12-17-2016, 04:17 AM
Kelly ended up spending longer than he had planned in the four-square oaken grove at the cross-roads.
His initial ten-minute rest period went by completely undisturbed. The wind blew, sending leaves skittering and twirling across the cross-roads, but nothing emerged from the gloom. It was the longest period of uninterrupted tranquility he'd experienced since arriving in the Pale Moors, and in the wake of such a comparatively peaceful respite, having had some time to reflect on hiss journey so far, the prospect of venturing back out into the chaos and the dark armed with only an admittedly-quite-useful lantern seemed like nothing short of lunacy.
As if reading his thoughts, a cloud drifted in front of the moon, eclipsing its crimson glow. The already-threatening shadows deepened.
His error was obvious - in spite of the warnings, Kelly had underestimated the Pale Moors. The sheer relentlessness of the hungry, haunted night was more than he'd been prepared for, and up until now there hadn't been a long enough pause to fix the problem. The traveler had barely been able to repair his lantern after fights, let alone create a real weapon, before he would start to hear things growling in the dark, drawn by the multi-hued glow of his efforts, and have to hurry on his way. He felt like a fool for not beginning his trek with better equipment.
Confidence in my skills is all well and good, but I need to keep in mind that I'm not all that powerful right now. I can't maintain my vector-sketch for long, and without it I'm not physically strong enough to hurt anything much tougher than a human being without exploiting vital areas or setting the bastards on fire. Half of the reason I'm so exhausted is from having to fall back on my force-bolts so many times, and I'd be far less injured if punching a giant bat in the throat didn't require them to be far too damn close.
Kelly frowned, thick eyebrows drawing in close, like bushes above the caves where his eyes made their home.
I need a real weapon. Something quick and responsive. Something with precision and reach. Something that can be used defensively, and help me stay on my feet when I'm a gods-forsaken mess.
He concentrated, nestling further into his hollow tree to hide the telltale prismatic light of Omnilium, which emerged from his hands in clouds of rainbow miasma as he began his summons. The scintillating radiance was far more eye-catching than the soft light of Kelly's lantern, and now that he had somewhere better than a thorn-bush or a ditch to conceal himself while he worked, he wanted to take no more chances.
Ten minutes later, the traveler had created a dark, sturdy wooden staff, inlaid with a web of iron braces, flush with its polished mahogany surface. At six feet in length, it was almost as tall as he was, and thick enough to fit comfortably in his hands.
Kelly stood up, and tested the weapon's heft. It was surprisingly light, but not so insubstantial as to be useless. He took a proper, two-handed grip, spacing his hands wide enough to give him both leverage and control, then tried a couple of experimental thrusts and strikes. He was pleased by how deftly he could manipulate his creation.
I've done this before. Excellent.
Satisfied for the moment, he gripped his new weapon and crouched to retrieve his lantern.
As Kelly stood, light-source in one hand and staff in the other, a figure stepped into his flickering circle of orange, oil-lit radiance, seeming to boil out of the darkness like smoke.
The new arrival was a man, slender and pale, with copper-red hair going to gray around the ears, and piercing green eyes. His face was wide, bearing the wrinkles of late middle-age. The apparition was unarmed and unaccompanied, and carried no light. His rich, black velvet long-coat, silk scarf and oilskin cloak were a sharp contrast to Kelly's shirtless, barbaric appearance.
Other than their lack of traveling companions, the only things the two men seemed to have in common were their ramrod-straight posture, and the intensity of their silence.
It made the staff-bearing traveler feel very self-conscious, and very suspicious.
I probably look like I've been bare-knuckle boxing the entire Pale Moors. Which isn't actually that far from true, now that I think about it.
Kelly forced himself not to cringe anew at how badly he'd miscalculated, refocusing instead on his new acquaintance.
We're at least fifteen minutes from Darkshire on foot, and I didn't hear any horses. How is he navigating in the dark? And how does he look so fresh when I can't go a quarter-mile without being attacked?
This is going to be trouble.
A sudden gust of wind sent tree-branches overhead scraping against each other, filling the night with a hollow sound, like bones rolling downhill.
His initial ten-minute rest period went by completely undisturbed. The wind blew, sending leaves skittering and twirling across the cross-roads, but nothing emerged from the gloom. It was the longest period of uninterrupted tranquility he'd experienced since arriving in the Pale Moors, and in the wake of such a comparatively peaceful respite, having had some time to reflect on hiss journey so far, the prospect of venturing back out into the chaos and the dark armed with only an admittedly-quite-useful lantern seemed like nothing short of lunacy.
As if reading his thoughts, a cloud drifted in front of the moon, eclipsing its crimson glow. The already-threatening shadows deepened.
His error was obvious - in spite of the warnings, Kelly had underestimated the Pale Moors. The sheer relentlessness of the hungry, haunted night was more than he'd been prepared for, and up until now there hadn't been a long enough pause to fix the problem. The traveler had barely been able to repair his lantern after fights, let alone create a real weapon, before he would start to hear things growling in the dark, drawn by the multi-hued glow of his efforts, and have to hurry on his way. He felt like a fool for not beginning his trek with better equipment.
Confidence in my skills is all well and good, but I need to keep in mind that I'm not all that powerful right now. I can't maintain my vector-sketch for long, and without it I'm not physically strong enough to hurt anything much tougher than a human being without exploiting vital areas or setting the bastards on fire. Half of the reason I'm so exhausted is from having to fall back on my force-bolts so many times, and I'd be far less injured if punching a giant bat in the throat didn't require them to be far too damn close.
Kelly frowned, thick eyebrows drawing in close, like bushes above the caves where his eyes made their home.
I need a real weapon. Something quick and responsive. Something with precision and reach. Something that can be used defensively, and help me stay on my feet when I'm a gods-forsaken mess.
He concentrated, nestling further into his hollow tree to hide the telltale prismatic light of Omnilium, which emerged from his hands in clouds of rainbow miasma as he began his summons. The scintillating radiance was far more eye-catching than the soft light of Kelly's lantern, and now that he had somewhere better than a thorn-bush or a ditch to conceal himself while he worked, he wanted to take no more chances.
Ten minutes later, the traveler had created a dark, sturdy wooden staff, inlaid with a web of iron braces, flush with its polished mahogany surface. At six feet in length, it was almost as tall as he was, and thick enough to fit comfortably in his hands.
Kelly stood up, and tested the weapon's heft. It was surprisingly light, but not so insubstantial as to be useless. He took a proper, two-handed grip, spacing his hands wide enough to give him both leverage and control, then tried a couple of experimental thrusts and strikes. He was pleased by how deftly he could manipulate his creation.
I've done this before. Excellent.
Satisfied for the moment, he gripped his new weapon and crouched to retrieve his lantern.
As Kelly stood, light-source in one hand and staff in the other, a figure stepped into his flickering circle of orange, oil-lit radiance, seeming to boil out of the darkness like smoke.
The new arrival was a man, slender and pale, with copper-red hair going to gray around the ears, and piercing green eyes. His face was wide, bearing the wrinkles of late middle-age. The apparition was unarmed and unaccompanied, and carried no light. His rich, black velvet long-coat, silk scarf and oilskin cloak were a sharp contrast to Kelly's shirtless, barbaric appearance.
Other than their lack of traveling companions, the only things the two men seemed to have in common were their ramrod-straight posture, and the intensity of their silence.
It made the staff-bearing traveler feel very self-conscious, and very suspicious.
I probably look like I've been bare-knuckle boxing the entire Pale Moors. Which isn't actually that far from true, now that I think about it.
Kelly forced himself not to cringe anew at how badly he'd miscalculated, refocusing instead on his new acquaintance.
We're at least fifteen minutes from Darkshire on foot, and I didn't hear any horses. How is he navigating in the dark? And how does he look so fresh when I can't go a quarter-mile without being attacked?
This is going to be trouble.
A sudden gust of wind sent tree-branches overhead scraping against each other, filling the night with a hollow sound, like bones rolling downhill.