The morning sun filtered through the tall trees surrounding Ravenshade, casting long, dappled shadows on the forest floor. The chill of the early hours clung to the air, making it brisk but bearable. Alistair stood just outside the gates of his keep, adjusting the straps of his leather armor. He had barely slept, haunted by thoughts of Sylara's warning and the brewing storm she spoke of.
Sir Branford approached, his expression grave but steady. "The men are ready, my lord. We have scouts leading us to the last known location of the bandits."
Alistair nodded, taking a deep breath to center himself. The battle against the bandits had shown him that brute force could only carry him so far. There was something more dangerous lurking in the shadows, and he needed answers. The bandits fleeing into the Deepwood was a sign that they had more to their story than met the eye. He hoped this expedition would provide clarity.
The pikemen he summoned before were ready to march at his command. Alistair summoned the interface from the Arcane Dominion to examine their stats once more, drawing comfort from the certainty of their strength.
---
Unit: Pikeman
Level: 1
Health: 20
Attack: 6
Defense: 4
Endurance: 3
Abilities:
-Pike Wall: Form a defensive line, increasing defense by 2 for a brief period.
- Spearthrow: Throw a pike with deadly precision, dealing 8 damage to an enemy at range.
---
The pikemen were dependable and strong, but Alistair knew this mission required more than just brawn. He needed to use his growing abilities, his tactics, and his wits. His strength alone wouldn't help him outmaneuver the shadowy figures manipulating events in his barony. He felt a strange sense of calm knowing the Arcane Dominion was with him, a silent but powerful presence guiding his steps.
As they prepared to depart, a messenger hurried up the path toward Alistair, a sealed scroll in hand.
"My lord!" the young man called, out of breath. "A message for you."
Alistair took the scroll and cracked the seal, his eyes scanning the hastily written script. It was from one of his scouts. The note was brief but troubling:
---
Lord Ravenshade,
Found an abandoned campsite north of the Deepwood. Signs of dark magic. Proceed with caution. Will continue to track further signs.
—Alrik
---
Alistair clenched his jaw as he read the words. Dark magic—just as Sylara had hinted. If someone was using magic to manipulate these bandits, it meant there was a far greater danger lurking beyond the surface.
"Dark magic?" Sir Branford asked, his brow furrowed as he glanced over Alistair's shoulder at the note. "That complicates things."
Alistair folded the note and placed it in his pocket. "Indeed. It changes everything. We may not be dealing with simple banditry after all."
Branford nodded solemnly. "What do you wish to do, my lord?"
"We go forward as planned," Alistair said firmly, his resolve hardening. "We'll track these bandits down, but we'll also keep an eye out for any signs of magic. Whatever's driving them, we'll find it."
And with that, the party set off, heading deeper into the thick, sprawling forest. The woods seemed darker than usual, as if they too sensed the unease growing in the land. Every rustle of leaves and crack of twigs set Alistair on edge. The wind carried with it a whisper of things unseen, and the shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally long.
After several hours of riding, they reached the scout's marked location. The campsite was eerily quiet, the remnants of a hastily extinguished fire still smoldering. The ground was littered with broken weapons and trampled earth, but it was the strange markings that caught Alistair's eye. Etched into the trees were runes—dark, jagged symbols that glowed faintly in the dim light.
Sir Branford crouched beside one of the markings, his face twisted in confusion. "What do you make of this?"
Alistair approached cautiously. The Arcane Dominion's presence stirred within him, reacting to the runes. He could feel the magic—twisted and dark, but familiar in its power. He activated the interface, hoping for guidance.
---
Rune Analysis:
- Origin: Abyssal Magic
- Effect: Corruption—weakens the will of those nearby, driving them to madness or coercion.
- Recommendation: Dispel using Arcane Magic or purify the area through ritual.
---
Alistair cursed under his breath. Abyssal magic was old, forbidden even by most mages in Eldoria. Whoever had been using it was playing a dangerous game—one that could destabilize not just his barony, but the entire region.
"We need to cleanse this area," Alistair said, his voice low. "These runes are designed to corrupt and control. If left unchecked, they'll spread their influence."
Branford stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Do you have the means to do it, my lord?"
Alistair thought for a moment. His arcane skills were still nascent, but he had learned enough to attempt a dispelling ritual. He focused on the Arcane Magic skill, channeling his energy into the runes. His hands glowed faintly with a soft blue light as he traced the shapes of the symbols, pushing his will into the magic that bound them.
It was difficult at first—the dark magic resisted him, clawing back with malevolent force. But Alistair persisted, sweat beading on his brow as he muttered the incantations under his breath. Slowly, the runes began to fade, the dark energy dissipating into the air like smoke caught in the wind.
After what felt like an eternity, the last rune flickered and died, leaving only the silent forest behind. Alistair sagged with exhaustion, but relief flooded him. The darkness had been pushed back, for now.
"You did it," Branford said, a note of admiration in his voice.
Alistair nodded, though he felt little comfort in the victory. "For now. But we still don't know who's behind this."
As the men gathered around the campsite, Alistair's thoughts turned once more to Sylara. Her warning about the storm ahead felt more prescient than ever. There were forces at work in Eldoria that he didn't yet understand, but one thing was clear: this was only the beginning.
Just as Alistair began to issue orders for a continued search of the area, another scout arrived, his face pale with fear.
"My lord… there's something you need to see."
The scout led them deeper into the forest, where the trees grew thicker, their branches like skeletal arms reaching for the sky. In a small clearing, they came upon the source of the scout's terror.
Bodies lay strewn across the ground—bandits, but something was wrong. Their eyes were wide open in horror, their faces twisted in agony. Blackened veins crisscrossed their skin, and strange, arcane symbols were burned into their flesh.
"What in the gods' name…?" Branford breathed, his hand going to his sword.
Alistair stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. He felt the Arcane Dominion react once more, sensing the dark magic that had twisted these men. Whoever had done this was playing with powers far beyond mere mortal comprehension.
"This is a warning," Alistair said quietly, his voice cold. "Whoever we're dealing with, they're sending a message."
Branford looked to Alistair. "What now, my lord?"
Alistair stared at the bodies for a long moment before turning back to his men. "We return to Ravenshade. I need to think."
As they rode back through the forest, Alistair's mind churned with possibilities. Dark magic, strange runes, and the looming shadow of an unknown enemy—whatever was happening in Eldoria, he had been thrust into the heart of it.
But one thing was certain: he would not face it alone. The Arcane Dominion pulsed within him, a steady reminder that he had power on his side. And though the road ahead was shrouded in darkness, Alistair Ravenshade was determined to carve his own path through the shadows.