Ronald’s glaive cut through the tough hide of a Bygog, a large, tube-bodied mammal that reminded the man of weasels. This one was as fierce as the others that he’d fought already, and a challenge, but one that he could meet head-on confidently.

It snarled as the metal sliced through flesh, spraying crimson into the air. A moment later, it struck back, empowered claws raking through the air towards Ronald’s face. It liked to aim for eyes, he noted, and brought a smaller version of his own essence shield to bear in the path of the attack. With a screeching sound, the claws hit the white opaque barrier, but halted as it held firm. Not wasting the opportunity, Ronald danced inwards with surprisingly nimble movements, pulling his glaive in and whipping it hard across the outstretched limb. With a flash of light, his attack hit home, demonstrating a new application of his offensive pattern that previously had only been used to project piercing strikes.

The crushing blow shattered bone, and a yelp belted out from the monstrous mustelid. Before it could withdraw – as Ronald had come to find, Bygog were very agile – he stepped into its range even closer, nearly hugging it. He choked up on his glaive, hammering it home as the monster tried to withdraw to regather itself. Realizing at the last moment that a clean escape was impossible, the Bygog’s tail swept around from its side, a deceptively heavy blow that had rattled Ronald the first time he’d encountered it.

Ronald was far too close to retreat, so instead he pushed his all into the strike with his glaive, giving only a passing attempt with his own shield to slow the tail strike. Brilliant white light flared as the glaive’s edge extended, cutting into the Bygog’s head in a clean blow. Strength went out of its limbs almost instantly, the tail impacting the shield and flopping harmlessly after cracking it. Almost instinctively at this point, Ronald took in the energy from the kill, breathing it in with his metaphysical body, pulling it through his pores. It ran through him with warmth, leaving tingling traces of exuberance in its wake, a heady sensation that he knew some people grew too addicted to over time. He could see why, but he refrained from letting that overtake his rationality, and instead forcibly cycled it through his body, deeper and deeper into the core of his being, where it would eventually become one with himself.

The post-battle high lingered, but Ronald himself didn’t, instead turning his attention to the rest of his group. Dachna and Mithel had both finished with their own opponents in the trees, both fighting just as hard as he was in order to become stronger. Momentarily, he felt the reflex to keep scanning, looking for their two lost members, before he fought it down. Wherever Skye and Niko were, it wasn’t somewhere easily accessible; they’d have been able to get back to Riizen from anywhere in the sunlit portion of the forest. They were almost certainly below, and they were likely going to need to stay hunkered down. The two were resourceful though, and they’d be able to make the situation work, even if it would undoubtedly be difficult for the time being.

He believed that neither was the type to be done in so easily.

“Any word from the rescue team, yet?” Mithel asked.

Ronald realized his gaze had been lingering on empty space, something he did when he was communicating through the strange device that he’d been given previously. The bracelet connected to his mind, allowing for long-distance communication with those who likewise had one, so long as you knew their signature.

He shook his head, “Afraid not. I was just lost in thought, is all.”

“They’ll be fine,” Dachna spoke aloud, huffing as he pulled a braces worth of daggers from his own quarry, “I mean, if nothing else Niko’s got one of the best abilities to spot out trouble that I’ve ever heard of.”

Ronald nodded at that, thinking to the briefing of the dangers that might be faced in the penumbral and umbral canopies below. Ambush predators were fairly common, but even beyond that, roaming monsters were the primary concern. Sometimes, entire hordes would war with one another in the sun-deprived zones, lit only by abundant fungus and light-producing plants. Ronald hadn’t the slightest clue how they worked, but Mithel had expressed quite some interest in them

They, of course, insisted on going with the rescue team to find their companions. Anya had been adamant that they weren’t prepared for the level of danger below, but even so, they couldn’t simply leave the search for Skye and Niko to others. It was a moot discussion, given that the nearest descent routes were no longer viable, and needed to be rediscovered. Apparently, the penumbral zone had massive pockets of water that were held in place by living dams of wood. Sometimes, these zones would shift around, releasing cascades of water. Routes would become blocked by debris, new growth, or become a new water basin, forcing Riizen to regularly find new routes to the umbral layers. Given the trouble, most hunters didn’t bother going all the way, finding general locations where they could hunt their way to tier four in the middle canopy, rather than struggle to the tier five umbral zone.

“Earth to Ronald,” Mithel broke the big man from his reverie, “Did we want to take a break or keep going?”

Ronald blinked, broken from his thoughts, then blinked again at the odd phrase, but then he had grown used to the quirks of his gnomish friend. He shook his head, “We keep going for now. I can feel that I’m pushing up against the edge of tier two, and if we’re lucky, we can hit tier three before the rescue team comes for us.”

The other two nodded at that, collecting what valuables they wanted from their kills before heading onwards. Admittedly, rushing the tiers wasn’t generally a sound idea, given that a firm grasp of ones’ self and their ideals became more and more important as one rose in tiers. With that said, Ronald and the others had the pilgrimage to thank for putting them more in touch with a version of themselves that the ritual had first seen in them. It wasn’t a guarantee of who they would become, but it was a guideline that few ever got to see, a glance at their inner workings.

As such, they wouldn’t cripple themselves in their rapid rise to power. Even without that assurance, though, Ronald wasn’t certain he’d care. Niko and Skye were his friends, before anything else, and as much as anyone tried to tell him otherwise, Ronald felt like their current circumstances were in part his fault.

If he’d been able to properly defend against the Memory Thief, they could have taken the battle that much more slowly. Perhaps they would have been able to organize some kind of way to interrupt the outlandish teleportation ability the jellyfish monster had. Maybe they could have simply slain it at range, instead of in melee. Possibilities played through his mind one after the other, until he finally had to push them out of his thoughts altogether.

‘I owe them,’ Ronald allowed the thought, ‘If it wasn’t for them… I don’t know what I would have lost.’

He recalled the sensation of the Memory Thief’s phantom flesh piercing through him, cutting through his psyche like cold slime and a knife at the same time. It was bizarre, painful, and violating on a level that he’d never experienced before. If it wasn’t for the fact that he’d been acutely aware the entire time, unlike any of the monster’s previous victims, Ronald feared that he’d have lost his memories. Instead, it was just a generalized haziness and fatigue for a few hours, and then the mother of all headaches that still lingered.

Considering everything, finding Niko and Skye felt like the very least he could do… And certainly not enough.

------------------------------------

War-Bishop Dynus Verde of the Advarican Imperial Order set his eyes on the once-city of Greenleaf and felt his fatigue paradoxically lift in relief and plummet in suffering. His journey this far had been long, and due to his creed, fraught with seemingly endless distractions. Never once did he regret helping those in need, though even he had to admit that there seemed no end to the trials and tribulations of the world. It was too convenient, even, that he’d passed through a monster infestation, a plague ridden village, a would-be bandit-king’s bid for power in a local duchy, and more besides.

Such that he might even consider divine intervention… if he wasn’t utterly positive that Advarica had no inclination of his other purposes in this mission of his. After all, he hadn’t been rejected by the iconography he still wielded, so unless she was playing into some deception – not something he would put past any of the Deities – he was operating under the radar.

No, if anyone was interfering with him, it’d be The Great Mother, and he frankly had no idea why that would be the case. She surely wouldn’t have a reason to send him on this venture, only to put roadblocks in his way.

He lifted the primordial essence stone around his neck, grasping it firmly in his hands. Within his mind’s eye, he focused on the traces of Alterra’s Grace, finding one of the most powerful resonances yet coming from the rebuilding Greenleaf.

Dynus did his best not to appear dismayed, his fear that the Chosen was wounded or otherwise predisposed mounting. He didn’t think they’d passed away, but it would shame him deeply if the Chosen was mortally wounded thanks to his delays. Still, if that were the case, he could still fix it, pending any especially dreadful curses or their ilk.

The man continued down the road, the sun peeking out from light cloud cover and casting him in a dull glow. His robes were a dull white, suitable for heavy travel, but still ornate enough to fit his station. Curls of red thread and gold had been stitched into the fabric, matching the vestments beneath, consisting partly of a cuirass of linked plates of armor. Hanging iconography adorned his body, two from his shoulders and one from the center of his chest, suspended upon silvery chains. The icons themselves were of the gauntleted fist holding a weighing scale, the laurels of peace balanced precariously with the sword and spear, tools of war and battle. In nearly any land, the icon of Advarica was recognizable even at a distance, and those priests and clergy who donned the symbols were treated with due respect and courtesy.

It certainly helped that those of Advarican calling tended to treat their fellows with like respect, and, if Dynus had anything to say about it, could be known for their generosity and willingness to help.

Thus, when the few travelers, woodsmen, and other citizens of Greenleaf began to make him out on the road, he was greeted with friendly waves and salutations. He returned them, surprised at the high spirits of people here, in spite of what was clearly a recently devastated town. Being an imperial citizen, Dynus wasn’t familiar with all that much of the Arnost Kingdom’s details in minutiae. Greenleaf was vaguely known to him, a minor enough trading town to the Empire, but there were other towns that were more often frequented, such as the Fortress City of Ar’Klaadi.

Most towns as devastated as this would simply wither and disperse, especially if they were lacking in any major reason to reinvest fortunes to rebuild. Thus, Dynus imagined that Greenleaf was more important than he’d initially expected. Perhaps it was an internal Kingdom matter, but he wasn’t certain it would be wise to ignore it.

“Excuse me, sirs and madam,” Dynus politely approached a trio of folk as they went about their business, “Might you direct me to the local mayor, or city official?”

“Certainly, Mr. Priest,” The elder of the two men and one woman pointed deeper into the throng of tents and ongoing rebuilding, “You’ll be lookin’ for Orson. Guildmaster and Mayor of Greenleaf, probably in the green roofed building.”

Dynus did his best not to show any surprise at the news, instead giving a slight bow along with a quickly spoken, “My thanks. Advarica’s Grace upon you.” To which the three bid him farewell. The war-bishop continued deeper into the mashup of a camp and city, thinking on the oddness that was a town having Guildmaster for a Mayor. Beyond that, there was the question of the name of said Mayor…

‘Couldn’t be the same one…’ He shrugged inwardly, continuing onwards.

As he walked, though, he began paying more attention to what was happening around him, or more acutely, what wasn’t. He expected to see a lot of loitering, people disparate and listless, but instead the community was active, thriving. They helped one another, and on more than one occasion Dynus noticed that groups were huddling over rolls of parchments that appeared to have some Guild symbol in the corner.

Then, he finally saw something that brought him up abruptly short.

“Is that beast…” He blinked, staring at what he suspected was some variant of a badger, or Grier, that was currently parading around in front of several other beasts while directing their attention around. A gathering of humanoids moved with them, speaking with them, though Dynus couldn’t help but notice that the numbers were highly unequal. He doubted they were all tamed creatures, but, then, he didn’t know what else they could be. Wild animals running about in imperial lands would have raised an unruly fuss.

Yet, the most anyone around did was give them a cursory glance, before going about their business.

He pushed through his stupor, idly watching the group for a few more seconds before deciding against following them. In the first place, he didn’t know why they were there, and should really at least greet the local power structure first before planning his next moves.

On reflex, Dynus held the primordial crystal in his fist, feeling for the familiar tug of Alterra’s Grace, and noting that it led directly towards the only tall building currently standing in the city. The green roof would have been apparent even in a much more crowded place, let alone being the monolith it was now. With a small smile, Dynus began to hope that perhaps his search for the Chosen was near its end…