Cire was about to change back into his elven form after he waiting a fair amount of time once the gnolls to left when he saw the whole tribe of them making their way through the forest. Counting his lucky stars that he had kept his bat form, he observed the ramshackle parade through the trees.

The Shadowed Forest was not a territory conducive to the movements of large groups. At most the gnolls could travel three to a shoulder between the trees, and that was only the younger ones. It wasn’t the state of their travel that had Cire’s attention firmly fixed, it was their direction. They were headed directly east, towards the Chimera’s Mane.

While watching the marching canines below him Cire was at a loss. He had plenty of time to consider his next decision, the gnolls were not moving fast, but that didn’t really help. What was his best course of action?

I have obligations in and to my territory. If they make it to Sunset before I can get there I would never forgive myself. I can’t just leave my class. They’ll think I got captured, or died. Do I follow them or go back?

Cire was still debating his course of action by the time the last gnoll tromped under him and disappeared into the brush. He waited for several long moments, points and counter-points firing back and forth in his mind. None of it helped, but at least the gnolls were gone.

Two elves came through the undergrowth, picking their way cautiously as they followed the gnoll host. It was obvious that they weren’t working hard to keep to their trail, but the elves need to be wary hampered their pace. Cire let them pass. At least that made his decision easier.

Taking a gliding flight around the area, Cire double checked that no others were in the vicinity. Landing at the base of the tree that held his necklace he changed back to an elf. After snagging his jewelry and putting it back on, he picked his way carefully back to his clothing. It was in a sad state, but his boots and pouch were still serviceable.

Using the pant legs he managed a loin cloth that would have to do until he found an actual pair of pants. The remaining potions that had been in his pouch were all missing, but he also hadn’t spent time searching for them. Cire placed the crown back into the pouch. He had no need of its effects for the rest of the day after all.

How am I going to explain the keep anyways? In the moment I just acted and didn’t really consider the ramifications. Someone has to have seen the crown though, it’s too ostentatious to go unnoticed. That’s easier to deal with at least, Obelius has a circlet and so does Iaso. Granted I am not a caster, but I don’t wear armor. Perhaps I can kill two birds with one stone.

A thorn from a bramble bit into Cire’s skin and left a stinging cut. Slowing his steps, Cire took more time. He had just reminded himself that he wasn’t wearing any protection, so the mistake felt earned.

I need to find some more durable clothing, maybe something magical if this is going to keep happening. I don’t know how many times I have been running around naked since I got here, but it’s been way too many. That’s the worst part of turning into a bat, well maybe not the worst, it still sucks though.

Cire stopped by the gully that the vulnerable gnolls had been hiding in. Partially, he wanted to make sure that there weren’t any gnolls left behind to attack them. However, Cire was mainly interested in finding any clues as to why the battle had happened in the first place. He was working from an information deficit and he didn’t like his current choices.

The gnolls hadn’t really left anything when they fled. That in an of itself was notable. Traveling light for a purpose was one thing, but these gnolls had ventured deep into enemy territory without a lot of supplies. For there to be nothing left behind, except a few broken weapons, told a particular tale of desperation.

Without additional clues to uncover, Cire didn’t dally.He kept his guard up as he made his way through the remaining woods. Very little of this was sitting well with him. He had been so sure of himself prior to the battle, so sure of what was right. As the comedown after fighting settled in, Cire began to question what he had done, not only today, but prior.

Cire had been down this road of guilt and self recrimination before. It wasn’t the right time for reflection. Besides, Selene had stepped in and helped him before he had committed a truly terrible act. That was something in and of itself. The vampire was sure it had been the goddesses grace that touched him. What was he supposed to do with that information?

I can guess at her motivations all day long, and there are a few good ones. I am probably one of very few non-evil vampires in the world and she is the patron goddess of my kind. She could want me to dedicate my territory to her and that could have been a way for her to convince me. It might be as simple her helping during a moment of mental instability. Either way, why she did it doesn’t matter as much as the fact that she did. I need to talk with someone, preferably Selene, my Selene not the divine one.

Stepping out onto the field, Cire finally had a chance to see the destruction their battle had wrought. A sour taste flooded his mouth as he walked up to the bound and blindfolded prisoners. There were between twenty and thirty gnolls bunched in a circle sitting on their haunches. A ring of guards watched them, but with the open space of the field it would be easy to see an attack coming.

One of the guards chuckled darkly at Cire’s state of dress and undid his cloak so that Cire could cover up. He didn’t know the man, and they didn’t exchange names, but plenty of small niceties were beyond them right now. Cire redirected to the keep. He still hadn’t seen Eliana or Obelius, they would be the best sources of information and direction.

Cire made his way to the front of the keep and approached the heavy set of doors. An extremely dower guard waved him in. That’s when Cire saw the bodies lined up and covered with cloaks or whatever could be found. Suddenly thinking up excuses to explain away what he had done and keeping things hidden felt petty, shameful.

Pace picking up, Cire moved through the lower room. Partly to put physical distance between himself and the corpses, hoping that somehow that would make things better. Partly because he hadn’t seen a single other student yet, and he was worried.

On the second floor the bunks were partially occupied by wounded. There were less people in them than under the blankets below, but Cire suspected that was mainly due to magical healing. For the injured to be laid up this long after the battle spoke to how serious their wounds were.

Herbs to aid regeneration were common, potions distilled from them less so. Healers were relatively common magic users, but rare to find outside of controlled settings like temples or towns. Iaso, Elias, and Kepheus were far rarer as they actively engaged in combat.

Cire had almost made it to the staircase when he saw a very familiar face dosed off in slumber on the last lower bunk. Sporting a heavy bandage to his head, Fizz looked battered. Bruises covered his small arms and what Cire could see of his upper chest. Their color was already turning off yellow and fading, so he had to have had healing, but it was still a gruesome sight.

Sucking in air through his teeth, Cire was apoplectic. He wanted to wake up Fizz and ask him what happened, apologize, and see what he could do to help. The best thing he could do though was let his friend sleep. Cire looked back over the other cots to see if he recognized anyone else.

Elias, the glade elf, was laying on the bunk above Fizz with a similar bandage wrapped around his head. He didn’t see nearly as many other injuries, but one of Elias’ eyes was covered. Cire wondered if he had lost it. Not seeing any other students, Cire went up to the next level. The silence that hung in the air was fitting and terrible.

No one was on the third floor, which made sense, there hadn’t been any need for the armory or vault. He hadn’t seen anyone on the roof, but that didn’t mean that no one was there, just that they were far enough from the edge to be seen. The silence from the fourth floor made him fear ascending.

When he stepped up into the large open suite of the highest floor his heart sank to the underworld. Cire could immediately tell that not everyone from their class was present, even discounting the two injured. Frantically, his eyes darted back and forth between the various faces. Eliana and Obelius each wore grim countenances. There was a spark of happiness? Relief? Cire couldn’t tell what flashed in Eliana’s eyes at his appearance. The silence was pervasive.

If only because of his prominent features, Calix’s lack of attendance was obvious to Cire. He would have caught on sooner or later given the lack of barbs and hateful stares. There was one more missing from that party besides Elias downstairs convalescing. While Cire was looking he saw Honeydrop sitting on the floor weeping. He hadn’t heard her, the sounds were so soft.

Panicked, Cire’s eyes darted around the room cataloging faces. Philip, Lander, Honey, were all here. Fizz was downstairs. And Dimitra was missing. He could see the answer on the others faces before he even asked.

No! Not again.

Even the voice inside Cire’s head broke. The world seemed to go telescopic as the edges of his vision went black. He staggered, but kept his feet, before letting them go out from under him as he crashed sitting to the ground.

The rest of the afternoon swept by in a blur. At some point in the early evening, after the insects began to play their harmony, the relief patrol arrived. The squirrel familiar of the mage who was a member of Lucas guard patrol had made it back to the garrison and roused those stationed there. They had traveled over two days worth of normal distance in less than half that time, but it was too late.

Everyone who had participated in the battle was given a reprieve to some degree. Many of them kept busy by collecting the items left on the field. Each of the fallen elves would have their possessions returned to their families, or sold to pay for their funeral.

The captured gnolls were kept bound, but brought into the trees where Obelius and Kepheus had created several a makeshift holding cells. Each had used nature magic, or a derivative ability, to grow and shape the branches of groves of trees into sturdy walls. The relief guard kept watch.

With the addition of new healers, who had not exhausted their supply of mana, the injured had largely been made ambulatory. Lysander had been wounded so badly by a plague acid spell, which had struck him in the face, that Cire had not recognized him in the bunks. The wood elf archer was the primary ranged attacker in the other party of students. He would live, but he was the lone survivor who would not make a full recovery. At least not without immensely expensive healing items or treatment.

Late in the evening the whole class was prodded up to the roof by the instructors. They had let the group largely process their immediate grief. Some had cried, others moved around in a daze, and some screamed or took their anger out on trees.

Neither Eliana nor Obelius would allow the students to wallow in their doubt. If this broke them, then that was important to know now as well. As teachers, they couldn’t waste any opportunity to guide their students. If the result was to put them on a better path of dealing with their sorrow, all the better.

Waving his staff deliberately in the air, Obelius worked through the somatic components of his simple spell. When he uttered a single unintelligible word six small fist sized orbs of soft glowing light popped into existence. They began to weave a simple repeating pattern and then they started shifting colors. At first they all changed together from yellow to pink and then green. Upon shifting to green they started to individually alternate.

It was a beautiful substitute for a campfire, but the elegance and literal magic of it was lost on Cire. His eyes were drawn to the lights though and he began to follow them. Tightness in his shoulders relaxed and he began to be suspicious that the radiant display did far more than illuminate. He fought the feeling, he wanted to hold onto his sadness like it was a piece of Dimitra.

Honey and Fizz had told him she had died fighting. There hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary. No one had messed up. There had just been too many spears, too many opponents. Before she could be pulled away from the line to be healed she took a fatal strike to her head.

Fizz had leapt from the tree in an attempt to reach her, but his efforts ended with him defending her body. Eliana had made an appearance and pushed the gnolls back on their side of the line, but Fizz had taken several attacks in the interim. That’s when Obelius summoned the elemental and turned the situation around.

Shaking his head, Cire realized that Obelius had been talking. His tone was low in an obvious comforting voice. His wizened features and long mustache lent themselves to the grandfatherly approach.

“… which is why when you all sleep tonight it will be elven sleep, the trance. You must process everything that happened today. We have a great gift as elves, but if we do not engage with our emotional selves eventually it will poison us as you all know. Fizzilius and Honeydrop my apologies, of course this does not apply to you two.”

Cire bucked at the idea of going to sleep, but it was beyond late and the lights were lulling him to a blank mind state. He stretched out on the top of the stone. The light chill of the deep summer night was kept at bay by a fresh set of clothes and cloak. With the entrancing and sedative effect of the lights it wasn’t long until each of the students gave in to slumber. Standing firm, the two instructors kept a vigil, for the living and the dead.