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16th of Edon, 126 Year of the Tree

The Darkness around Hillfield

by Luke Thomas

Dear Diary,
 
Tarn is unrecognizable. In the span of a few weeks, it has transformed from a backwater hamlet into a bustling village. The refugees from Wolf’s Rest and Rosebloom have integrated with surprising speed, their resilience a constant reminder of why we fight. But for us, there is no settling down.
 
Gael is restless. He intends to retrieve his father’s mask from Neverhold. He hopes to count on Lumiria’s help, as she is once again a political prisoner of High King Ulther. I admit, the prospect of storming Neverhold appeals to me, if only because it might allow me to get Lumiria back. My sister might even be inclined to help save Lumiria if it means aiding Gael.
 
We needed clarity before risking a journey into the Feywild’s dark reflection. Hayley cast a divination ritual, burning the incense and asking the questions that weigh on us. The answers were illuminating and revealed to us the masks are being reunited in the High King's forge. So we have a target. But first, we have a war to manage here.
 
With the refugees settled, we journeyed south toward the old Satyr clan lands near Hillfield. We passed Rosebloom, still choked by vines in the distance. The scar on my arm ached, a phantom reminder of the Arch Hag’s power. As we passed the high walls of Hillfield, Alistan and Liliana sent a letter to their parents. A foolish hope, I believe. I do not expect that they will receive a reply.
By the second day, the atmosphere shifted. We found tracks of Hillfield patrols, but also signs of skirmishes. Blood, disturbed earth, and footprints that looked undeniably... caprine. Satyrs. But the clans were wiped out years ago. Even stranger, both tracks of the patrols and the satyrs led away into the hills. Ileas was quiet, his eyes wet with a nostalgia I couldn't touch.
 
We were watched. Gael spotted a figure on a ridge—a traveler in robes, leaning on a quarterstaff. He claimed to be an emissary of Ileas’s uncle. His voice sounded like it had been buried under dust for a century. He told us his master had prepared a gift, an army for Master Ileas. Ileas wanted to refuse, but I pressed him. We needed to know what we were dealing with.
 
He led us to the site of the old village. My stomach turned. They had deconstructed the ruins to build a bastion... a perfect, grotesque replica of our keep at Wolf’s Rest. But the construction was shoddy, the labor silent. The builders were zombies. The animated corpses of the Satyr clans. Ileas looked upon the faces of his dead friends and family, twisted into undeath, and I thought he might break. A large, necrotic corpse-flower bloomed near the keep, birthing new horrors from fresh graves.
 
Then the uncle appeared. A fey creature, pale as bone, with a mouth too wide and teeth too sharp. He asked if Ileas was pleased. Ileas, shaking with rage, asked how he could desecrate their memory like this. The uncle shrugged—"They hated Hillfield. This is what they would have wanted."
"They didn’t want to fight, they wanted to *survive*!" Ileas screamed. He tried to run, but Alistan stopped him. "You cannot run from this," he said. "If you want them to have peace, you must face it."
 
Ileas turned back, his spine steel. He called it disgusting. He demanded his uncle release them. The pale fey laughed, demanding a thank you for his gift. After Ileas relented, he raised his hands. The army of dead fell dormant. "Ungrateful," he spat. He withered the corpse flower to a husk, extracted a single seed, and tossed it to Ileas. "You cannot die yet," he warned. "I still have plans for you." Then he vanished.
 
We were preparing to rebury the dead when Dadroz spotted a displacer beast watching us. Ileas called to it in Sylvan, but the beast bolted. We gave chase, Gael’s primal magic speeding our feet. It led us miles down the road toward Keralon, stopping finally near an abandoned tower.
 
It wasn't a wild beast. It was a pet.
Giselda stepped out. The terrorist we stopped six years ago. She looked paler, harder. She mocked us for our surprise at her survival. She blames us for the execution of her cell—the cell that was building a bomb to kill innocents. Now after all that had happened, we had the same enemy. She asked, what is our plan? "Sing songs until the city surrenders?" She demanded an apology and our total commitment to slaughtering the Hillfielders, in exchange for her help - her creatures and her information.
We refused. We will not become her.
 
We camped, watching Hillfield patrols—knights and stone golems—pass by. We need the city, but we cannot butcher its people. We decided to target the leadership. Liliana and Alistan tried a *Sending* to their father, the head of the city guard. He refused them, parroting their mother’s rhetoric about bloodlines and traitors. But Ileas said that his voice was wrong. Flat. Different. I tried to *Scry* on him, but the spell failed. Something is rotting in Hillfield.
 
We chose infiltration.
We arrived at the city gates, guarded by massive stone golems. Dadroz snuck in under a cart. A chime sounded—alarm wards against magic items. He pushed through, triggering a second chime. Panic at the gate. We saw mages teleport in. They didn't call for more guards, instead they dropped a large crate. Out crawled a Retriever. A giant, spider-like construct designed to hunt and kill.
 
I realised that the Retriever would find him soon, and I wasn’t sure if Dadroz would be able to escape from it. So I pressed my plan forward. I cast *Scry* on Dadroz. The moment the sensor clicked into place, I saw him sprinting through the alleyways.
"Now!". I tore the fabric of space, casting *Arcane Gate*. One portal opened next to us, the other right next to Dadroz’s fleeing form. Hayley immediately cast her own spells to disguise our forms.
"Go!". Alistan, Ileas, Hayley, and I dove through the portal into the city streets. Liliana and Gael stayed behind, protecting Dadroz to draw the Retriever’s attention away from us.
 
We are inside. Divided, hunted, and with a clock ticking. Just another Tuesday.
 
— Luke

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by 3 Armored Kittens · Prodromos v.1.1 - World Anvil 0.9.15.050 © 2017-2025 [en] | Anvil Time: 00:37, Jul 3 2026