Myrla weighed the figure's words carefully, intrigued by their mention of the land's deep connection to death magic. The fact that her experiences were considered common in such a place was both comforting and unsettling. She glanced around, noting how the figure's yellow eyes seemed to pierce through the dim light, exuding an air of authority and knowledge.

"Alright," Myrla said finally, her curiosity outweighing her caution. "Lead the way."

As she followed the figure to the secluded tent, Myrla felt a mix of anticipation and wariness about what might transpire. The tent's canvas flapped gently in the breeze, whispering secrets of its own, which heightened her sense that something significant was about to unfold.

Quote from Krayveneer >>

At the same time, as someone approaches Myrla, another one approaches Milo when he is in the sparring pit. A dwarven man, beard grey from age yet well-kept and nearly goes past his belt, calls out to Milo with a grin on his face and a tankard in his hand. This is Commander Melorius, one of the commanders of the phalanx squad. 

"Lad! Have you thought to specialize more?" The man asks. "You have the build of an agile fighter, not my forte, but one of my men can help give you some pointers. He's a devil with his footwork and can use some manoeuvres and flourishes that require a slight build like you." He then points to the shield he always carries with him bearing many scratch marks and glowing blue scripts written neatly on the rim. "Or would you like to learn some runeworks? Might help you out in a bind. Your flimsy armour won't make it far here and there's nothing stronger than good old dwarven rune-weaved armour."

Another figure appears beside Commander Melorius and snorts derisively. Taller than the dwarven commander, the new figure is almost as tall as Inge and Wadi. Instead of the usual humanoid feature commonly found, this figure has a more feline characteristic. Blackened fur covers parts of her body, but not all. She appears to retain more humanoid features compared to the rest of her people, most notably her five-fingered hands while others in her people only have four. This is Commander Xanthe, one of the commanders of the heavy scout units.

"No, no, no, I don't think so," she cuts in before Commander Melorius can say anything more. "He will have a better time in my unit. His form and agility will only help him when he learns Gema."

 "Specialising? I haven't given it a thought. My skills are mostly self taught to survive in a harsh world. Made even harsher by the monsters being released. I will gladly take lessons in anything that will help me fight those creatures better. The same sort of creatures destroyed my village and my family. Those who arrived with me are my only family now. What is Gema?"

"Well, you'll fit right in with us, lad," Melorius says, turning a bit grim, "we've all lost something to these hordes of ghouls. A right bastard that Dydre for making those abominations."

"I still think he will fit better with my unit," Xanthe continues after a moment. "Gema is a fighting style -- my unit's fighting style. We specialize in many rapid strikes in a short amount of time. A legion of one, some call us."

"But that's because you're cheating!" Melorius cuts in. "No, lad, I feel like you want a good honest steel in your hand, not her sorcery."

Hundreds of candles illuminate the inside of the tent. It is quite a strange sight as the rest of the encampment uses lanterns or magical lights during the night. Yet, there is something different about these candles. It whispers. 

"Apologies if you feel unsettled," the figure says as they close the tent's flap. "I am Calanthe Ysmar, a Visor of the Empyrean Eye. I am a part of the military that deals with information warfare. Spycraft. Over the week, I have watched all the recruits, but you interest me. Something about you and your four friends is different from the others. You are there but not there at the same time. Your comment about your ability to hear the dead is also most intriguing, as only people capable of necromancy can achieve such clarity of information from the dead. It is as if you and your friends are inserted into the camp by the enemy." 

The air stutters and roils in the way Myrla and the group have put as a sign that something is deviating from what is supposed to happen. A bit distracted by the stuttering world, Myrla is too late to notice Calanthe's movement. One moment they are on the other side of the tent, and another they are upon Myrla with a dagger poised to strike her neck. Before the dagger can do its job, Myrla sees flickering spectral hands, dozens of hands, holding and stopping Calanthe's movement. 

"Interesting," Calanthe comments, dagger still poised on Myrla's neck. "The spirits are trying to save you and they are doing this out of their own volition."

12

Enthralled by the laboratory and all is working, Brix nods his head enthusiastically as he agrees to the outfit change.

Myrla's heart pounded in her chest as she stood in the flickering glow of the candlelit tent. The whispers from the candles seemed to intensify, as if they were trying to warn her of the danger she hadn't anticipated. As Calanthe's words sank in, she felt a mixture of fear and fascination. When the world around her began to stutter, Myrla's attention wavered just long enough for Calanthe to make their move. The sudden proximity of the dagger, poised to strike her neck, sent a cold shiver down her spine. But before she could react, she saw the spectral hands—dozens of them—materializing and stopping Calanthe's movement.

Myrla's eyes widened in amazement. "The spirits... they're protecting me," she whispered, half to herself and half to Calanthe. She could feel the energy of the spectral hands, their intent clear and unwavering. "Calanthe," Myrla said, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her veins, "I don't fully understand what's happening to me or why the spirits are so protective, but I know one thing: we're not the enemy. There's something larger at play here, something we need to uncover together."

She held Calanthe's gaze, hoping her sincerity would reach through the tension. "I want to learn more about this power, about why I'm connected to the dead in this way. If you truly seek the truth, then help me understand. We can figure this out, but we need to trust each other." The spectral hands seemed to tighten their grip slightly, reinforcing Myrla's plea. "Please," she added softly, "lower the dagger. Let's talk."

"Sorcery? I don't know if I am even capable of such a thing. But rapid strikes is what I do best. I prefer to protect myself with my blades and speed than a shield. I am happy to try and learn Gema, and if it doesn't work out, maybe I can see about learning some manoeuvres instead." Milo is quite intrigued with the prospect of this magic. Runes were interesting but not really his cup of tea, and he already had quite a fancy footwork, as demonstrated by his darting in and out of the fight earlier without being attacked.... well until the creature singled him out and almost ended his life that is.....

There is a long pause. The cold steel touches Myrla's neck softly and digs just a tiny bit deeper as she breathes. The pair of yellow eyes stare deeply into Myrla's eyes as if seeing through her very being. Slowly, the spectral hands disappear and Calanthe draws back.

"If there is one thing my Archon taught me, it is to listen carefully," Calanthe says. "The spirits say you can be trusted for now, and there is nothing more honest than the truth that dead men tell. Very well. I will reevaluate my judgement on you and your friends."

Calanthe sheathes her dagger somewhere within their robe. It appears to be a very practiced sleight of hand as Myrla hadn't even noticed the blade appearing in their hand. One moment it is there and another moment it is not. After giving Myrla a few moments to get her bearings, Calanthe waves for her to sit near the candles. As she nears, she can hear the whispers more clearly. 

"The spirits are chatty," Calanthe starts. "You only need to know which one you want to hear more clearly. This will be a long learning process. The spirits here are mostly the departed soldiers, so you can expect to gain some more insight on where to strike your enemies to dispose of them quicker after we finish. When you become more powerful with your senses, you will be able to fine-tune your senses to hear the quieter spirits and learn their skills, but that is still a long way."

{{I'm trying to find a reason to insert Myrla's multiclassing and pair it together with her planned subclass.}}

"Blades? Did he say blades? As in multiple?" Melorius stills. He then barks loudly, spilling some of the liquid in his tankard. "Well, no sorcery for you, lad. They're firm in their belief that one blade is enough. Can't do sorcery with another blade in your other hand."

Xanthe grimaces but nods albeit reluctantly. "Melorius is unfortunately correct. Gema is a precise "dance". We draw invisible runes in the air with our blade to invoke power. It is different from a rune knight like Melorius who etches the rune beforehand, we do it as we fight. I thought that you were merely training your other hand too by using two blades during your spars, but it appears my assumption is wrong. While we can wield a blade with both of our hands, we still cannot hold two blades and invoke the rune at the same time. It disturbs the other." 

Xanthe is quiet for a long moment before nodding. "But, perhaps I can still teach you a few things. You already have the basics. You only need some more practice." She steps into the sparring ring and invites Milo to join her. She draws her blade -- a slender thing that is closer to a rapier than a long sword -- and begins flourishing it in a curious pattern. When she finishes, an apparition of her steps out from behind her, looking almost translucent. "Speed is key. Let's spar."

{{No need for combat roll. I'm trying to insert a reason for how Milo could learn action surge during the week.}}

Brix works diligently and learns about quite a number of new ingredients that he couldn't believe existed. Some of those flowers and herbs and animal essences are thought to be a myth in the textbook he grew up learning. 

By the end of the week, Brix has earned himself the right to bottle two potions of his choice to bring with him on his journey. The Vindicator appears very pleased, a different emotion from his usual grump and scowl. 

"It appears one of your potions has an interesting effect," The Vindicator says when Brix bottles one of the potions he plans to bring. "Smells more potent, but also more volatile. Be careful when using it. The effectiveness may double, but there may also be some aftereffect."

{{Brix, you can choose two potions of your choice that you get to add to your inventory. The potions must be a common or an uncommon potion. You want one of them to have a duration because that duration will be doubled because of your high roll.}}

Quote from Krayveneer >>

There is a long pause. The cold steel touches Myrla's neck softly and digs just a tiny bit deeper as she breathes. The pair of yellow eyes stare deeply into Myrla's eyes as if seeing through her very being. Slowly, the spectral hands disappear and Calanthe draws back.

"If there is one thing my Archon taught me, it is to listen carefully," Calanthe says. "The spirits say you can be trusted for now, and there is nothing more honest than the truth that dead men tell. Very well. I will reevaluate my judgement on you and your friends."

Calanthe sheathes her dagger somewhere within their robe. It appears to be a very practiced sleight of hand as Myrla hadn't even noticed the blade appearing in their hand. One moment it is there and another moment it is not. After giving Myrla a few moments to get her bearings, Calanthe waves for her to sit near the candles. As she nears, she can hear the whispers more clearly. 

"The spirits are chatty," Calanthe starts. "You only need to know which one you want to hear more clearly. This will be a long learning process. The spirits here are mostly the departed soldiers, so you can expect to gain some more insight on where to strike your enemies to dispose of them quicker after we finish. When you become more powerful with your senses, you will be able to fine-tune your senses to hear the quieter spirits and learn their skills, but that is still a long way."

{{I'm trying to find a reason to insert Myrla's multiclassing and pair it together with her planned subclass.}}

Myrla felt the cold steel against her neck, her breath steady despite the slight increase in pressure. The yellow eyes of Calanthe bore into her, searching for any hint of deception. As the spectral hands faded and Calanthe withdrew the dagger, Myrla felt a wave of relief wash over her. She exhaled slowly, allowing herself a moment to regain her composure. The offer to sit near the candles and hear the whispers more clearly intrigued Myrla. She moved closer, her ears attuned to the soft, eerie murmurs that seemed to emanate from the flickering flames. As Calanthe spoke about the spirits and the long learning process ahead, Myrla's mind drifted back to her past.

"My life has always been about adapting," Myrla began, her voice soft but resolute. "I was born into a wood elf clan that lived in a once-great forest, Taurë Parca. It was lush and full of life, but over the centuries, it turned into a desert. The waterhole that sustained our oasis dried up, forcing many of my kin to leave or perish. I was one of the last to remain, tending to the dying plants and animals until there was nothing left to care for." She paused, her eyes reflecting the memories of a forest now lost. "I fought side by side with my clan, but they are no longer. I had to leave because there was no longer a home to protect. The forest that once provided for us had turned to dust. It was during those last, desolate years that I began to feel a connection to something beyond the living world. Perhaps it was the spirits of my fallen kin, or the ancient magic of the forest trying to communicate. I didn't understand it then, but I see now that it was a prelude to what I'm experiencing here."

Myrla looked at Calanthe, determination in her eyes. "I've always been a fighter, a protector of my home. But now, with no home left to protect, I realize my skills need to evolve. The whispers of the spirits, the guidance they offer, it feels like a natural progression. Without realising, I've been hearing them for years, not understanding their message. Here, in this camp, the connection has grown stronger." She leaned closer to the candles, listening to the murmurs. "I believe this path, learning to hear and understand the spirits, will make me a more effective warrior. Not just with a blade, but in ways that can turn the tide of battle through stealth and precision. The spirits of the departed soldiers, their insights into our enemies' weaknesses, will be invaluable." Myrla's gaze hardened with resolve. "I don't know why the spirits chose to protect me, but I won't squander this gift. I'll learn to harness it, to become a master of the shadows and the whispers. The dead have stories to tell, and I intend to listen."

For the first time since starting out on this quest Brix finally feels he's where he belongs. The rows of glass vials, copper tubing, and bubbling vats of foul smelling liquids combined with strange new ingredients like fish scales and squirrel hair expand Brix' skill 10 fold. He can't help but beem with pride at the vindicators statement.

"Thank you! The potion of climbing is good but I didn't realize oil of slipperiness was so potent. You tutelage has been incredibly insightful. 

Milo gets ready to spar, while at the same time see how this magic works. He is shocked by the sudden appearance of a second copy and so pushes himself further to increase his speed to a point that he is able to get an extra attack in to just keep up with the extra enemy. It does take a significant strain on him though so it takes him about a day before he is able to do it again. "That was very impressive. Thank you for that. It does seem like a very useful technique but I do prefer to have a blade in each hand. Commander Melorius I would be more than happy to spend some time learning about runes from you. Magic seems so useful at enhancing combat, how do your runes work?"

The stuttering in the air intensifies as a frown mars Calanthe's covered face. As soon as Myrla sees the frown, she knows that Calanthe recognizes something. 

"Taurë Parca is hale and healthy," Calanthe says after a long moment of silence. "It is... impossible for it to wither and become a desert. Some of our new recruits came from there just a month ago. The spring is magical. It is the reason it can exist as it is in the middle of a wasteland. It is not possible for it to wither in such a short time. And centuries? You talk as if--"

Before Calanthe can finish their words, the stuttering in the air stops and Calanthe's form flickers for a moment before their figure settles again. They continue their lecture about spirits as if Myrla had never mentioned Taurë Parca at all. 

"Keep my warning in mind," The Vindicator says to Brix. "The effect of the potion may double, but there may also be some consequences. It appears quite perfect based on smell and colour alone, but, then again, no one has tried what you did with it."

{{If there's nothing else, that's the end of Brix's part in the week.}}

"Nope, not explaining that to you," Melorius says, shaking his head. "Better to practice and figure it out yourself. More fun that way. This way you can also know the danger of having even the smallest misalignment to your rune first-hand. Come on, lad. Best prepare yourself." Melorius saddles up beside Milo and begins dragging him away toward his command tent with raucous laughter. 

The experience is conflicting, to be perfectly honest. Milo gets a crash course on the long and rigorous process of rune smithing and rune weaving. It is when his hands are already bruised from learning about smithing that Melorius reveals that smithing is only the basic. He would then need to be able to visualize the rune quickly and apply it rapidly using a technique Melorius called Flamebrand where blood is usually used to cast a spell on a tool that would then be used to brand a rune on an object. A more complex item that can be activated by voice alone requires a more complex rune schematic and more blood to etch. Milo can see the advantage, but he also notices the resource-intensive nature of the skill. 

Brix nods his head in understanding. He leaves the vindicator to go and mull over his notes. He has some thoughts on how it might be possible to transfer certain aspects from an elixir to an object there by infusing that object with those aspects. 

Quote from Krayveneer >>

The stuttering in the air intensifies as a frown mars Calanthe's covered face. As soon as Myrla sees the frown, she knows that Calanthe recognizes something. 

"Taurë Parca is hale and healthy," Calanthe says after a long moment of silence. "It is... impossible for it to wither and become a desert. Some of our new recruits came from there just a month ago. The spring is magical. It is the reason it can exist as it is in the middle of a wasteland. It is not possible for it to wither in such a short time. And centuries? You talk as if--"

Before Calanthe can finish their words, the stuttering in the air stops and Calanthe's form flickers for a moment before their figure settles again. They continue their lecture about spirits as if Myrla had never mentioned Taurë Parca at all. 

Myrla's heart skipped a beat at Calanthe's words. Taurë Parca hale and healthy? Her mind raced, trying to reconcile this information with her own memories of the dying forest and the parched land she had left behind. The stuttering air and Calanthe's flickering form only deepened her unease. As the air settled and Calanthe resumed speaking as if nothing had happened, Myrla struggled to focus. The mention of her homeland being a magical forest suggests that whatever she experiences here must have been based on events from an immensely long time ago. The glimpse in the past gnawed at her and for a moment, she felt untethered. But she steeled herself, taking a deep breath. The spirits had saved her from Calanthe's dagger, and there was a reason for that. Whatever strange power she had begun to tap into, it was real. The whispers she heard from the candles were real. "I still have much to learn about the spirits," Myrla said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "Their knowledge and guidance are invaluable, and I am determined to understand them better. However, it seems that my training as a scout will take precedence for now. Stealth and reconnaissance are crucial, and the skills I'm learning from the scouts will aid me in surviving and thriving in this strange reality." She looked into Calanthe's vibrant yellow eyes, finding a renewed sense of purpose. "I will listen to the spirits and honor their guidance, but I will also hone my abilities as a scout. The path ahead is uncertain, but I am ready to walk it, no matter how strange or challenging it may become." With that, Myrla resolved to embrace both facets of her training, knowing that understanding the spirits and mastering stealth would make her a more formidable and adaptable force. As she left the tent, she couldn't shake the feeling that her journey was just beginning, and the mysteries about what had happened to her home, Taurë Parca, were waiting to be unraveled.

At the end of the week, there is a lightness to the group. It is not the same lightness of being without burden, but the lightness brought forth by having a firmer foundation. Perhaps, lightness is the wrong word, but it feels as if their journey would be easier in some ways. They have been training and learning new things. It was quite an eye-opening week. Magic was a foreign concept, and it would be a massive boon for the rest of their journey. 

Unfortunately, the light atmosphere and the contentment are broken when a naphil hurriedly swoops into the encampment at the end of the week. They look tired as if they have been flying for days on end. The general motions the group to join her as she receives the report from the naphil. 

"News from the advance scout, general," the naphil says. "They've found where the commander was taken. It is not good. The trail goes beyond the Field of Angels." 

The general curses and looks at the assembled group. "Are they holding position? Or are they gone?"

"Half remains," the naphil replies with a grimace. 

"Then, they don't have much time. We will have to do this now before they exhaust themselves and we lose them too." The general turns toward Myrla, Inge, Brix, Milo, and Wadi. "I need you to get ready. You will be doing your mission now. I need you to go beyond the Field of Angel and find where my commander is held. Bring him back if you can." She goes quiet for a long moment as she stares at each person in the tent. "I cannot stress enough that there is a chance you will not return alive. If you want to back out, this is the time."

Inge's squares her shoulders and stands tall.  "Tell me, general.  Helstrom ever back out of anything?"

She looks at her companions, having grown to trust them implicitly in a short time, hefting the glaive that Brix has enhanced.  "Point us where to go."

Myrla steps forward, her eyes steady and resolute. "I'm ready, General," she says firmly, her voice carrying a quiet confidence. "We'll get your commander back."

She pauses for a moment, glancing at her companions before turning back to the General. "Should we take all the supplies with us? And if the naphil took days to fly here, how are we supposed to cover the distance in time?"

Her mind races with questions and logistics, but she remains focused. "We're committed, but we need to make sure we're prepared for whatever lies ahead."

Milo glances at Myrla, debates saying this when the general can't hear, but then realises that it makes no difference as the simulation can always reset. "I don't think time is an issue here. If Prana wants us to witness something around this commander, we will be there on time. If the journey there isn't important to our witnessing, we might even just appear by the Field of Angels" he then turns back to the general. "We will do this. I don't believe any of us are capable of backing out. We all have too much at stake."

Myrla looks at Milo, her surprise evident. The idea that they might just appear at their destination is both astonishing and unsettling. She takes a deep breath, processing the implications of what Milo has said. The thought that the simulation could manipulate their perception of time and space so fluidly is a lot to take in. "I hadn't considered that," she admits, a touch of wonder in her voice. "If Prana has that kind of control, then you're right. Time might not be an issue."

"As long as they're going I'm going." says Brix.

"We are Ready" Wadi adds as he pulls his pack on and grips his staff.