11 - The Star Sapphires: The Weight of the Summit

Date: 12/03/2024

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“Well,” Alastor began, his tone carrying easily over the sharp wind, “it’s about time you got here. I was beginning to wonder if you’d lost your way.” His gaze shifted slightly, his words sharp with purpose as he regarded Narvane. “But I see now you’ve been in... capable company.”

The spirit hawk on Johnny’s shoulder shifted uneasily, its feathers ruffling in response to the tension in the air. The oppressive stillness around them felt like a storm about to break. Whatever came next, it was clear that this moment would change the course of their journey.

Alastor stepped forward, his piercing eyes never leaving Narvane. “You’ve been away long enough,” he said, his voice cutting through the mountain air with cold precision. “The Circle has great plans for you. It’s time to return to where you belong. And if you won’t come willingly...” His voice trailed off, leaving the unspoken threat sharp as the biting wind.

Narvane appeared shaken but stayed quiet, his narrowed eyes locked on Alastor.

The wind picked up around the temple’s gateway, swirling dust and leaves at their feet. Alastor’s voice sliced through the biting air, deliberate and smooth. “This is twice now that I’ve come to you with reason. Twice that I’ve given you the chance to make the right choice. When I spoke with you at your camp, I thought you might see reason. But here we are, and Narvane is still with you.”

His cloak billowed slightly as he stepped forward again, sharp eyes locking with each of theirs in turn. His tone remained calm but carried a dangerous finality.

“I’ve been patient. More patient than you deserve. Narvane is not your fight, not your burden. He belongs with the Circle. You have no idea what’s at stake here, but I do. And I know what he’s worth—to you, to us, and to the world. Give him to me now, and this ends cleanly. You walk away with no scars, no debts, and no regrets.”

Alastor’s gaze swept across the group. “Or you can refuse me again. But if you do, know this: the Circle’s reach doesn’t end here. Even if you think you’ve won, you’ll only delay what’s coming. I’m offering you peace. Take it.”

A heavy silence followed, broken only by Janos’s exaggerated yawn.

Alastor’s sharp eyes turned to the dwarf, his voice shifting to one of measured respect, tinged with challenge. “And you, dwarf. A warrior carrying more than just steel on his shoulders. You’ve faced battles, burdens, and loss that most couldn’t endure. But I wonder—how long have you searched for the answers that elude you? How many more years will you spend hammering against the same walls, hoping they’ll yield to your will?”

He took a deliberate step forward, his boots grinding softly on the gravel, his voice lowering. “The Circle has access to knowledge that could take you years to discover on your own—maps, relics... texts buried deep beneath stone and shadow. It’s through those whispers of the past that we’ve pieced together truths no one else dares to seek. What you’re looking for? It’s not out of reach. With our aid, you could hold it in your hands sooner than you think.”

Alastor’s gaze hardened, his voice quiet but sharp, almost imploring. “I see the strength in you, the resolve. But I ask you this—how much will you sacrifice for one man? Narvane’s choices have brought him to this moment. Yours could secure a peaceful future for many. Isn’t it time to put the greater good above the weight of one soul?”

Janos smirked and affected another yawn, his jaw popping with the effort.

Shaking his head in disappointment, Alastor turned to Johnny, his expression widening slightly in surprise. “Ranger, I see a change in your energy... You’ve taken on the role of protector, haven’t you? Watching over the wilds, your companions, so noble… But has Narvane truly earned that trust? You’ve felt it, haven’t you—the way he keeps his past hidden, the way his choices never quite add up?”

“Did he tell you about the Library of Aevitas? About the tomb raiders who followed him in, trusting his lead, only to die when he took what he wanted? That amulet he wears, the Serpent’s Coil, wasn’t just some treasure—it was the lock on a cage. They begged him to leave it, but Narvane doesn’t listen when his mind’s made up.”

Narvane muttered sharply, “That’s not how it happened,” but Alastor pressed on, ignoring the interruption. “He made it out, Johnny—with his prize. And now he keeps it close, using it when it suits him. You trust in the wild because it’s honest and pure. Can you say the same of him? Ask yourself this: when it comes down to it, will he choose you... or some other petty bauble?”

Johnny’s gaze was hard, but doubt flickered briefly in his eyes. “Why would I trust you over anyone else?”

“Have I ever lied to you?” Alastor countered smoothly. “This one,” he gestured vaguely at Narvane, “has admitted as much.”

Then Alastor turned to Clovis, his tone shifting again, smooth and knowing. “And what of you, Clovis the Hexxer? I know what drove you to leave the Order of the Shrouded Blade. Your brother’s death—how could they expect you to carry on under their rigid oaths and cold traditions? They gave you no room for grief, no chance to forge your own path.”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering, intimate. “The Circle isn’t bound by such dogma. We understand loss, pain, and the fire it can forge within. With us, you could access knowledge that the Order couldn’t dream of—hexes and rituals that would give you the power to shape your own destiny, to rise beyond their judgment. Why hold yourself back with their memory, when you could honor your brother by becoming stronger than they ever allowed you to be?”

Clovis answered by stepping toward Alastor, who retreated swiftly onto the bridge behind him, raising his hands. “Think carefully before you act. The Circle does not forgive recklessness.”

Two guardian statues flanking the bridge gatehouse suddenly animated, their spears crossing to block Clovis’s path. Moving like a cat, Clovis flipped over the guardians and landed on the bridge, closing the distance to Alastor. But as he landed, a glyph of warding detonated, sending Clovis flying back to land between the two statues.

Janos toppled one of the inert guardians to prevent it from animating while Johnny fired an explosive arrow at Alastor. The arrow, humming with magic, rebounded off Alastor’s arcane reflection shield and detonated near Johnny. The blast hurled him backward, leaving him hanging by his fingertips over the cliff’s edge.

As the chaos intensified, Narvane summoned a shadowy arm to help Johnny to safety, while Clovis hurled a bomb between the animated guardians, scattering them. Clovis dashed across the bridge, leaping across a new gap created by Alastor. Landing awkwardly, he twisted his ankle, losing his bomb pouch into the chasm below.

Alastor raised his hand and spoke a single word: “Reconsider.” To everyone’s shock, Clovis hesitated.

Clovis proposed a counteroffer: Narvane would remain with the party until they secured the Star Sapphires, at which point he would be handed over to the Circle. Alastor, his expression unreadable, demanded a show of good faith. He insisted that Narvane step forward so he could place the "Mark of the Circle," a magical sigil that would allow him to track Narvane’s movements wherever he went.

Hearing this, Narvane’s face darkened. He instinctively took a step back, his unease growing with each passing moment. Slowly, he began retreating further, increasing the distance between himself and Alastor.

Janos, locked in a brutal exchange with one of the animated guardians, glanced at Narvane and barked through gritted teeth, “Get out of here! Go hide!”

Narvane shook his head, but then surveyed the situation, conflicting emotions crossing his features.  The shadows cast by jagged cliffs and scraggly pines shifted unnaturally, as though stirred by an unseen force. Slowly, they stretched and slithered toward Narvane, drawn like ink running toward a quill.

The darkness gathered around his boots, swirling and coalescing into a living shroud. It pulsed softly, its texture a shifting interplay of smoke and liquid, glimmering faintly with what seemed like distant stars winking in and out of existence. The edges of his form flickered within the void, distorted as though seen through rippling water, leaving no doubt that this was not a natural phenomenon but something far more arcane.

The shadows surged higher, cloaking him entirely as a cold wind swept through the mountain pass, carrying the faint scent of pine and frost. Then, as if reality itself recoiled, the shroud collapsed inward, devouring Narvane in a soundless implosion. The jagged landscape was left quiet and empty, save for the faint shimmer of black mist that lingered where he had stood moments before.

About this time, Janos heard voices upon the path to the temple... the Wild Hunt was coming.

Clovis and Alastor sparred with words, debating the merits and implications of marking Narvane with the Mark of the Circle. Their negotiations quickly reached an impasse, Alastor’s sharp gaze narrowing as he realized there was no resolution to be had. Meanwhile, the clash of steel and stone raged on the far side of the bridge as the rest of the party battled the animated guardians.

Alastor’s eyes flicked toward Clovis, and before the Hexxer could react, Alastor raised a hand and muttered an incantation under his breath. A searing, black sigil flared to life on Clovis’s forearm, burning with arcane energy. The pain was brief but sharp, like a dagger of heat slicing into his skin. The sigil pulsed faintly before fading, leaving behind a faint, glowing mark embedded in his flesh.

“A token of our understanding,” Alastor said with a sly smirk, his tone edged with menace. “Should you decide to meddle further, I’ll always know where to find you.”

With a flick of his cloak, Alastor retreated from Clovis, striding across the bridge and disappearing from view into the shadows beyond. As his presence faded, the stone guardians froze in place, their glowing eyes dimming. Once more, they were lifeless statues locked in fighting stances, scattered among the rubble before the bridge.

The echoes of combat slowly dissipated, leaving an uneasy silence hanging in the air. It was broken moments later by the sharp clink of approaching boots on stone. Janos, ever alert, tensed and turned toward the sound, his battle instincts sharpening. His eyes narrowed as he squinted up the pathway leading to the temple.

Voices rang out, firm and commanding, growing louder as they approached. Their tone left no doubt—whoever was coming was sure of their purpose.

“They’re here,” Janos muttered grimly.

The Wild Hunt crested the rise. Elia of the Whispering Woods walked at the forefront, her emerald cloak catching the cold wind. Her piercing green eyes swept over the scene—shattered statues, the collapsed bridge, and the scattered remnants of glyphs that still pulsed faintly with Alastor’s residual magic.

Behind her, Torin Blackforge trudged forward with heavy, deliberate steps. His massive hammer rested on his shoulder, and his expression was grim, his dark beard flecked with frost. Mara Windstalker flanked him, her bow already strung with an arrow notched and ready, her movements as quiet as the wind. The trio radiated an air of purpose, their presence as sharp and unyielding as the mountain air around them.

Elia stopped short, her gaze locking on the party. “Stand aside,” she called, her voice firm but not unkind. “The prize within that temple belongs to us. You’ve fought well but look at yourselves—you’re in no shape to face us. Do the sensible thing and step away.”

Johnny’s sharp eyes narrowed. Without a word, he turned and leaped across the gap in the bridge. His landing was heavy, his boots skidding slightly on the unstable stone, but he rose quickly, positioning himself as a barrier between the Wild Hunt and the rest of his companions. He turned to face Elia, his hand already reaching for another arrow.

Janos nodded at Johnny’s maneuver, reading the silent signal. With a determined grunt, he sprinted toward the gap. The dwarf’s heavy boots thundered against the bridge’s stones, and he launched himself forward with all his might. For a moment, it seemed he might clear the gap—but he misjudged the distance.

Janos’s eyes widened as he began to fall, his arms flailing for anything to grab. Clovis, moving with almost supernatural reflexes, darted forward and snatched Janos by his beard. The dwarf let out a yelp of pain, but Clovis’s grip held firm. With a grunt of effort, Clovis swung Janos upward, just enough for the dwarf to grab hold of his arm. Together, they scrambled onto the far side of the bridge, breathing heavily but safe.

The Wild Hunt hesitated briefly, watching the chaos unfold. Torin stepped forward, his hammer raised to strike. But before he could act, Johnny let his arrow fly. The explosive tip streaked through the air and struck the far edge of the bridge, detonating with a deafening roar.

The explosion rocked the entire structure. The blast threw Torin and Mara off their feet, sending them hurtling helplessly into the chasm below. Their screams echoed briefly before vanishing into the void. The remaining half of the bridge crumbled in their wake, stone and debris raining down into the depths.

Elia staggered forward, barely managing to catch herself as the force of the explosion hurled her across the gap. She landed heavily on her knees, her shortbow clattering to the ground beside her. Dazed but alive, she pushed herself upright, glancing back at the ruined bridge.

With Torin and Mara gone and the bridge now impassable, Elia lowered her head and let out a long breath. Slowly, she raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Wait,” she said, her voice steadier than her shaking frame. “There’s no point in continuing this. I’ve nothing left to lose, and neither do you. Let me join you. I can help you in the temple.”

The party exchanged wary glances. Johnny and Janos both regarded Elia with suspicion, but it was Clovis who finally stepped forward.

“I’ve known her for years,” Clovis said, his voice firm. “She’s a person of her word. If she says she’ll help, she’ll help.”

After a tense pause, Johnny gave a reluctant nod, his hand falling away from his quiver. “Fine,” he said. “But if you cross us—”

“I won’t,” Elia interrupted, meeting his gaze with an intensity that left no room for doubt.

With the fighting subsided and the Wild Hunt no longer a threat, the group turned their attention to the temple looming above. The cold wind carried with it a profound stillness, broken only by the faint hum of purple light emanating from the structure’s towering arches.

The party made camp near the temple’s entrance, their newfound alliance with Elia uneasy but useful, while Narvane remains missing.

As the first light of dawn broke over the mountain, they stood together before the ancient doors of the Celestial Temple, the challenges within waiting to test them all.