowed himself to look down. Perhaps thirty ravagers were gathered around the tree. Looking up at him? Waiting? Well that’s not creepy. And I killed…just four? Lets not do THAT again.

Concerned with his growing bone-weariness, Arn took some jerky out of his pack and a drink from his canteen. Now that I know they flat out won’t climb, who cares if I take a piss on them? I can make it a game. Good times, good times. Arn double-looped himself to the main trunk, and for good measure, tied his legs to the branch he was sitting on, and settled in for a nap.