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writing-the-end · 2 years

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LoL Chapter 57: Lost in the Ice

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits sail across the dangerous, ever changing Ashioll sea into her fjords, in search for a city that no longer exists in this time.

But what of the past?

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A/N: Hey guys, im so sorry Both red and I have been MIA, things have been really tough for us and just when it seems we’re ready to start back at it, something new knocks us down. We dont plan to abandon LoL (we still talk about it all the time), but chapters will remain sporatic until we can get back to the grind. Thank you for your Patience __________________________________________________

The wind cut through the air as sharp as icicles, and stormy green waves crash against the rocky shoreline. With each wind driven push, another layer of water spikes across the beaches. The sea tosses the ship around, turning even the most seaworthy faces as green as Cleo’s own. She’s the only person on the whole ship who isn’t seasick- in fact, she’s howling with the wind, grinning with teeth as sharp as the ice, her moves as broad as the waves.

She’s as alive as the sea, or as alive as a zombie can be. “This is a grand storm, boys! Hold onto your lunch, or you’ll just be chumming the waters!”

“Can’t the Ashioll sea be normal for once?” Mumbo whimpers, staring at the grey, clouded horizon, even when the waves block his view of the only thing keeping him from getting sick. At this point, he doesn’t even care with the freezing water splashing on him.

“Can’t our captain be normal for once?” Iskall adds, his face the same color as his tunic.

“King Sormena, when should we make the turn into one of the fjords?” Cleo questions, turning to face the monarch. Sor is gripping the railing to the wheel tight, fear and panic evident by the purple and yellow tones of his hair.

“Search for the one with the frozen waterfall! And just Sor is fine!” He doesn’t really feel like a king right now. Not when his teeth are too frozen to chatter and his knuckles have turned as white as snow from fear.

“We can hardly even see the shoreline!” TFC’s grey hair traps the snow and ice, forming like crystals. Even he was terrified for his life as they beat on through the storm.

There was only one other hermit who didn’t fear the freezing temperatures. Stress, though nervous about Cleo’s sailing, was used to the biting chill of the cold. It just gave her all the reason more to bundle up in soft cozy clothes and snuggle under blankets by the fire, drinking warm drinks. She was not immune to the cold, but she welcomed it, and could feel the strength of her powers grow with the blizzard around her. She felt like lightning, full of energy and power. And she can see through the storm, see beyond the white out. “Up ahead! The next finger has a humongous waterfall!”

Cleo and the other hermits squint, daring to ebb closer to the spiked shoreline. Sure enough, frozen water cascades from the top of a mountain, turning to a solid sheet across an archway over the fjord entrance. In the few warm months, the water must fall freely from the overhang, all the way into the waves, a curtain between the ever rough Ashioll sea and the supposed city beyond. But for now, it’s suspended half way, half drawn.

Turning into the thin finger through the mountainous, rocky shores, Cleo bites her lip as they drift under the frozen fall. The peak of her mast scrapes against the blue ice, chipping and scratching with a horrible screeching noise, but never disrupting the jagged teeth of the fjord’s maw.

Entering the belly of the beast, the waves die back and the wind stops howling. Within the fjord, the hermits and their ship are protected from the elements by the mountains surrounding. The tide pushes them further in, silent as the snow that drifts to the wooden deck. The hermits are slow to recover from the sea, but no one dares think about the fact they’ll probably have to leave the same way. “I can see why the Ancient Ones chose this place.” Doc states. “It’s so well protected. No one in their right mind would sail through that.”

“Actually this place wasn’t always as frozen as it is now. The harsh cold probably occurred around the same time the magical mist in the lower Ashioll sea appeared.” Sor points out. “According to my studies with my brother, this place was quite lush.”

“Do you think it had something to do with why the Ancient Ones disappeared? Or did the Ancient Ones cause it, King Sormena?” xB questions, flicking his fins to rid the ice from the scaly appendages.

“Please, just call me Sor.” The king smiles weakly. “But I’m not sure. We don’t know why, how, or even when exactly the Ancient Ones disappeared. It’s an unfortunate gap in our history I hope this expedition will help fill.”

“But I don’t even see a city!” Iskall points out. The hermits look across the rocky shoreline, but only find trees and boulders. No sign of the carved buildings and stone aqueducts that the Ancient Ones were known for. Were they in the wrong fjord? Everything looked undisturbed, pristine wild forests. Everything looked normal.

Except for a crystal, sitting in the center of the water, peeking out from the surface and resting on a stone platform. Every hermit’s hairs stand on end at the sight of a crystal- and some even draw weapons and circles in preparation for destroying one of Dolios’s corrupted gems. But as they dare to sail closer, slow and with bated breath, they realize the gem is blue rather than black. Glowing faintly, rather than absorbing all the light. Cleo’s ship bumps against the stone platform, floating on the freezing fjord, but the platform doesn't move.

Grian is the first to escape the rocking vessel, praising Stratis for being freed. Basking on the solid rock in the center of the water. Stress, False, and Ren help tie Cleo’s ship to the stone dock while TFC eeks closer. His curiosity gets the better of him, and almost like a child, he can’t help but reach out and touch. The rest of the guild, except Sor, flinch. Preparing for some sort of dark magic attack, or for the crystal to take over TFC like it did so long ago.

But nothing happens. The only shift in the fog around them is from the wind, only the creaking of Cleo’s ship speaking into the silent air. Bolstered by the reactionless crystal, TFC raps his knuckle against the blue, glowing stone. Gazes deep into its luminescent core. Even licks it. “I think it’s chalcanthite. But what use would a crystal like that have out here?”

“What are its properties, T?” Ren questions, circumambulating the stone.

“Uh, give me a minute. This is a pretty unusual gem, and this old mind isn’t what it used to be.” The dwarven wizard rubs his temples, massaging the information to bubble to the surface. “It...it deals in time, removing obstacles within time by…”

TFC goes quiet, staring out at the waters. The surface is calm, but its nearly opaque as he attempts to search the murky waters. What is hiding beneath the waves, disappearing beneath as time eroded it away? TFC’s thoughts are running a mile a minute, piecing together all the information presented before him like a puzzle. Creating a story in his head.

So lost in the gemstone and history, he doesn’t hear Xisuma call for him to return to the present. Not until X shakes the guildmaster, bringing him back. “What does it do, TFC?”

“Chalcanthite deals in time, the shift from present to past.” TFC continues to ramble, trying to piece together everything in his mind. But explaining time travel through magical crystals is hard, and then adding on the history of the Ancient ones?

Most of the other hermits aren’t listening. Some are bouncing in place, trying anything and everything to stay warm, while others are talking through chattered teeth. Including Grian, and King Sor.

“Why in the world did your guildmaster lick the gem?” Sor questions, shaking his head. His frozen locks of hair tickle at the base of his neck.

Grian shrugs in response, summoning his wings and fluffing his feathers in an attempt to gain warmth. Blue and white ruffled in a cocoon. “Hey, King Sormena. I dare you to hit the stone.”

“Please, for the love of the gods, just Sor is fine. And why on earth would I do that?” What did the crystal ever do to deserve being hit? Grian’s only response is another shrug, this time matched with a mumbling series of noises.

“Cause why not? Do it, Sor, I dare ya.” If it wasn’t for Sor getting to hear just his name, his nickname, fall from Grian’s lips, so casual and friendly, but he’s been conditioned by his brother never to say no to a dare.

Sor walks up behind X and TFC, the former much more confused than the latter, and gazes into the crystal. SOmething about the power within it, so strong and ancient, tugs on Sor’s own magic. Not like it’s trying to steal it, but rather- amplifying it. Strengthening him. Sor breaks out of his trance at the whispered encouragement, the egging on of Grian.

Before Sor, or any other hermit can think about what he’s doing, he smacks the crystal with the palm of his hand.

Despite being king, Sor is just about as clever as all the other hermits. He probably shouldn’t have hit the gem so hard his hand stings and goes numb, much less make the ringing sound he can hear in his ears.

It’s not just in Sor’s ears. The low toll can be heard, slowly rising higher in pitch. It echoes across the fjord, silencing the wind, the creaking ship. Freezing everything for one brief second as the crystal glows brighter.

The blue gem pulses, and rippling from the lattice, a bubble of light engulfs the hermits, the stone circle, the ship, and the entire fjord. Too bright, the hermits are all forced to avert their gaze, closing their eyes and praying for the chance to open them again. No one dares to attempt until the ringing has disappeared, fading off into the mountains and distant snowstorm

Grian, used to the idea of potentially waking up dead at this point, opens his eyes first.

They aren’t alone in an empty fjord, freezing to death. There is no snowstorm, and the entire fjord is filled- not with ice floes or soft waves.

No, it’s filled with a city.

Stone buildings, floating on the water like driftwood, so tall they challenge the mountains to touch the top of the world. Vines, carefully tended, creep down the building sides, and people- hundreds of thousands of people- take stairs, vines, water tunnels- just about any and every mode of transportation to get around the city. The stone and the greenery are one and the same, the people just as alive as their own buildings and streets seem to be. A group of children run by, kipling and naga and human and bacca, laughing and screaming as they play some kind of game within their own imagination. A few people watch the hermits as they stand there, just as confused as the team.

TFC is so deep in his explanation to Xisuma, he doesn’t even notice time has already shifted around him. At least, not until a leaf flutters past, bright green and broad. Not any of the pines that they saw daring to grow in the rough terrain and even rougher weather. Both X and TFC watch the leaf drift between them, before landing on a roadway a short distance off. Revealing to them where they are. When they are.

“The lost city of the Ancient Ones.” Sor whispers, standing in awe at the sight. “Welcome to more than a thousand years ago.”

#fuck i forget most of the tags #Lol #Light of Lairyon #wizard hermits #wizard au #hermitcraft au #wizard cleo #wizard stress #wizard grian #wizard tfc #wizard xisuma #wizard iskall #ZombieCleo #stressmonster #grian #tinfoilchef #xisuma #iskall85 #hermitcraft grian

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writing-the-end · 3 years

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LoL Chapter 56- Ancient Quarrels

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Ex returns home with new friends, but struggles with the reality that his old stomping grounds have grown up without him, all while learning more about the history of dark magic.

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“I thought I told you to come alone.” Xisuma states, staring at the rainbow haired twins. No matter how much the two try to blend in, the ever shifting colors of their locks always stand out.

“I thought you could use the help. You clearly need it if you reached out to me.” Ex steps off the pirate ship, followed by the king and his brother. Ex tries his best to keep his gaze on the ground at his feet, the grass, sand, and dirt. He doesn’t want to see what Xisuma and all his friends have done to the safe haven they found together. As brothers. He doesn’t want to see what he's missed, what he’s been too afraid to claim for his own. He doesn’t want to see how much time has changed the island he once called home.

But Ex stumbles over a rock, his books scattering from his arms, while he plummets to the ground. He could let go of his remaining scrolls and books, but these articles are ancient and invaluable. He’d rather break his nose than let go of them.

Lucky for Ex, he doesn’t have to choose. One of the hermits grabs him before he gets a mouthful of dirt. Ex opens his eyes, forced to look at the island. And he sees everything.

It looka exactly the same. It looks completely different. The grounds were the same- the same rocky shores, soft beaches, hills, forest, even the lake at the center on the north side of the island. The grass the same green color, the sky the same blue, the distant mist and waves dancing together. But dotting the island now stood a menagerie of buildings. Where there used to only be the tower of stone he and X built, now a glass biodome rests on one side, a barn on the other. Smoke rolls free from the chimney of a weaponsmith’s house, and just off the island a cloud floats low, the white tower upon it open to the breeze of the sea.

Ex collects his books, and slinks off to the guild hall. Sor follows Grian to help with Apatia, to make the decision on how to move forward with his recovery. Tris follows behind Ex, taking in the open sea and sky. So unlike Milliara.

It was exactly that which drew the void twins here in the first place. They dared enter the Ashioll sea because it was quiet, peaceful, unlike Milliara. Back when there were only two- they didn’t need anyone more. They didn’t want anyone more. In the end, Ex got to be alone, moreso than ever. Without even a brother.

Being back on Eremita was painful, but as a healing wound would be. For the first time in years, his brother reached out to him. For the first time, they were putting aside the argument so long ago and working together. Like they did when they were young.

At the same time, both X and Ex set out their books on the same table. At the same time, like mirror images of one another, they set out their maps, their inkwells, their quills, even their books ordered the exact same way. The similarities between the two were uncanny, leaving the hermits baffled as they watch them. If it wasn’t for Ex’s white hair, it’d be impossible to tell them apart.

Ex speaks first, pulling the red fabric of his cloak away from his face so the hermits can hear him. “The last known insurgence of dark magic was over a thousand years ago. Before Lairyon became a kingdom, near the end of the ancient ones’s time. As we all know, Addows is the only place that still has significant and readable history of the ancient ones. Everything disappeared just like them.”

“And no one knows why.” Tris adds in, sitting down and plucking a book. He flips through the pages. “The ancient ones had magic more powerful than most wizards. Very few forms of ancient powers survive today- including angelic magic.”

The hermits look at Grian, but he simply shrugs. He knows nothing about the ancient ones, just that they’re… well, ancient. Iskall speaks up, resting his cheek on his hand. “Could it be that it was the dark magic that wiped them out?”

Both of the void twins and Tris shake their head, and begin to answer at the same time. Ex and X glare at one another, and Tris takes the moment to answer instead. “No, it’s not like there’s a sign of a fight, or a struggle, or anything. Just...one day they were all over this kingdom, and then- poof, gone.”

“But the ancient ones weren’t the only people here. The kiplings have been living in these waters longer than anyone. And if we cross reference the information King Sormena gave me access to in the royal library, and the deep sea libraries of the Kiplings, we can start to get an inkling of understanding.”

“My gods you’re so boring even now.” Xisuma groans. “We dont need the whole story, and Lairyon doesn’t have time. What did you learn and how can we use it to defeat Dolios?”

“Well…” Ex bits his lip. “We didn’t learn how they defeated the dark magic all those times before. But we did find the location of one of their lost cities. Tris and I believe it could even be the ancient capital of theirs.”

The hermits groan, some even dramatically flopping back in their chairs. It seems all they ever have are breadcrumbs, leading them around in circles all across Lairyon. TFC speaks up first, though even he seems exhausted. “It’s better than nothing. It’s our only hope at this point. So where is it?”

“Tris had pinpointed the general location of the lost city in the Ashioll Fjords, but together we were able to determine the exact location.” Ex plucks a quill from the table, dipping the tip in the ink and marking one of the many divots and crests of the northernmost part of Lairyon. All the hermits lean in, peering at the location. It looks no different from any other part of the fjords, or even the rest of Lairyon.

“If anyone knows how to defeat Dolios’s dark magic, it has to be the ancient ones.” Etho states. “They did it before, we just have to do it again.”

It gives the hermits hope to know this isn’t the first time, they aren’t the only ones in all of history to face dark magic. Ex looks up at the hermits, a question that’s been dancing in his mind finding its way to his tongue before he can stop it. “Why did you guys ever decide to do this? What in the world made you guys think you could take on a dark wizard? Be the chosen few like the ancient ones?”

The hermits look at one another, as if they’d find an answer in the stares and faces of their peers. But no one has the answer. Though Joe is more than willing to come up with his own. “Perhaps, in this story, there are no chosen ones. No destiny or prophesied heroes. Perhaps it is just by the choice of normal man, who chooses to make a difference, who chooses to stand up and fight, that is really what makes a hero?”

“Is this what I missed when I left?” Ex questions Xisuma, who nods solemnly.

“What will we find in the lost city?” Grian questions.

“I dunno, it’s lost.” Tris quips, causing Grian to blush when he realizes his question. “But if it’s anything like Addows, you should be prepared for ancient ones magic and the stone buildings they made their cities from. Apart from that- you just gotta look in the right place.”

The hermits realize they’re going in on this blind. Once again, they have little more than a hope, a thread of a lead, taking them somewhere in search of answers. Whether it was Gildara, or the Champion’s Cup, or even the Forest of Memories, they’ve always been chasing the same specter of knowledge. Hoping to find something more.

“But you won’t be alone this time.” Ex points out. The hermits turn to face him, his face so familiar, yet so vastly different. “King Sormena volunteered to go along with you, to give aid on your search.”

Tris averts his gaze, his jaw set tight at the mention of his brother joining the hermits. Doc raises his hand, almost condescending. “Won’t Dolios notice the king is gone?”

“He’s not in Milliara right now. The Wanderers informed me of that- where he is, I don’t know, but this is a rare opportunity that we can’t waste. You’ll need every mind and magic to figure out the puzzles and clues that the lost city may have. I’d best get packing if i were you guys.”

Groups disperse off, back to their homes, caves, ships, and clouds. Once again preparing, as a whole guild, to go off on another adventure. Even Tris disappears, either to go find and argue with his brother, or get a pint of beer from Cleo. But one person stays behind.

Xisuma doesn’t ever look directly at his brother, but he always turns his head just slightly to be able to see Ex shuffling papers. His body is aimed out from the guild hall, looking over, across the island of Eremita. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, X speaks up. “Will you be able to take care of Apatia while we’re gone? I don’t think he can go back to Milliara with you.”

Ex raises an eyebrow. It almost sounds like an invitation to stay on the island. Almost. “I guess if no one else will, I can offer my help. And glean information from him about the magistrate. Perhaps I can talk to Ian about engineering a prosthesis… Kiplings aren’t really meant to live without their fins.”

The void mage shakes his head, listening to his brother continue to ramble on under his breath. So many years apart, and yet the same old Ex. For the first time in years, after so long hating his twin, refusing to talk to him, removing every sign he ever existed on this island, now he’s standing in their guild hall. And for the first time in years, Xisuma feels like he can let go of the anger and tension from that fight so long ago.

Ex steps up beside Xisuma, and the two gaze over Eremita. They watch as Keralis and Zedaph round up sheep for their midday meal, Iskall, Mumbo, and Grian arguing over what kind of redstone they could possibly need on their journey, Wels and False sharpening the blades of their own weapons and others.

He doesn’t want to admit it, but Eremita looks more alive than it ever was when it was just the two of them. The colors of all different wizards, from all walks of life. All a part of this guild that Xisuma has found. All this, that Ex was afraid of. “You’ve done a good job building yourself a home. Finding yourself a family. Guess you didn’t really need me.”

Xisuma turns, and removes his mask. For the first time in years, Ex can see his brother's face. They can both see the scars they left on each other. On their skin and in their hearts. Xisuma’s fingers run along the scratched out marking in the metal. Wishing he could take that fit of anger back and fix it. “I didn’t do this without you, though. When I wasn’t sure what to do, it was always your annoying voice that guided me to the right decision.”

“We have the same voice.” Ex points out.

“Exactly. No matter what, no matter what I did, you were still with me, a part of me. But when I didn't know what to do, I thought about what you would choose. And it always led me in the right direction. Even though you weren’t here, I still needed you. I still needed my brother.”

To hear that word come from Xisuma’s mouth, to hear him call Ex that- brother. All these years, all he ever wanted was his brother back. To have a family again. Ex can feel tears stinging at the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t want his brother to see him crying over such a simple thing. “I think it’ll be nice to have a family again. It...it feels good to be home.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #light of lairyon #wizard hermits #wizard au #hermitcraft fanfic #wizard xisuma #wizard ex #xisuma #evil xisuma #wizard tfc #wizard etho #tinfoilchef #ethoslab

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writing-the-end · 3 years

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LoL Chapter 55- Hell’s Chosen

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits discover a dark past to their paladin knight, does this change their perspective of him, or will it save their unlikely ally?

Warning: Some description of wounds (i think)

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All eyes were on Wels. Very few had a look of knowledge. TFC, for one. But Tango’s visible confusion gives way to a much softer, quieter version of the hellfire wizard. “Helsknight? You mean the marauder from years ago? But he died.”

“You’re right, he did. And I killed him. I buried him so deep inside me, and vowed to do whatever I could to be a better man. When Helsknight died, Welsknight was born.” Wels’s fingers are tight in the bloodstained fabric, knuckles turned white as he’s forced to relive, to speak of his dark past.

“No no no no. You’re joking, right?” Doc shakes his head. Even he feared Hell’s chosen knight. Wels can’t possibly be that same person. Wels, a quiet, collected paladin with the heart of gold and courage of a lion. “I mean...no one ever told the story of Helsknight with a tail.”

“Less limbs to get cut off if it’s protected by armor.” Wels points out, flicking the lionesque tail. “You want proof? What was the last time anyone ever saw Helsknight?”

Doc cocks an eyebrow, then waves his hand. “Hels and his band of bad guys attacked one of Ventus’s- the God of Judgement- temples. But the attempt was failed, and Helsknight himself was left behind as he bled out...from his neck…”

The entire group stares as the scar that Wels reveals, running from his collar to his clavicle. TFC doesn’t stare like the others. He’s known all of this the whole time. Tango shakes his head. “But you’re nothing like Helsknight. He murdered and killed for fun, to cause chaos and bring hell onto Lairyon. Wels, you’re…”

“A changed man. Just like Apatia can be- if you give him the chance. Like the woman who healed me did, like X and TFC. Tango, if you don’t let Apatia give his chance to change and rectify what he can, then you can’t let me be any different. You can’t be a hypocrite and pick and choose.” From between Wels and Tango, Apatia groans. The blood has stopped, Ren’s work healing leaving a sloppy open wound behind.

Apatia was pale, paler than he already was. Almost the same color as Grian, as the latter continues to recuperate from the torture he faced. But unlike Grian’s shallow, soft breaths, Apatia’s runs ragged and harsh. His jaws are clenched, fighting off the pain. With the remaining bandages and healing salve, Wels wraps up the stump of Apatia’s tail fin.

Tango and Doc are still quiet, trying to comprehend the news that’s been delivered to them. It all makes sense, but their eads still struggle to put the two completely different personas together. As if they’re different people all together.

Everyone knows who Helsknight is- was. He appeared as if from nowhere, like a demon spawned straight from hell. And immediately, he began reeking havoc. His band of villains attacked and raided. They were more than just some lowly bandits, or even a mafia. Helsknight was a villain, killing without mercy, without remorse, and without discretion. It wasn’t until their botched attack on that temple that ended the reign of terror that Hell’s chosen knight left on Lairyon. Just as quickly as Helsknight appeared, he faded into nightmares and horror story. Kids were told to watch out for the knight with one eye, because he’d pluck out their own to replace his.

But Welsknight? He’s calm and collected, if a bit snarky. Even when battling even the husks, he always hesitates to strike a killing blow if there’s a potential to save the life instead. Wels is jovial, and a great baker, and tells great stories. Sure, he’s a great knight, but Tango once saw Wels cry over a dead fish he found at the beach. He’s a paladin, not a barbarian.

Helsknight supposedly died years ago. Welsknight joined the hermits a few years back. Though there’s a span of time in between the day Lairyon celebrated the defeat of Hels and Wels following TFC back to Eremita, it begins to all make sense. There's a reason why Wels never talks about his past. Never visits home. Never explains how he got many of his scars.

Like puzzle pieces, it all falls together and paints a picture. Doc’s jaw clenches. As much as he hates to say it, or even think it, Wels is right. If a monster like Hels can become the man before Doc today, then maybe, just maybe , theres hope for Apatia.

So long as he lives. The hermits are so focused on Apatia, their argument on whether he should live or die, no one notices Grian rouse from the darkness that still grips him. No one noticed the sky open up, both in Grian’s eyes and the sky beyond the windows. No one notices him weakly clamber out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face, and walking over to join them in the group.

“What are we on about?” Even when he speaks up, the other hermits are so used to his voice that it hardly registers.

“Welsknight was once helsknight, and whether we should save Apatia’s life or not.” Tango shrugs, his red eyes glaring down at Apatia with distaste. He still hates the man, but at the same time… they’re supposed to be the heroes.

“As your resident healer, I think we should. But...I’m not sure why he’s here in the first place.” Ren looks up, realizing who is speaking, and scoops Grian into his arms. His tail wags loud and heavy, banging against the other hermits with every oscillation.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, my dude!” Ren only sets Grian down when TFC reminds him that Grian is still working towards regaining his life, his color. He’s still slightly unsaturated, his skin missing the tint of pink, the red of his robest boarding the color of dried blood. Ren sets Grian back on the bed, trying to force the angel to rest. But now that Grian’s awake, he’s ready to cause trouble and start his day- even though he has no clue what time it is.

“What’s going on? I...I don’t remember much. When did you guys save me? Why is Apatia here? How did you find me?” The questions fall like rain in a storm, impossible for the hermits to catch every last drop.

It’s TFC that manages to slow the downpour. “Hold on, hold on Grian. Why don’t we start from the beginning? We’ll fill you in on everything, in time.”

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All the hermits, once again under the safe canopy of the massive oak tree in their guild hall. Grian is wrapped in a warm, soft blanket- knitted by Stress- and a mug of warm apple cider rests in between his pale hands. “I can’t believe you guys came for me.”

“Of course we were gonna save you, Grian.” Scar practically laughs at the mere idea of leaving him behind. But for Grian, who’s been kicked out of so many guilds for his troublemaking, it really shows how much they care.

A rumble of agreements follow, and after a few more minutes of quiet comforting, it’s Grian himself that changes the subject. “Dolios is getting more powerful by the minute. I could feel all the energy flowing through those leylines, into him and that monster, Eurynomos. We can’t delay this any longer. Dolios has to go down.”

“But we don’t even know how. We can destroy as many crystals as we want, but he’ll just keep making more. He has more power than a bunch of lowly mercenaries. He even beat Apatia, one of his own Councilmembers. One of the strongest guildmasters in all of Lairyon.” BDubs points out. Everyone goes silent as they remember the man in their infirmary. The stranger- he’s not a hermit, yet he’s among them.

Grian looks up, pale face and hollowed eyes alarming for the hermits. He hardly looks to be among the living, but less like a dead man walking like he was before. “Xisuma, your brother mentioned something about the ancient ones. DO you think there could be a clue for us there? In the past?”

X sighs, leaning back in his chair as he considers the question. “If the answer to ending Dolios’s dark reign truly lies in the past, then we’d have better luck finding the answer ourselves. Thousands of years, eroded by time, by kingdoms and cultures rising and falling, not to mention the disappearance of the ancient ones. There’s a reason ancient magic is dead- because none of the books teaching it survived.”

“There’s one person we know who has studied the ancient ones for years.” Joe’s voice cuts through the crowd, looking around. Every other hermit is lost and confused, but Joe can see the mixed emotions raging in Xisuma’s eyes. “Besides Ex can take care of the island, of Apatia while we’re searching.”

“Ex chose to leave Eremita. Why in gods’s names would he want to come back, to help us?” X growls.

“Because he’s your brother. He helped us save Doc. He’s been helping us, helping all of Lairyon- in his own weird, Ex way. He’s not the villain here, he’s your brother.”

X clenches his jaw. The scar over his eye burns at the memory of their fight. The words he said to his brother, and the worst responded in kind. Xisuma still received letters from Ex, but he only opened them when Cleo’s cider had clouded his better judgement. And he never responded.

But he also remembers the moment, after years estranged, he laid eyes upon his twin brother, crammed into the bookstore he was running. The moment of relief, of happiness to see Ex alive and well. Their identical faces, like mirror images of one another. His hair pure white, like the bright sun in the sky. Even now Xisuma remembers how often he’d complain he could always find Ex hairs on his clothes.

And that Ex helped them save Doc. All these years fighting, Xisuma can’t believe he’s going to be the one to concede defeat. But for the fate of Lairyon, he guesses he has to. He pulls off his mask, turning it over in his hands, running a thumb over the scratched out symbol. He swallows his pride, and stands. “I’ll get the letter to Phoebe. What’s one more stranger to the island?”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #wizard hermits #light of lairyon #hermitcraft fanfic #wizard au #lol #wizard wels #welsknight #wizard Tango #tangotek #wizard doc #docm77 #wizard xisuma #xisumavoid

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writing-the-end · 3 years

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LoL Chapter 53- Rescue

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Grian is at the mercy of Dolios and his dark magic, but are the hermits there to save him in time? Or has the end come for the healing mage?

[Note: Hey everyone, I’m sorry for the time that was between chapters. A lot of really emotional and personal things happened over the past few months, and it just really pushed me off balance. But I really cant thank Red enough for being at my side the whole time- he’s the real hero in all of this.

Happy Season 8!]

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To be back in the dark, cold bowels of the dungeons, willingly returning to the chamber that Dolios forced them to play his game in, left every hermit with a strange mix of dread and remorse. Almost every hermit, except for the few that weren’t around during the championship, can remember waking up in cells, being dragged from the hard stone floor at knifepoint, and turned into pawns for Dolios to control. Promising he will kill every last one in his game, and making TFC play along.

But they hardly linger in the very chamber where their guildmaster outwitted the Magistrate of Lairyon, rather continuing on their search for a passage to the subchamber. Scar can feel the cavity in the stone beneath their feet, but no staircase seems to lead them down. It wasn’t until Cleo summoned the ghosts of those who died here, their souls lingering, that they are pointed in the right direction. So many souls, having seen so much suffering, not just from Dolios within these walls, though many are from his doing.

A ghost guides the hermits to a circular room, and though their voice has long faded with time, their misty hands point to the center of the room. Mumbo kneels down. “There’s machinery here. If I just…” He places his hands against the smooth stone, and without even having to think, his magic appears. Redstone seeping through the seams of the rock, reconfiguring the mechanics and forcing the spiral staircase to descend.

Everyone, including Mumbo, is surprised by his power. He’s never had such control before in his life. But they don’t linger on this new development. Not when time is running shorter and shorter for Grian. They cause a jam in the thin staircase, twenty something hermits rushing to the subchamber. Unlike the rooms above them, the stone is rough cut, no bricks or stenciling. It looks more like a cave blown open than a carved dungeon.

A heavy weight wraps in on the hermits. They know they’re close as the pressure increases on their bodies. They follow the struggle to breathe, the feeling of carrying stones on their back. They’ve come to know the signs of a dark crystal well- and it leads them right to not one, but three towers of corrupted gems.

They’re massive, protruding from the ground at an angle, black spikes erupting from the earth. The air is heavy with mist, swirling in tendrils, like the very tentacles of Eurynomos, way back in the forest. The mist grasps the open air, siphoning the very life from the stone and oxygen and taking it for itself. Every so often, a pulse of darkness bursts from the corrupted crystals, with such force it causes the entire cavern to shudder, and blows back the hermits’ hair and clothes. They all duck with each explosion, but one person remains standing, reveling in the energy that's breaking free from the crystals.

Dolios’s fingers toy with the mist, grasping the air and feeling the power. With each eruption, the black seal between him and the central crystal glows. For a second, the hermits swear they can see the mist at his back look almost...feather-like.

“Oh my gods… Grian.” Stress’s voice is so small, so quiet, the other hermits almost don’t hear it. But their captured friend’s name on anyone’s lips is enough to catch their attention.

He’s grey, so monochrome that it was almost impossible to pick him out among the black crystals, the grey mist, and the dark magic. Limp body and hands, eyes open but unseeing, Grian is chained to the central crystal. Once blond hair, now an ashen grey, curls and crests over Grian’s face, his chin dropped to his chest. The hermits don’t breathe until they see him do so, but it’s a horribly shallow breath. Another wave of energy rolls through the crystals, and Grian’s body loses more of its color. More of it’s life. At this point, he hardly even reacts to the tearing of his lifeforce, his magic, from his body. Fingers twitch, but even those are beginning to turn flaky, fading away into oblivion. The tips of his once blue cape become little more than mist. Even the energy, the powers of the very atoms are being torn apart. Grian was very near death- or a fate worse.

All for Dolios, and his insatiable need for power. The low thunder of every wave is broken by Dolios’s voice. He flexes his hands, laughing to himself. “Of all the angels I’ve stolen magic from before, it has never been this strong. Even Celia had nothing against you. I feel like I could blow all of Milliara apart with a windstorm this instant! Don’t worry, little bird, your magic is in good hands.”

Iskall and Mumbo both scuffle to their feet, surging forward. Mumbo faster than Iskall. Too fast for TFC to grab him before he’s over the boulder they hid behind. And too fast to stop even his own magic from summoning. But it wasn’t the out of control magic that the hermits have seen before. Like destroying the crystal shard on Eremita, or in the depths of the Hangman’s Playground.

No, even though lightning filled Mumbo’s vision, and magic surged through his veins like energy through a redstone circuit, he had every wit and thought about him. For the first time, he had true, full control. Every iota of power was at his command, like a dragon spreading it’s wings for it’s first flight across the sky.

With a flippant wave of his hand, the twin satellite crystals shatter, red bolts of lightning creasing through the darkness-bound lattice. The air is filled with glittering crystals, mist freed from the quartz and purging it of the darkness. Mumbo turns his power, his attention towards the crystal that Grian’s chained to, and presses his fingers together to destroy the last crystal.

He’s blown off his feet, a burst of wind from nowhere sending him skidding across the floor. When Mumbo gathers his wits and looks up, finally seeing Dolios through his anger, the magistrates is wild with manic delight. “Oh, now that’s real magic. I think this little bird’s powers might become my new favorite.” The other hermits dare to step out, walking through the shattered, transparent remains of the crystals. Dolios is the only color before them, his plush robes and rich colors standing out against the swirling magic. “Ah, the whole parade is here. Come to watch your friend die? Or will you all be joining him as well?”

Dolios turns, resting his gaze on Grian. The hermits watch in horror as their healer looks as if he’s about to blow away in the wind. Like dust in the shape of a human. His eyes are empty, no glimmer of life left. They realize they may be too late.

But that doesn’t stop them from getting their revenge. Mumbo remains focused on the crystal his friend is trapped against, but a sharp shard of gemstone goes flying through the air, cracking Dolios upside the head. Blood pours from the wound, matting the curly brown hair that crowns Dolios. He turns, anger mixing with the mania into a dangerous concoction. But his fury doesn’t get to live long, not when Scar drives a wedge of rock into Dolios’s jaw. This time it’s the magistrate that goes skidding across the rough hewn floor. In his attempt to stand up, Dolios becomes ensnared in just about every medium of magic the hermits can offer. Vines tie him down, radioactive spikes pin his clothes and hair to the floor, a ring of hellfire erupting from the depths of the earth.

Mumbo, however, remains focused on his best friend before him. Summoning all his magic, every ounce of effort he’s ever put forth, he sends a bolt of lightning directly to the core of the crystal that is draining Grian. The lightning strikes true, hardly even raising a hair on what remains of the sky angel, but obliterating the crystal he hangs from. From the inside out, the darkness is banished by red light, like the sun rising red on a bright, beautiful daybreak. Blinding everyone within the cave- except Mumbo. He’s not lost in the light, the power, the magic. He’s a part of it all.

The crystal shatters, and Grian falls. Crumpled to the ground, he looks to be little more than a pile of ash and rags among the sparkling crystal shards. Like the moon adrift in the sea of stars.

When the hermits blink away their momentary blindness, they find Mumbo is already at his friend’s side. With a few teary blinks, the last of the lightning fizzles away, and Mumbo’s voice cracks like the very gems he destroyed. “G-Grian? Grian, wake up.”

But Grian doesn’t move. Mumbo reaches out, grabbing the angel and pulling him to the safety of the hermits. Holding him close as the others surround. Ren reaches out, placing a hand on Grian’s shoulder. He retreats immediately, when Grian’s shoulder seems to fade from existence, flaking to ash and falling apart under Ren’s pressure. “Is he….”

No one dares speak the word. Joe scribbles down a healing poem, but the magic does nothing. Grian doesn’t breathe, his eyes don’t blink. They just stare, empty, at the cavern roof above. And he continues to fade, all color lost, becoming nothing more than dust.

“No, nononononono.” Mumbo’s words stumble and jumble together, and he shakes and jolts Grian as if trying to rise him from a dream. “Grian, don’t leave us! We need you!”

Still nothing.

Mumbo’s shoulders slump. A weight heavier than any dark crystal hangs over the hermits as Grian’s limp form lays in Mumbo’s arms before them. Tears threaten to spill from Mumbo’s eyes. Grian was his first real friend, the one who saved him all those years ago. And he couldn’t return the favor now. It was Grian that offered him kindness, offered him friendship. Grian who gave Mumbo a true family, a real home, who trained with him even when all seemed hopeless, and drank with him when nights were bright. It was because of Grian that Mumbo has a father in TFC, friends all around him. And now?

Now his best friend was dead in his arms. Fading from existence, his magic and life stolen by a monster in magistrate’s clothes. Mumbo tips his head, breath stuttering as tears fall freely. Like a stream after a storm, rivers of salt water across his cheeks, cresting his jaw and running across the valley of his throat. Some droplets are caught in his mustache, others stain the collar of his outfit. All the hermits openly cry, even Doc. Memories flood alongside the tears, bowed heads over their fallen comrade as Mumbo holds his fallen friend tight.

One tear falls straight down, landing with a wet plop on Grian’s eyelid. Water, the lifeblood of Lairyon, slowly drips into Grian’s own vacant eyes. And from the ashen grey, empty gaze, a single vein of blue appears within his iris.

Like a river, the blue flows freely, spilling across Giran’s sky blue eyes. Filling the empty grey valley with fresh blue water. And from the blue, like the sun reflecting off the see, a glimmer appears.

Iskall noticed the color returning first. The pink of Grian’s face, sunlight colored hair beginning to renourish with color. Bringing Grian slowly back from death’s doorstep. He slaps Mumbo on the shoulder, his own breath gasping. Words struggling to break free from the nuclear wizard’s mouth, rather just random noises escaping his lips.

It’s enough to get Mumbo’s attention, as well as every other hermit. Through teary eyes, they see the color spread. The red of Grian’s robes, the blue of his cape. The translucent, flaking form becomes solid and tangible again.

And then Grian breathes. So shallow and soft, it’s almost impossible to see. But to the hermits, it might as well be an earth breaking tremble. Eyes blink, and parted lips move. A whisper of a voice breaks free from death’s grip. “Mumbo? Iskall? Guys?”

Grian can’t sing, but the words from him might as well be a chorus of angels. He was alive. Whether it was pure luck, the gift of life that water carries, or simply the friendship the hermits hold, something brought Grian back from the brink.

Only one thing can break the joy. And that one thing has to open his mouth. From across the room, Dolios writhes in his bonds, snering. “Oh that’s just touching, isn’t it? If I can’t have it all, then I might as well kill every last one of you.”

Doc realizes what’s happening first, but Dolios is just out of reach. A bout of strength that can only be attributed to previously stolen magic, Dolios tears apart the vines and breaks apart the crossed spears of iskallium. He stands, brushing off leaves and radioactive dust from his robes and tugging on his ponytail. When he opens his eyes, a crooked, crazed grin creases the leader’s normally charismatic face. “Do you really think such weak power can hold me down?”

Wels reacts just in time to shield the hermits from the arc of magic that aimed for the group. Dolios doesn’t let up on his barrage, and the magical barrier begins to crack and contort against the dark energy. No hermit can step out from behind the shield without risking certain death.

A wild, cackling laughter echoes off the cavern. “What will you roaches do without your precious angel now? Who will save you now?”

Wels’s barrier breaks. And Dolios attacks.

#hermitcraft #mcyt #hermitcraft au #wizard hermits #wizard au #light of lairyon #lol #mcyt au #wizard grian #wizard mumbo #wizard iskall #wizard scar #wizard Doc #grian #grianmc #mumbo jumbo #iskall85 #gtwscar #docm77

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LoL 48- Cut By Guillotine

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Doc’s been captured by the Arcane Guard, and sentenced to death by the Council. The hermits aren’t about to let Dolios take their family.

Warning: burning, execution scene

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The low toll of the bell cuts through the heavy mist that blankets Milliara. Louder than any steeple, it’s dark, grim song tells everyone in the city that death comes. And by the size of the crowd, death comes for all to watch. So many eyes, staring at the gallows in the main square of the city.

And so few watching the bell toll. Rocking back and forth, vertex to vertex, and with each clap of the tongue, another figure appears in the tower. Twenty something pairs of eyes, staring at the pyre of wood and the guards surrounding it.

The bell goes quiet, and Ren speaks up. Red illuminates, reflecting off the brass, as he casts his imagination magic. “I don’t see him, dudes. Are we sure this is the right time and place?”

“Who else would the Council set up an entire heap of wood for, in the center of Milliara?” Scar growls, his fingers digging into the stone. He roves his eyes across each and every guard, those who stand between the hermits and their friend. He let the Council take Doc away from them once. He’s not going to let it happen again.

“I see him!” Xisuma points to the massive iron portcullis, teeth opening like the maws of a beast. Glistening metal fangs threatening to bite down on the soldiers. And at the center of the dozen strong squad, Doc’s green skin and tattered clothes stand out like a sore thumb. So many guards, just for one prisoner. All of this, just for one prisoner.

But not just any prisoner. Doc Monster. Criminal mastermind, failed rebel, and now? Enemy hermit. Chains around his arms, holding his hands behind his back, drag him from the walls of the prison. Where he’s spent the last week, while the hermits scrambled for a plan. He had only left the prison once in that whole time, and it was to stand trial.

Not like it was much of a trial in the first place. If there’s one thing the hermits have learned, it’s that Dolios can put on a hell of a show. Doc was brought before the council, each guildmaster a judge, and a panel of citizens for the jury. They ensnared Doc with questions he had no fair answer to, gave him little time to explain his own side of the story. And whenever he attempted to bring up the Magistrate and dark magic, was met with objection and silenced. It was a false trial, the jury unanimously finding him guilty and advocating for his demise. The Council agreed- well, most of them. Surprisingly, Apatia was present for the trial, and dissented from the six others and the jury. He saw Doc’s innocence.

The guards drag Doc to the pyre of wood, and the hermits split apart. A few stay in the belltower, a bird’s eye view. Including Grian and Mumbo, the former hovering in the misty air. The others spread out, peppering themselves into the crowd and at the fringes. Etho, Scar, BDubs, and Beef disappear completely from the watching view.

The metal chains are slowly, carefully removed from Doc, a quiet hush mixing with the heavy air. He doesn’t try to run, his shoulders square and his head raised. He doesn’t fight or flee. But he definitely isn’t going to help his captors kill him either. A guard pushes him forward, and he stumbles over the logs and branches that rise like a mound. At the center of the hill, a stake pierces the mist, splintered into a sharp spear at the top.

For as noble and magical the kingdom of Lairyon is, burnt at the stake was barbaric. But it was exactly what Dolios wanted. For all to see what happens to those who break his rules. Challenge his rule. The guard yanks Doc’s arms behind the wood pole, each jerk of the writhing rope tightening and whipping across Doc’s skin. At some point during his capture, he lost both of his gloves. Despite the rough treatment, the manhandling, the imminent death, and the thousands watching, Doc remains stoic. He doesn’t speak a word, doesn’t lower his head in penitence, and doesn’t break his gaze, across the sea of fools before him.

In the windows and on the balconies of the surrounding buildings, the hermits are prepared. Stress stands closest to the pyre, anxiously bouncing from foot to foot. She knows, somewhere behind the stake, the rescue team is waiting to swoop in and grab Doc. She just has to do her job. She will do her job.

The glow of the fire is soft in the fog, but the flaming torch is anything but gentle. Passed from guard to guard, the soldier at the edge of the pyre raises the flame. Doc glares at the corner of his eye. “Don’t I get any last words?”

“You just used them.” The executioner snickers, and tosses the torch in. It’s a careless throw, as if he was simply discarding an unsatisfactory stick.

The torch nestles into the nest of wood surrounding, propping up Doc. When the first ember hit the pyre, Stress released all her pent up fears into pure ice magic. It froze the fog into shards of suspended ice, the damp cobblestone at her feet becoming slippery, as she throws all her magic and might into freezing out the flame.

But by the time the first ember meets the timber, it was already too late. The wood ignited with such heat and aggression, it might as well have been summoned from hell itself. It vaporized the ice immediately, and engulfs the stake with orange tongues of fire.

“Cinderwood!” Mumbo cries from the top of the bell tower, the burning pile of wood and his friend reflecting off of his eyes. The trees this wood came from grow near volcanoes. They burn faster than anything else in all of Lairyon, even a hot day can cause the trees to spontaneously combust. And now? The flames are engulfing Doc, eating away at him as tongues of orange lick up the wooden pole, dancing against his skin and singing his tattered cloak.

Doc’s face remains emotionless. His jaw still set, eyes staring down the crowd. Not a tear, not a writhing attempt to escape. He’s accepted his fate- and he will not be used as a pawn in Dolios’s game.

While Doc remains calm, the other hermits do not. The flames rise higher and higher, setting his clothes ablaze and charring his skin. Green burns black, metal begins to glow red. The hermits scramble, panicked. Hypno does his best to knock out as many of the auxiliary guards as possible with his magic, but his panic leaves his magic circle weak and stuttering. All of the hermits, even Grian, struggle with their magic.

Except, for once, Mumbo. In the panic of watching his friend burn, his power ignites into a lightning storm. It rolls and rocks through the ice fog, bolts dancing through the suspended crystals, reflecting through the shards like glass. A red bolt sears through the mist, nearly striking Grian as he flutters and flies above the scene. Mumbo swears, trying to regain composure and control of his magic.

The hermits have delved the entire square into chaos. The bolt of lightning. Citizens unsure where to go, who to turn to, what’s the right and wrong way. And in that chaos, Doc’s calm shatters. His anger burns stronger than the fire engulfing him, the pain filling every fiber of his being as he slowly dies. “You have all been lied to! I am not your enemy!”

His eyes lock onto the one person in the crowd not alarmed, not cheering. Dolios, standing calm and cool, amongst the crowd as the everyman’s leader. He waves his hand, and all of the magic around him negates, and the crowd’s attention is forced back to Doc. Wisps of black mist curl around Dolios, disappearing into the grey mist. He smiles, and the crowd cheers.

Doc strains against the rope that pins him to the stake, stranding him in the fire. The burns on his legs grow more painful. HIs head begins to swim. And hiding just below the surface of his anger, fear shakes through his core. “You’re all fools!”

And the smile grows. So genuine, so excited. Doc realizes that the magistrate is enjoying this show. He’s enjoying watching him die. The anger shatters, allowing fear wash over Doc. This entire time, he’s refused to feel this way. To let Dolios see him afraid, scared to die. He’s never been scared of death before. Why now?

He turns his eyes up, and notices blue feathers in the mist. He tries to wipe away the ashen tears to get a better look, but his hands are bound. No matter, the fire evaporates it halfway down his cheeks. He’s afraid to die because he has a family. Scar, Xisuma, BDubs, even Grian, as annoying as he is. Every hermit means more to him than anyone else. He doesn’t want to leave them.

He doesn’t want to go.

But he has no choice. The fire burns his jaw, steaming away the tears as they fall from horror stricken eyes. Each breath from Doc’s parted lips is shaking, wondering which will be the last. His lungs fill with smoke, and his body grows heavy with fear and pain.

Dolios smiles through it all. The pyre illuminating the genuine grin, matching the hungry fire in his eyes. Darkness creeps into Doc’s vision as the pain becomes unbearable. He refuses to let Dolios be the last thing he sees. He turns his eyes to the sky, watching wings dance in the red lightning.

The flames douse, water and sand turning fire and flame to ash and charcoal. The panicked hermits freeze, and look to one another. Look to xB, but he’s not cast his magic. If it wasn’t his waterbending...who else is here?

Doc’s gone still, head tucked to his chest and slumped helplessly against the smoldering ruins of the stake. Smoke makes it hard to see the stage, only the sound of the arcane guard’s armor. They scramble to reignite the fire and find the culprits. As soon as the army sets foot upon the platform, however, they become afflicted. Their faces contort, legs wobble as their feet are frozen to the ground. Fear and panic is written across their eyes. Some abandon their halberds, running as far from the swelling sensation of terror.

“Don’t just stand there !” Dolios shouts, pointing his finger at the smoldering ruins. “Execute him!”

Few guards are able to slough through the heavy weight of the emotions. Those that do are met with only more resistance. Springing forward, cacti grows from the ashen ruin, their spines like weapons defending the unconscious- or is he even alive?- hermit. From the sky, from the grey mist and red lightning, a black figure swoops into the smoke. The hermits look around, but both Tango and Grian are still in the sky. Ebony wings stir up the smoke. In the shadowed smog, ropes are cut free.

Scar is the first to realize something is happening. “We have to get him back! Now’s our chance!”

Smoke clears, revealing an empty stake and two figures in the soot filled air. The crowd gasps and the hermits struggle to get closer to their missing friend. Eyes glued to the wings and purple, joined by a fin and scarf in the blustering air.

Until the world goes white, blinded by light so bright, it burns away the fog and opens the sky to the afternoon sun. Even Dolios and the hermits are forced to avert their eyes from the starlight before them. Shouts of confusion arise from the pandemonium of the botched execution.

Xisuma knows that magic all too well. The light so bright, it even burns away the darkness of his void magic. Where his magic is the end, this is the beginning. Light and energy as powerful as a supernova. Because his magic is a supernova.

He knows Ex’s magic anywhere. As soon as he’s able to see again, as soon as Xisuma spots the red cloak falling to the canals beneath the cobblestone, he grabs the other hermits and gives chase.

Leaving behind the failed execution, the only proof that a man was nearly burned alive was a red bolt of fabric, still burning at the tips. And one furious magistrate.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #light of lairyon #wizard hermits #wizard au #lol #wizard doc #wizard scar #wizard ex #wizard stress #wizard mumbo #docm77 #gtwscar #evil xisuma #stressmonster101 #mumbo jumbo #burning cw #execution cw

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LoL Chapter 46- Fractures

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits discover it’s not just Dolios feeling the repercussions of their work.

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Litow wasn’t very far for the likes of Cub, even though it was all the way on the other side of Lairyon. In between Kilton and Addows, on the lower peninsula of the crescent shaped kingdom, it was one of the furthest places from Eremita and the Ashioll sea.

But with Cub’s portal magic, and only three other people to teleport, it was no more than a skip, hop, and a jump. Even better, he’s been to Addows before, so he knew exactly where to go with his magic. Doc was the brave first soul to step through the portal and out into the open world, and kept watch while Scar, BDubs, and Cub passed over as well.

Lucky for them, there was very little presence of arcane guard in Addows, and they’ve only passed one patrol along the road since they began their journey. Doc was ready to fight tooth and nail, remind the guard that they aren’t going to be cowardly criminals. But BDubs yanked him into the bush he had created seconds before Doc could get his words out.

It’s been a few weeks since they all became wanted criminals, Lairyon’s most wanted. Admittedly, things have gotten harder. None of them can show their faces at Snapdragon port, which is crawling with guards and Gedeons. All of their suppliers have cut them off. Luckily, they have BDubs’s garden and a whole sea of fish. On their missions, they can’t take main roads, can’t saunter into wherever they’re needed. Even the villages they’ve come to help will meet them with a mix of hope, disdain, and downright hostility. They have to prove themselves as well as battle off husk storms and darkness crystals. Dolios has turned the whole nation against them. He’s turned the heroes into villains.

It wasn’t the entire town of Litow that asked for their help. A single letter, written by a young boy who had heard stories from another group of wizards, of the hermits and their escapades. Scar looks down at the note as they walk, reading over it once more.

The boy’s parents are missing, and even when he tries to use his own magic- very proudly declared to be arbor magic- the forest that Litow sits at the edge of refuses to bend to his will. Most of the village’s magic has disappeared, and now so are its people. At night, howls of creatures keep anyone from leaving their beds, much less their house.

If Scar has ever read a classic evil black crystal infestation, it would be this. For sure the work of Dolios is plaguing this town. “Litow isn’t a small village. It’s no town like Coral Shores or Shellor, but it’s not as little as Gildara either.”

“Dolios is getting stronger.” Doc growls, his shoulders bent forward as he marches down the road. “He’s getting braver, stealing magic from greater sources. He’s leveling up. Next, it’ll be the towns. Then the cities.”

“Doc does have a point. Everyone loves him, no one would suspect it’s Magistrate Dolios causing this corruption across Lairyon.” Cub waves his hand flippantly, as if batting away flies rather than his unfinished thoughts.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t started blaming us for that.” BDubs sighs. “Do you think people are starting to notice that this is happening? Do you think news has spread about the darkness?”

“If it is, then the Council is surely stifling it.” Cub picks up a rock, holding it in the palm of his hand. Beneath the stone, blue embers of magic curl and twist into his magic circle, and a second later the rock is gone. A parlor trick, but still fun for Cub. “But they can’t stop ideas from growing, and it’s clear from this letter that news is getting around. About the dark magic and us.”

The quad rounds a bend, the road meandering with the creek bed, turning and guiding them to the interface of forest and field. At the edge of the two environments, Litow sits. Three hermits stop, and Doc reaches out to grab BDubs and yank him back from proceeding as the others take initial notes of the mission before them.

Litow seemed to still have it’s color, though one building nearest to the forest edge has become entangled in the grey wisps, slowly being claimed, siphoned of life. The town still held it’s people, bustling as if nothing was wrong, continuing to cut lumber and plant trees in an everlasting cycle of give and take.

Scar takes a step back, not sure if he wants to test his luck with a bunch of Lumberjacks. If they preferred Dolios’s story, he can just imagine the damning blow their axes could deal, with or without magic. Scar rubs his neck nervously, glancing to Doc.

Doc keeps moving. He holds his head high as they enter the town, meeting the lingering gazes as they walk past. Daring anyone who even thinks of turning them in to face his wrath. And while most people don’t say a thing, the others can all tell the lumberjacks are thinking it.

But one brave lumberjack dares to step between Doc and the shadowed forest edge. She places her hands on her hips, tall enough that Even Doc has to look up. “Yer kind ain’t allowed here. Git before I call the guard on you. Could pay for all the lost work we’ve had lately.”

“We’re here to help that!” BDubs chitters, though he’s quaking in his sandals. “I mean, not the work thing directly, but we can bring your magic back!”

“I ain’t listening to no lies from a buncha mercenaries. If the magistrate don’t trust ya, I don’t either.” The lumberjack hefts her axe onto her shoulder, the blade as wide as Scar’s chest. Even Doc decides it’s best not to pick a fight, and retreats from the town.

“Well now what do we do?” Cub questions, watching the timber town return to work, though not without keeping an eye on the four outsiders.

“Psst! Hey! Over here!” The men turn, and see a boy more than halfway out a window of a log cabin, waving with a toothy grin. As they near, the boy chatters excitedly. “Oh I’m so glad you came my best friend’s sister saw you guys in Danes and when I saw what was happening here I knew I should get a letter to you guys. My aunt Bethy thinks yer a buncha thugs but i know the truth my parents always said I was smart!”

The boy points over to the forest, the tangle of trees and bushes, most of it sapped of life by dark magic. “My family’s house is all sad and grey now, but it wasn’t like that until recently. Before, we just thought it was the forest preparing for winter early.”

“So the crystal must be in the forest.” Cub notes, looking at the canopy of trees, green canopies marred by grey tendrils, sprouted up into an ashen cloud. The boy nods, earning a sincere pat on the head from Scar. “Thanks kiddo, you’re our hero today.”

The group leaves their tiny informant and the town that doesn’t want them behind, and BDubs uses his own plant magic to crest a path through the foliage. They pass by young trees, growing tall with the aid of the arbor mages and their familiars, logs freshly cut with the sap still flowing like blood, and stumps of the felled, waiting to be reclaimed or burned to make way for new life.

They’ve become used to the sensation of a dark crystal, the pressure exerted on their bodies, their magic. Doc can even use it to guide them in the right direction, when the tension ebbs and when it grows, until they come across a tree. The behemoth of an oak tree twists it’s roots, dirt hollowed out by animals and time, creating a burrow just big enough for a crystal to be nestled inside. It’s a shame, Scar sighs, that something used for evil has been placed where skavader would normally raise their young. How it destroys the environment, leaving nothing but death behind. “Let’s destroy this magical menace.”

Scar raises his hands, magic circles already cast. When he attempts to cast the spell, however, he finds his arms are immobile. No matter how hard his mind screams at his hands to move, they’re frozen in place.

A snap of a twig sends Doc and the others skittering for a fight, while Scar whimpers pathetically at his unmoving appendages. Movement catches BDubs’s eyes, and he launches a whipping vine to capture whatever he saw. But the ivy is met by fire, coiling around, igniting leaves aflame. When BDubs refuses to let go, then the opponent on the other end of the whip takes control, and the plant wizard is thrown into the air, an screaming arc over the trees and on the other side of Idelens and her crew.

The Council guildmaster lets go of the charred vine, wiping her hands free of the stained ash. Behind her, husks appear from the woodwork, their shifting grey bodies and gaunt faces like ragdolls, toyed around by dark magic. A bolt of dark lightning creases through the stormcloud hovering above them. A husk storm. Idelens may be in charge, but she’s not in control.

The master of Midas’ Medallions straightens the severe bun on her crown, not a single hair out of place. “You and your friends have been such a thorn in the Council’s side. Not mine, but you have made everyone else quite unhappy. Especially Magistrate Dolios. He’s quite displeased that the others have been failing their duties.”

“You say that like we give a damn.” Doc sneers, watching the husks circle around them. Men and beasts, wyverns and wizards, farmers and feathered serpents.

“Oh, but you should care about anything I say, because what I say goes. And I say what better way to remind everyone why I’m the best guildmaster, why I determine the S-Class trials, is by removing a few thorns from the rosebush.” She snaps her fingers, and in the short burst of sound in the forest, several things happen at once.

First, the husks attack. Lunging at the hermits, teeth and spells ablaze. All vying to rip the hermits limb from limb, or force them to join the ranks of husks, sapping their lifeforce and stealing their magic. Just like what happened in Danes.

Second, Idelens’s magic takes hold. Sprites of magenta swirl and dance from her fingers, seeking out the hermits and embedding themselves like burrs to their skin. Cub’s knees quake, struggling to keep him standing. All his strength sapped like he’s ran a marathon, though his magic remains strong. Scar trips trying to run away from the bright bursts of energy, as if he needed the vertigo the magenta magic bestows upon him.

Third, Doc casts his own magic, his consciousness leaping out of his body just before the debuffing magic can steal his strength, and into BDubs instead, trapped on the other side of the husk horde. He feels little concern with controlling his friends- he’s sure BDubs will understand.

Through BDubs’s eyes, Doc can see all three instances, as well as his own body teetering lamely at the center. He’s woefully vulnerable, and every husk knows that his corporeal body is just begging to be attacked. So when a mage turns their magic on him, he turns BDubs on it. Slamming the plant wizard’s hands down on the ground, roots rise from the earth like massive snakes of wood, twisting around Doc’s body and encasing it in a capsule. Doc forces BDubs to his feet, verdant eyes trained on the guildmaster as she watches. Watches Scar and Cub struggle to fight with their strength and coordination gone, and not watching her back.

Doc forgets how weak regular humans can be. He’s used to his tough green skin, and his mechanical prosthetics. He shoves Idelens off her feet with a body check, bruising pain shooting up BDubs’s body. The pain threatens to push Doc free from his host, but Doc keeps a firm grip on the controls. Idelens stumbles forward, and before she can regain her composure, Doc brings a tree down on top of her.

It should have killed her. He meant for it to kill her, but she still had tricks up her sleeve. Magic swirls across her skin, showing that she buffed herself before being brought to the dirt by the tree. Pinned beneath the trunk, Idelens whines to anyone who will listen. At this point, Doc thinks she just likes hearing herself talk.

“Do you know how annoying the other guildmasters have gotten? How many problems you have caused us?” She spits, trying to push the tree off. Doc, still controlling BDubs, glances up, but sees that her magic has left Cub and Scar. She needed to focus on not getting crushed. “Sidero is such a whiny brat, taking all his anger out on me just cause no one cares about his stupid inferiority complex! His guild wasn’t anything special to begin with! The Gadai are losing partnerships and trade deals left and right, which is making Okui all pissy because she can’t have all her nice things anymore! Gluttonous whore. And don’t get me started on Eros!”

“Like I said before, I really don’t care.” Doc starts to let go of BDubs, to return to his body and finish things off, but Idelens is far from finished.

“You should, because it’s all your fault! You’re ruining the Council! Dolios blames us for not working hard enough to stop you, which is why I’m going to have to clean up all your fucking mess. Because apparently I’m the only one who can babysit these idiots and actually get things done!” With a burst of strength, Idelens kicks through the tree, sending BDubs flying once more and knocking Doc back into his own body.

It takes the puppeteer a second to remember how to control his own body. A portal appears beneath his feet, freeing him from his own confinement. “Welcome back, brother.” Cub hums, splicing a husk in two with a simple open and close of another rift. “We’ve got the ashen abominations, you deal with her.”

Doc turns, facing down the guildmaster. He remembers her face so vividly, so perfect and coy. When he ran the S-Class trials, she was worse than almost any challenge she threw his way. He’d like to give her a taste of her own medicine.

He casts his circle, alarming Idelens. She buffs herself, preparing for him to attempt to take control of her body. But he was bluffing. And she fell for it. While she’s busy casting her spell, he uses his own brute force, punching her in the jaw and into a muddy puddle. The golden tassel of her dress drags through the mud, the dirt making it nigh impossible to tell that she’s a Council mage. To Doc, there is no difference. Bones still break the same.

He pulls free his knife, marching forward. He doesn’t stop, even as Idelens frantically casts her magenta magic once more. Even when it slows him down, to the pace of a tortoise, he doesn’t stray from his intended target.

Idelens scrabbles back, her perfection fracturing. Her perfect dress, stained with mud and ash, locks of brown hair wisping free from her bun. Even her voice no longer carries pride. Only pure, seething rage. “I will kill you, puppeteer. I will kill you for lowering me to the likes of those scum.”

She’s gone before Doc’s knife even has a taste for her blood. He stumbles forward, freed from his slow pace. Scar, BDubs, and Cub return to work destroying the crystal, considering this battle a victory- they fended off Idelens and the husk storm she brought, and they destroyed the dark crystal killing the land.

But to Doc, her words echo in his head. And he knows this wasn’t a victory.

This was just a stalemate.

#this is being posted early cause i have therapy at 8 #hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #wizard hermits #wizard au #light of lairyon #lol #wizard cub #wizard doc #wizard Bdubs #wizard scar #cubfan135 #docm77 #bdoubleo100 #gtwscar

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LoL Chapter 44- Monstrous Memories

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits discover the secret Magistrate Dolios has hidden within the forest.

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Zed reminded them it was probably best they don’t stay in the Forest of Memories overnight. Mumbo’s power surge spooked the shleep, and if they fall asleep in the forest, they’ll be fraught with nightmares, which will only give the Forest an in to their fears once more. As much as he hates having to force Mumbo, fresh from a surge, into walking again, they don’t really have a choice. Guess Zed just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today.

Thankfully, TFC and Xisuma agree with him. The hermits defend themselves with potions and amulets, though their greatest defense is just knowing they have one another. Mumbo stays close to Iskall and Grian, who both do their best to distract his worries about hurting Grian with their favorite stories. Like the time Grian nearly dropped Mumbo into the ocean from the sky, or Iskall almost blew away the cloud that Grian’s home perches upon.

Ren casts his spell again, following the veins of red back to the main leyline. It’s massive, so much magic and power that it scares Ren. Who, or what, needs all this magic? All this energy, stolen from all over Lairyon. What could Dolios need all this for?

BDubs gets a shiver, as if someone just dropped ice down his back. He turns to see if Stress is pulling a prank on him again, opening his mouth to make some smarmy quip, when he sees the leaves above him.

They look like they’re burning, blackened to the stem, grey embers frozen at the edges of the leaf. It looks so much like the husk magic, and yet at the same time completely different. BDubs reaches up, fingers shaking as he plucks the leaf off the tree. “I think we’re going in the right direction.”

He shows the once green leaf to the others. It’s as if the ground was saturated with dark magic, poisoning the trees rather than draining them. It’s impossible to distinguish the leyline from the rest of the earth around them. They've made it to the center of the Forest. They’ve made it to what Dolios is hiding.

The canopy is thick, impossible to see even the crown of the trees. Grian wonders if he flew above the Forest of Memories, would he be able to see this black spot from the sky? Or has Dolios even thought of that?

“Whatever Dolios is hiding, it’s here somewhere.” Xisuma states, pulling out a torch and lighting it using Tango’s hair. Tango objects at first, but when a distant rustle causes him to leap into Impulse’s arms, he allows the torches to be lit.

“But where? We don’t even know what we’re looking for.” Doc snarls. He wanders deeper into the darkness, holding his torch high before turning and looking at the other hermits. Both his mechanic and mortal eye narrow at the guild. “It could be as small as a pebble, or so mundane we’d never pick it out!”

Etho notices a shift in the darkness behind Doc, the swirling mist of grey and black cresting over an angled oval, creased down the equator. And he realizes he’s not looking at mist, he’s looking at slime. “Uh,” He whispers, “Doc, maybe tone it down?”

But Doc wasn’t listening. “We’ve gone on some wild goose chase, when we need to cut the head off the beast while we can!”

“Maybe don’t talk about killing beasts, Doc.” Hypno squeaks, realizing what Etho is seeing as well, He sees a grey tentacle, wrapping through the ashen ground like a sticky tree root, more creases all over the body.

“Why? It’s clear there’s nothing to find here! We’ve searched through the most dangerous place in all of Lairyon, for jack shit!” Doc raises his torch to prove what he means, eyes wild as he stares down the hermits. With the increased light, the entire guild can see the monster behind Doc. Mumbo nearly faints, Stress feels sick, and all the hermits can feel the pressure of dark magic weighing on their chest. It’s like Gildara, but worse.

“Doc….” Scar whispers, shaking as he creeps closer to the hybrid, trying to pull Doc away from the slumbering monster. They both trip over a slimy black tentacle, head over heels and the torch left behind. “Doc we found it!”

Slumbering in the trees, a monster beyond anything the hermit’s have ever seen looms. It’s larger than a dragon, made of ebbing and flowing grey and black slime- which takes a moment for the hermits to realize is pure dark energy, pouring over the creature like an overcoat. Citizens’ lifeforce, their magic drained to create this multi eyed, multi-mouthed eldritch horror. Tentacles, dug into the ground, sap the energy fed by the leylines.

This monstrosity, this manifestation of darkness, is still growing. Slowly, but surely, as it feeds off the leylines. This is but an infant, not yet born. And already it has done so much damage.

“Oh my word.” Zedaph wipes away a few tears with the heel of his hand . “This thing has no soul. It’s just...pure hatred, pure catastrophe. Why would Dolios bring such a dangerous thing to life?”

“What does it matter?” Beef shrugs, rolling his neck and preparing to cast his magic. “With this gone, Dolios will crumble.”

“Hold on.” xB grabs Beef by the horns, holding him back. “We have no clue what this thing will do if it wakes up. What could it do if we attack it right now.”

“xB is right.” TFC hums. “We would be foolish to fight a monster we know nothing of. Just like going in blind to Gildara, we won’t win that battle without knowledge.”

“So what do we do?” False makes the war hammer she summoned disappear, a bit disappointed.

Xisuma looks at the ashen ground, following it back to the edge of the monster’s meadow. He sees the four leylines, in four cardinal directions. “This thing is being fed by the leylines. The leylines are set by the obelisks, which are powered by crystals. If we starve the beast before it can awaken, we can take away whatever Dolios plans to do with this.”

“So...what? We just leave this thing here? Go back to breaking crystals?” Iskall shrugs.

“We came here for more information, and that’s what we’ve gotten. Information is more valuable than action sometimes.” Cub of all people would know. He looks at the others, then continues to speak. “We have all the pieces put together, we can finally see the whole picture of Dolios and his insane plan. With all this, we can fight back better. We know what to do. We starve the beast, and turn all of Lairyon against Dolios.”

-----------------------------------------

“Hmm.” A low silky voice dances in the dark office, gold trimmed sleeve blinding the wizard to his crystal ball. Curly brown hair rests on the other hand, elbow perched on a plush arm of his office chair. A chair fit for a king- no, a god. Soon enough.

The single eye of the unborn beast closes. Eurynomos is far from ready, just a fetus at this point, but every day it grows stronger. The more stolen magic Dolios feeds the creature, the stronger it will be. The stronger they will be. Dolios is a patient man, he can bear to wait a little bit longer.

What he can’t bear is the infuriating interference of these hermits. Dolios knew that Mumbo was powerful- how he drools for all that magic stored in one vessel. And the angel, he’s yet to add such divine magic to his ever growing collection. The rest? Fodder. Or so he thought. They’ve been persistent, and they’ve gained too much knowledge. Just when Dolios thinks he’s caught up in making new corrupted crystals, those damn hermits destroy another. Just when Dolios has destroyed a guild or village no one will miss, they swoop in and stop him. He should’ve killed them in the dungeons that day, so long ago. But now, they’re a problem.

“Pen an order.” Dolios’s words cause an enchanted quill to stand at attention, tip poised over a blank piece of paper. Dolios doesn’t turn around, his eyes trained to the south. To the Forest of Memories. “The Council hereby declares the Order of Hermits enemies of the state, threats to Lairyon’s future, and a danger to the public. All known whereabouts are to be reported to the Arcane guard, and the Hermits face capital punishment for their crimes.”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft au #wizard hermits #wizard au #light of lairyon #lol #wizard doc #wizard ren #wizard zedaph #docm77 #rendog #zedaph

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LoL Chapter 39- Periapts

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

How many hermits does it take to find protection amulets? And not bring home even more junk like a target run? And what do they do when the Guild of Gedeon discovers them?

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“Grian, those shoes are worthless for you- you already have wings!” Iskall waves his arms, exasperated by his shopping buddies. In the midst of the Redland bazaar, the hermits have separated out to find supplies they both need and could use. Iskall tones himself down as two Gedeons walk by, the entire area going quiet and watching as the council guildmembers march on. What are they doing in Redland?

“Yeah, but you don’t. You guys could use it though!” Grian buys the sandals without second thought, and without haggling for the price. Mumbo groans. They have yet to even purchase a protection or repelling item- or any amulet. He’s not sure if Grian understands saving money, and can only look away, across the busy, bustling bazaar to see who else is having better luck.

Hypno can’t help but play with the dowsing rods in his hands, only for xB to grab one rod before the two pieces can cross paths. “Those aren’t a toy, give me those things. Do you want to summon a storm?”

“It could be useful! A big storm to battle off a husk storm!” Hypno grins, before patting his hands against his friend’s shoulder. “It’s alright, man, we can grab some talismans right after this. But this is too cool to pass up!”

Together, with xB’s innate kipling knowledge of enchantments, they pick out a few talismans. Wards against harm and unfortunate thoughts. Removing the law of attraction, or at least easing it. Two of the talismans were mass produced, before xB advised Hypno that unique amulets were likely stronger, picking through boxes and glass cases full of strange, vibrant pieces.

But it doesn’t take long for xB to get distracted on his own. Reeling back when he sees it. “Whoa, I didn’t know these still existed! I thought the last of the moodium ores have died out!”

“But xB, we’re supposed to be looking for amulets.” Hypno mimics xB, but he’s grinning. “What even is it?”

“It’s a mood ring!” xB’s voice rises and falls to make it sound mysterious.

Hypno isn’t much impressed. “You mean the trinkets you get from the candy store as a kid?”

“No! Those were inspired by real mood rings. Watch this.” xB slips the ring on, and covers the pink, round cut gem and closes his eyes. Hypno snickers, watching for the stone to change color just because of xB’s body heat. His snicker fades, lip quivering as he feels globs of hot tears fall from his eyes. What the hell, why is he crying? Why does he feel so sad?

“You…” xB’s grin and a wiggle of his bejeweled finger is all he needs to see to know what’s happened. “Asshole! You changed my emotions!”

“No, I didn’t. You were already sad about something, I just amplified that. I also can smell that you didn’t brush your teeth this morning.” xB covers his nose, pulling off the ring before taking a deep, relieving breath.

Hypno isn’t sure what he’s sad about, but it was obviously there. He wipes away the tears, large droplets and streams down his cheeks. Ruining his cool guy attitude, just crying in some random shop in the middle of a bazaar. He looks around for something to raise his epic points, but becomes distracted when he sees three Gedeons roughing up a shopkeep, demanding some kind of council tax he never heard of. In fact, all of the bazaar is quieter than other times he’s been to Redland. As if a nightmare patrols with Sidero’s henchmen. Perhaps that’s what saddens him. Even here, the Council’s influence is felt.

Further down, nestled in an arcade offshoot, Ren, Jevin, and Cleo are in the middle of an intense battle. Not with swords or magic, but words.

“300 rupees.” Cleo declares, holding up the protection talisman. The sigilized stone dangles in the air, twisting and casting it’s armoring gaze out on the bazaar.

“800, little lady.” The portly merchant reaches out, threading his fingers around the cord and starts to pull it back.

“350, and you get to keep your fingers for calling me a lady.” Cleo lays her other hand on the hilt of her sword, smiling a demure grin, her sickly green skin stretching for him to see.

“Fine.” The merchant untangles himself from the fight and the amulet, grumbling under his breath as he takes the money from Jevin’s outstretched hand. “I dunno why people are suddenly buyin’ up all the protection amulets. There some kinda guild war about to break out?”

“Not exactly.” Ren snickers, before trodding out of the tent and back into the sunlight. If he were on Eremita, he’d stretch out and sunbathe, sunglasses perched just so that he can see the clouds make their own creations in the sky. His daydream is ruined, however, when he feels a rap against his rear, tail tucking between his legs.

“Hey boy, wanna get the stick?” Jevin teases, waving a snarled old staff for Ren.

The mixed-up mage isn’t amused- though, the werewolf in him does make his heart beat in excitement to chase a stick. “My dude, I’m not even a real werewolf. I just know I rock a tail and ears.”

Cleo shakes her head. “This is ridiculous. Who would waste 2000 rupees on some stick? These merchants are out of their mind. Now I see why Scar left his home.”

“That’s not just ‘some stick’ li-” The merchant stops when a flash of metal glints against the sun, backing up until Cleo sheathes her sword again. “I- it’s a shift stick. It’s a one time use, takes the holder back in time a minute. A do over, a chance to fix a mistake. Perhaps even more useful than any stone necklace. One of a kind, and for such… unique customers like you, I’ll lower the price to 1500 rupees.”

Jevin pulls out 5 gold rupees, before Ren and Cleo can say anything, and clutches the stick. “Totally worth it.”

“How do we even know if it works?” Ren isn’t sure if it does exactly what it claims to do. They may have bought the most expensive branch in the world, but Jevin refuses to let it go.

“We can ask Xisuma. He can check or something, he’s a smart guy.” Jevin shrugs. They have enough money, especially with how well Cleo’s haggling has gone. They could buy three shift sticks with the money they’ve been given, and still have enough to buy even more talismans.

The three wander along the bazaar, meeting with other hermits on their way. BDubs and Keralis show off an entire chest of shielding stones, while Scar is laden with more golden amulets than anyone. When Cleo presses him on how he managed to find so many unique and powerful charms, he only smiles. “I know a thing or two about the trade business.”

“Those are the dragon spirits on them.” Cub points out the twisting, dancing dragon. Without wings and the white pearl accents, it’s easy to identify which of the spirits is depicted. Ashtios, the Northern Wind Dragon. Another depicts winged dragons, finned dragons, sheared dragons. Fire, water, and earth. The spirits and sages that aided the gods to create the earth, and who provide median between the two realms. Nothing is more protective than a dragon, and they can feel the strength in the spell of each amulet.

Down the bazaar, the hermits jump at the sound of metal clashing and magic being cast. Followed by yelling, Keralis and Doc are chased from a shop. The shopkeep waves her broom at the two. “What kind of freak eats a bug in the middle of my store! Get back here you cretins!”

Doc’s gruff snicker is only matched by Keralis’s whimper. “But it was gonna help us. It was just a noisy locust.”

The two escape from the bazaar, disappearing into the crowds of Redland. BDubs points in the direction his friends just escaped, blinking away confusion. “Should we be concerned about them?”

“Keralis is with Doc, he’ll be fine.” Xisuma waves. “Besides, their grown men.”

“Looks like we weren’t the only ones who got distracted by other goods.” Cleo nods her head at the books in X’s arms.

Xisuma looks offended by the statement, and stutters over his breath to explain himself. ‘The-these are ancient works! They could have important information about dark magic!” He looks at the stick Jevin’s holding. “What kinda crap are we bringing home now?”

“We have flying shoes.” Iskall holds them aloft, Grian preening the white feathers flat against the golden laces.

“Dowsing rods and a mood ring.” xB keeps the metal rods far away from Hypno, who seems all too keen on starting up a hurricane in the city.

“And what we hope is a stick that can turn back time.” Jevin holds it up. “Otherwise I’m going to use this stick to beat that merchant for lying.”

Lucky for Jevin and the merchant, Xisuma can feel the magic in the whorls of the wood. “I’ll say, these are all pretty impressive. Useless for our cause but… temporal magic is difficult. Were all our rupees wasted on things we didn’t intend to buy?”

“Not the Convex!” Cub grins, hefting the smaller of the duo over his head, blue embers gleaming from their eyes. “We have enough protection amulets to destroy whatever Dolios got!”

Xisuma opens his mouth to answer, but another voice cuts through the air, his own faltering and fading against his mask. “Now what reason could you have to go against Magistrate Dolios?” All of the hermits turn, seeing a squadron of members from the Guild of Gedeon, red tassels that mimic the Council’s golden ones fluttering in the wind. Behind them, the broom wielding merchant sticking her tongue out at the hermits. “Wait a minute- I think I’ve seen these scum before.” The center mage points at Mumbo. “You beat me in the duel!”

Xisuma meets his gaze with TFC, both with their eyes wide. Behind him, Iskall rolls up his sleeves and snaps his gloves tight, ready for a fight. Mumbo’s fraught voice whispers out from beneath his mustache. “No one bought any smoke bombs, did they? Anyone?”

The guildmembers hear his words, and three magic circles rise. Mumbo shrieks and hides behind Grian. “Why did we have to send our two best fighters to Alphasgard?”

Wind blusters against the hermits, tearing flags against their poles and sending the bazaar into chaos. Grian’s wings open, flight feathers brushing against the stone walls on both sides of the bazaar. He beats his wings down, and a gale force wind sends the bucket-headed goons of the Council knocking into one another, rolling down and into the mudcaked gutter. “Alright, I think the shopping spree is over guys. Time to bounce!”

One second, the head mage is on his feet, the next he’s collapsed on the floor, snoring. Hypno’s wild purple magic circle twists in his hand, eyes blank and full of sleep while he searches his own mind. Digging through his dreams. The other two wizards slip their way out from the gutter, sharp spines of one’s spell driving forward like horns of a bull. But a dense fog appears in the midday sun.

It’s also bright blue. Beef turns, taking the sudden cover as his chance to escape. All of the hermits follow suit, though Joe remains a few paces behind to follow Hypno. “Blue fog that smells faintly of cotton candy...I would love to study your psyche and dreams one day, my dear friend Hypno.”

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LoL Chapter 35- Pinnacles of Darkness

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Following their discovery, the hermits descend into the Evernight forest in search of more answers, but are only guided deeper into Dolios’s dark web.

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The evernight forest was exactly that- ever and always night. The canopy is so dense, no light can escape to the forest floor. But, as Scar, Doc, and Zed know, the forest is not complete darkness. What the sun cannot provide, nature does.

“The legends say the evernight forest was a place for the god of life and goddess of the dead to meet. Limal created the forest to be dark and comfortable like Natasiel’s underworld.” Xisuma’s voice is the only noise cutting through the air, apart from the brushing of leaves and ferns from the march of the hermits. Everyone came along- they need every last person. “And she created the bioluminescent moss and fungi to brighten the life with Limal.”

“It feels like we’re sinking into the abyssal plain of the ocean.” xB notes, jumping as a distant roar permeates the massive forest. Was that a cockatrice, or a dragon? He’s not sure which is worse, or which he’d rather have to meet in the darkness of the forest. The darkness is inescapable, and the surface is long gone. “Of course Dolios would put whatever those crystals are for in here. No one in their right mind would wander this deep into the Evernight.”

“Scar, how’re we doing on the groundcover?” Cub peeks over his friend’s shoulder, eyes squinting in the darkness. Scar’s the only one who can track the leylines, though both Ren and Joe are working on creating a spell that can follow the dark magic as well.

“It seems to be getting worse, and look- I can see more leyline tracks coming in. We have to be close.” As soon as the words pass across Scar’s lips, he runs headlong into a solid mass. In the darkness of the forest, with only glowing mushrooms and ferns to light their way, no one notices the towering monstrosity nestled between trees. But as Scar bounces off the sheer, smooth surface, sigils illuminate across the material.

Glowing white, as bright as the sun, an eerie and disarming sight in the depths of the Evernight forest. The hermits turn away from the ebbing light, until the world around them is bathed in the soft glow of bioluminescence once more. Tango looks at the tower. “I think we found it.”

“Question is, what is it?” BDubs circumambulates the pillar, fingers running across the ebony material, dancing over the sigils. It reminds them of the day they found their first corrupted crystal, what feels like so long ago. How naive they were, believing that the Magistrate was going to give them everything he said. That he wasn’t tricking them.

But this time is different. They know how to break Dolios’s magic, they know how to handle corruption. It towers over the hermits, disappearing into the dense foliage far above them. Xisuma steps forward. “It’s not crystal. I- I don’t know what this is. And I don’t know what these symbols are.”

“They look ancient.” Grian blinks, feeling a pull towards the written sigils. He knows angel magic has existed since the time of the ancient ones, are these sigils from that era long gone as well? Grian steps forward, his curiosity getting the better of him, until both Iskall and Mumbo grab him by an arm, pulling him back. White bandages still peek out from beneath his robes, and Mumbo can’t help but notice the scar running across his friend’s throat. Its been a week or so since their last run in with dark magic, but the moment still haunts Mumbo.

“Whatever it is, we have to destroy it. Without this, whatever those crystals are for can’t keep helping that mega-douche Dolios.” Iskall snaps his fingers, bright fluorescent green appearing as his magic scrawls outward. At the crack of Iskall’s radioactive lightning, Impulse jumps in and bombs the ground beneath the obelisk.

It doesn’t break. They try again, with more magic thrown against the obelisk, but the pinnacle of darkness only absorbs the magic. Scar jumps to the side, watching with shock and horror as the very magic that his friends have thrown against the obelisk goes shooting from beneath his feet. Another leyline. This time a massive highway of dark, corrupted power.

Behind Scar, Beef’s horns scrape against the blackstone, meeting with TFC’s cautious hand on the rock and bouncing off effortlessly. “It’s immune to all magic. It’s just taking the power and sucking it in.”

“What the hell does Dolios have a need for this, though?” Mumbo shakes his head. What could a dark mage need from a giant obelisk, taking the magic stolen by the crystals? Are they reservoirs? Implants? Some sort of weird flex?

“They’re just junctions.” Scar whispers. He grabs at Ren, pulling the imagination mage over by the tail. “Do some kinda spell that’ll show the leylines.”

“That’s one tall order, but…” Ren cracks his knuckles and rolls his neck, making a display of his stretching. The motions of summoning his magic are more fluid, wagging his arms and clawing his fingers, and the detailed circle appears before him. Ren has to focus on this magic, imaging a whole spell from nothing. He imagines the ground lighting up beneath them, turning a bright red- his favorite color. Like staining the leylines with dye, he draws up a picture in his head.

When Ren peeks through his eyes, the ground beneath his feet is awash in the color of sunset. In every direction, thin leylines radiate out from the obelisk, straight lines like spokes of a wheel. So many crystals, stealing life and power all over Lairyon. And this is only one of the three hotspots. Are they all like this? Siphoning power from the crystals, and… and doing what with them, exactly? To what purpose does this obelisk have?

One leyline is brighter and larger than other spokes. While the crystal paths are as thin as a Qilin trail, this one could be wide enough for a whole grootslang to meander down. Ren kneels in the dry, crusted ground that this leyline highway runs through. “Can I have the map, brother?”

TFC passes the scroll to Ren, who rolls it out onto the glowing floor. The dark ink and charcoal appear as shadows against the watercolor map, illuminated from beneath by the red magic radiating from the eerie black obelisk. Ren scoots across the forest floor, until north in real life matches north on the paper, and he begins to draw a line that follows the tangential highway.

He keeps running the line, following through the Evernight forest, across the plains and marshes of central Lairyon. Over rivers, past Milliara and a dozen other small towns. Right into the heart of the magical kingdom. Where is this leading him? Where is all this power going? Whatever this leads to has to be hidden, much like this obelisk.

Ren’s pencil stops when light green turns dark, the paint so deep and inky it nearly blots out the light. Over his shoulder, the other hermits groan and gasp. The one place in all of Lairyon, the most dangerous, most powerful, most secretive part in the entire kingdom. Long before recorded history there was this place. Was it always a part of the landscape, a knot of magic that no man nor creature can begin to understand? Was it created by the gods as some sort of hidden land, forbidden for all but the bravest? Or maybe it’s a dumping ground, something that the ancient ones left behind, cursed to protect or keep other people away. No one has ever mapped this place before- no one is stupid enough to go in there. It makes the mysterious dangers of the Ashioll sea look like a cakewalk.

But if there was anywhere Dolios would hide something, put whatever this power is supplying to, it would be where no one- not even a hermit- would dare go under any circumstance. Somewhere dense and protected by magic, shrouded by secrets and torturous, arcane curses. Somewhere as old as the ancient ones, as mysterious as the long lost civilization that called Lairyon home.

“The Forest of Memories.”

#hermitcraft #hermitblr #light of lairyon #lol #wizard hermits #wizard au #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #wizard xisuma #wizard iskall #wizard ren #wizard scar #xisuma #iskall85 #rendog #gtwscar

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

LoL Chapter 19- Exhaustion

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

On their way to lunch, the hermits are attacked. Jealousy rages within the guilds that are losing, but the hermits are unable to fight back. Will they even make it to the event in time?

___________________________________________

“We make a great team, that paper birdy didn’t even know what happened to it.” Tango laughs, grabbing Grian into a headlock and playfully nuzzling his fist into the golden locks. His body aches, and he feels weak, but prideful. The other hermits around them chatter excitedly, walking down the smooth, clean roads of the noble district. Even the canals of swampwater are tiled and cleaned of dirt and debris. Streets Mumbo knows well- he grew up here. So of course he took the chance to go to his favorite cafe.

“I’d say I’m happy with bronze, but I really wanted to beat that Mitch guy. Plus, pirates always love gold.” Cleo hums, looking at the medal around her neck. Of course, she’ll always take beating some 30 other guilds to get this medal, their moans and complaints of being beat in the wrestling challenge. She rubs her wrist, wincing. “Though I’ll admit, I haven’t felt this burnt out from magic in years. It’s like that one event sucked it all out of my body.”

“I feel that way every time I step into the ring.” Tango states, earning a nod from Grian as well. “After day one, I could hardly get out of bed. I felt like a dragon was sitting on my chest.” A few others murmur agreement, and the conversation stops. Not for long, thanks to Grian.

“Scar, Mumbo, are you two ready to show everyone your skills?” Grian grins, fluttering to the front of the group.

“I was born ready for the creative event. I’ve been dreamin’ about this since I was a boy.” Scar sighs, feeling giddy. He’s already got an idea in mind, building and creating within his own head.

“I...I’m not so sure. Can’t someone else step in for me? I don’t think I can get my magic to work well enough, much less to beat the others like you all have.” Mumbo’s terrified. He wishes he had the confidence that Scar just exudes. He has no clue what he’ll build. He’s not even sure if his magic will appear today.

“You’ve got it, man.” Doc appears beside him, patting his shoulder. “Don’t doubt yourself, otherwise I’ll take control and make you believe.” Mumbo freezes, smiling weakly. He’s not sure if he should be comforted or not by Doc’s offer.

He turns, eyes glimmering upon setting his gaze on the cafe. He came here all the time when he was younger, before he joined the hermits. He would come here to study, to relax, sometimes just to get his favorite tea from the shop. Being back here is strange, the nostalgia mixing with nerves. What would his friends think of this place? Are they out of the normal? Doc and Grian definitely are.

Mumbo reaches out, grabbing the door’s wrought iron handle. His hand goes right through the metal, iron warping and wiggling like air in the summer heat. “What in the…”

The ripples cascade out, across the air and townhouses. The mosaics shatter before reforming, and the entire street is empty. But the hermits aren’t alone. “You freaks think you own this place, don’t you? That you’re anything like us? That you can just waltz into the noble district because you’ve won the past two days?”

Doc immediately summons his magic, ready for a fight. More than a dozen other mages appear from the illusion. Torn shoulder pauldrons, glistening with gold spikes, announces them being from the Guild of Gedeon. A council guild. Behind Doc, he can hear other hermits drawing their circles, blues and yellows shimmering off the illusion they're trapped in. “Let us go, you’re messing with the wrong guild.”

“Ohoho, win a couple of events and suddenly you think you’re a guild? No, no.” A burly man with feral eyes stares down Doc, shoving him and Cleo towards Scar and Mumbo. “You’re messing up everything. I don’t know why Magistrate Dolios let scum mar such a prestigious event.”

“Maybe it’s because he realized ‘scum like us’ are better at magic than you. Didn’t want the crowd to get bored of the same old dopey outfits and subpar spells.” Cleo’s words have hardly crossed her lips before fists collide with them, sending her splayed across the ground. Doc needs no further initiative, activating his circle and taking control of the mage that struck his friend. His eyes close, and open again looking at himself. Ugh, this body smells. He turns around, meaty hands instead crashing into the Gedeon’s own guildmembers. Three fly out of the illusion, out of the bubble that traps them where no one can watch the fight. Beneath another, the ground opens up beneath her to reveal hellfire. The flames claw at her feet, dragging her into the open chasm. Swallowing her up.

Doc is thrown out of his puppet, head spinning and blood pooling from his own nose. Grian’s shout rings in his ear, making his head spin and splinter. He looks up, seeing the magical bludgeon disappear like a ghost from a Gedeon member. “You’re gonna regret messing with us. Messing with the order of things. You don’t belong here, none of you do.”

The illusioner stoops low, snapping his meaty fingers and nodding the gang forward. “And we’ll show you why you don’t mess with the Council. The wrath of the Guild of Gedeon is not something you walk away from.”

The fight is intense. Six hermits against about a dozen combatants. What’s worse, the Guild of Gedeon is an offensive group. When the arcane guard can’t do a job, when a strongarm is needed, the Gedeons are the first in line. Cleo holds her own, blood boiling under her dead green skin. Her sword doesn’t back down from a fight, and neither does the poltergeists she summons to aid in the attack. She’s exhausted, but that doesn’t stop her from being in the middle of the battle. Doc jumps from person to person, tapping into their magic and turning it back onto their own teammates. Scar does his best to protect Doc in the process, throwing up walls of rock only for them to be crushed by a volatile spell shot their way.

But they aren’t winning. Cleo and Doc’s attacks aren’t enough to stave off the fights and fragments of magic flown their way. Tango’s magic is all but gone, sapped from his body. Where did it all go? He had it all this morning, and the bird chase event couldn’t have been enough for him to lose it all! Even worse, Grian’s magic sputtered and died halfway through his attack. Mumbo peeks out from behind Scar’s barrier, hissing with pain as a bolt of hot rock is flung against his forehead. “Grian, what in the world is going on with your magic?”

“I...I don’t know, Mumbo!” He flicks his wrists, but nothing happens. His arms snap in a quick dance, and he does manage to summon his spell. The wind is hardly more than a summer breeze in his hair. “It’s not there, I’m drained of magic, of energy! But how, I hardly used anything!”

“It’s like you’re me!” The four hiding behind the wall are crushed as the rocks collapse. Trapped, unable to fight off the onslaught. Scar can only block the worst attacks, but bruises and cuts blossom across the hermits.

Until the bell of the capitol building tolls a single time. As quickly as the fight started, it stops. Scar lowers his walls and arm, brushing the blood from his cheek. Immediately, he searches for his friends. Doc struggles to his feet, ready to fight. But Cleo, Grian, and Tango look like they’ve been fighting for hours. They’re completely out of magic, skin pale and eyes glazed with weakness. Something is very wrong. Is there a suppressor mage here? No, that would affect everyone. Mumbo scrabbles backwards, wrist hanging limp. “Good luck getting to check in for the rest of the events, freaks. We’ll see who’s in the labyrinth event now.”

The illusion drops, and the busy street returns. Bustling crowds, horse-drawn carriages and carts passing by the hermits. As alone as when they first arrived at the cafe. People step around them, glancing at the battered group but never offering help. Scar gasps, wobbling to his feet. “The competition! Mumbo, we’re going to be late!” He pulls Mumbo to his feet.

“You guys go ahead.” Doc growls, sitting down on a pile of rubble. He rubs blood off of his cheek. “I don’t think the others can get up. They’re too weak.”

“What caused that? How could Grian not use his magic?” He’s an S-Class, he has ultimate control of his magic. But he acted like he was...well, Mumbo. And now? Now his friends are hurt. They lost the fight- no, they were thrashed. And he wasn’t even able to do anything.

“I don’t know, but I have a sneaking suspicion who the dark mage is now.” Doc waves the two off, before snarling. “Go! I’ve got the others!” And he’ll be sure Gedeon’s leader, that monster Sidero, gets a taste of what he just did to his friends. He must be the dark mage, trying to stop them.

But as Doc watches Mumbo and Scar flee, and he helps Grian, Tango, and Cleo to their feet, he’s only made them angrier.

_____________________________

“How am I...gah, how am I supposed to take a giant cat statue and make it move?” Mumbo hisses, looking up at the relief. Scar’s winning sculpture for the creative event was incredible. He could practically see every hair and whisker of Jellie, carved from stone using her owner’s terraforming magic. Even her wings are feathered, each barb as thin and interlocking as the real thing. It’s easy to see why Scar won the creative contest, hands down.

And here he is ruining it all with his own magic. The council really outdid themselves, pulling a twist like this. His magic falters, and the redstone dust collapses to the ground. Mumbo’s chest feels heavy, lungs pressed and heart clenching. His head feels dizzy, and his magic is nearly impossible to tap into. Surely this is all just nerves? But even Scar looked exhausted, like he was struggling to breathe, to stand after his magic. Exactly what Grian and Tango looked like.

What’s happening? He can’t help but look over his shoulder. Other guilds are working on the creations their teammates created. Whatever was before them, they had to automate. And from what Mumbo can see, most others are well ahead of him. Especially Ian, deep in the bowels of the contraption Sky had built. He can be heard swearing, the conductive gold making his machine move when he doesn’t want it to. At least Mumbo doesn’t have to worry about that.

But that doesn’t mean he can do it. The redstone dust falls apart, showering the ground beneath him. He’s going to disappoint everyone, he’s going to ruin Scar’s wonderful statue. He’s going to be the only wizard in this event that can’t even get the thing to move! He falls to his knees, the pressure mounting in his lungs. Making it hard to breathe, crushing in on him. And he’s exhausted, even though he’s barely used any of his magic. He can’t even get it to appear. Like always. All this work, all his hopes to win, will mean nothing if he can’t get his magic to summon. He’s a multi-mage, but he can never prove it. He can never show off his powers, and it’s exactly why he could never join any guild. Looking around, he can see all the guilds in the field he applied to. All of them said no, laughed in his face and ridiculed him when his magic failed to show itself. And now here he is, proving them all right. Making a laughing stock of the Order of Hermits.

“You can do it, Mumbo!” He picks his head up, looking around. He doesn’t recognize that voice. It takes him a moment to realize it’s not coming from any of the hermits. The voice is loud, echoing over the crowd’s low roar. It’s Ecto, one of the wanderers. Beside her, the other two teammates are cheering him on as well. Red’s practically bouncing in his seat, about to fall over the railing as he yells as loud as possible.

More voices join them. He can hear Iskall, shouting for him to breathe, to remember his training. He can hear some sort of soliloquy being written across the sky, intertwined with Joe’s voice. Zedaph and Impulse are holding up a sign, nearly knocking False and Wels with the board. Even the rest of Team Crafted was cheering for him. TFC is watching Mumbo, blue eyes gazing through silvery hair. He gives a small nod and a smile, his own way of showing his encouragement.

All of the hermits are his family, the family he never had. A family that would support him, help him, be with him no matter what. That never gave up on him. And TFC was like the father he never had, with a calm voice as smooth as obsidian and as strong as diamond. Someone he could go to with all his fears and faults, and know he wouldn’t be ridiculed or put down. That TFC would listen, and offer sound advice. Advice he can hear echoing in his head now. “It isn’t about the amount of times you fall down, Mumbo. It’s about how many times you get back up.”

So he gets back up again. He brushes the sand and dirt off the black fabric of his trousers, ignoring the physical pain in his chest and the unwieldy way his head spins. He closes his eyes, hand outstretched. In his mind, he can see his magic circle. The ninety degree turns ending in dots, the petal-like curls from the center. His hands move unconsciously, following the pattern of motions he created. It’s like ramming open a door, trying to find his magic. Trying to connect to it. But once he’s in, it washes all over his body.

He opens his eyes, his circle cast and the redstone moving to his bidding. Climbing up and ingraining in the pores of Scar’s stonework, following lines weathered through the rock. Lightning shoots through the circuits, from his fingertips and breathing energy into the cat. The haunches of the massive statue move, toe beans uprooting from the sand as Jellie comes to life. Redstone dances across her granite tail, flicking side to side. Mumbo can’t help but laugh, knocked over into the sand by a giant stone cat head rubbing into his chest. Scar’s incredible creation, brought to life with his redstone magic. Given energy through his lightning.

Statue Jellie opens it’s mouth to meow, but no sound comes out. She turns her head, gazing across the crowd surrounding her. Her eyes stop at the crown seat, where the Council sits in awe. Redstone turns on all across her body, his magic branching out onto each hair as it rises and her back arches. “Whoa, what’s all that about?”

Mumbo has never seen Jellie hiss at anyone, and even if this stone statue is just a version of her, his magic seems to have brought her to life. And her eyes are as thin as paper, ears turned back and hissing as she faces the Council. Mumbo runs over to the massive kitty, trying to calm her down. Lightning spreads across the redstone, forcing the stone statue to calm. For a second, Mumbo swears he can hear Magistrate Dolios’s voice, though his head is swimming from exhaustion. “Well done, boy. What i wouldn’t give for such...raw power. Soon.”

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

LoL Chapter 18- Mind and Body

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

After the success of their first day among the elite, a new dawn rises and the hermits continue to prove their worth as a guild and as wizards. From the distance, however, people are watching the hermits much more closely than just if they win or lose.

____________________________________

Somehow, the hermits were in the lead. By the end of the first day, they were leading the boards. Even though they lost the pageant and footrace, their domination of the quick draw, the sea race, and Tango’s evening flight race has them ahead. Behind them, the other two nonguild teams were tied for second. The points from there on were a mess between the guilds.

It was an underdog story for the ages. Three ragtag teams leading the Chimaera’s Championship. Guilds will train for years to win even a bronze medal in the games. They select their teams from only the best, never ceasing to push their limits. And yet, nothing can compare to the determination and skill these outcasts held. Even the hermits had to admit, Team Crafted and the wanderers were strong. But more than that, they were both a team. Just like the hermits.

“I’ve got this, guys.” Iskall laughs, twirling a rod of iskallium in his hand. “These mega guilds won’t know what hit them when they see my sharpshooting skills.”

“I mean, we are winning right now, but...I really wanna win them all.” Mumbo’s had a taste for competition, and now he wants more. “But I’m not so worried about the guilds as I am the other teams that are tied.”

Iskall looks over his shoulder, seeing Avon observing the distance between where she stands to the target down the field. “I think she’s all bark and no bite. I’m gonna show everyone the power of iskallium after today.”

“What kind of mage even is that?” Mumbo questions, noticing the massive black wings on his opponents back. “Is that like Ren’s misfired werewolf mimic?”

“Nah dude, don’t you know anything?” Iskall spikes his iskallium rod into the ground. “That’s a draconic mage.”

“Are they rare? Like...rare as Grian’s sky angel magic or my multi-magic?” Mumbo has never heard of a draconic mage, though he never really learned things like this from his parents. His mood immediately sours at the thought of them. He hopes they’re not here, watching. Or does he?

“Eh, in a way. Not quite like you guys. It’s more of a… finding the right teacher kind of problem.” Iskall sees Mumbo’s confusion only grow. “They have to learn from dragons, dude. Not exactly the most trusting beasts, those big lizards of doom. But don’t worry about that- it’s not like you’ll have to face anything like that.”

“Good luck, Iskall.” Mumbo whispers, retreating as the event starts. He was the only hermit willing to wake up this early for the event. Most are still somewhat drunk from celebrating their victories yesterday. No one imagined they’d do this well. Though, a few were dizzy, and Tango even struggled to get out of bed.

One by one, down the line, wizards use their magic to strike the target. Everything from flecks of dirt to pillows shot at the haybales. One art mage even draws up their own arrows and sends them flying. Some strike near the bullseye, others don’t even reach the target. It was a close match for the former. The drawn arrow was almost perfectly center, just millimeters from landing a perfect score.

Iskall knows he has to be better. He gets three shots. Three tries. His emerald eye flicks across the field, measuring the distance between himself and the target. Three shots and he’ll win. He feels the wind in his hair, blustering for a second and ruining a shot of the person next to him. Three shots and he’ll prove he’s a mega sharpshooter.

It’s his turn. He draws out his rod of iskallium, his own element of creation. It’s radioactive, but he’s immune to it. He can feel the power, the energy within the rod. Energy he plans to use to make a clear, perfect shot. He reels his arm back, and throws the first rod. As soon as it’s airborne, he releases a burst of radioactive energy from the projectile, sending it burying into the target. A near perfect hit.

His next shot is almost identical, though the wind as his rod nears the target pushes it slightly off center. His shoulders sag, a weight pressing down on him, pressing in on his lungs. As long as he doesn’t miss the center ring, he’s got the event in the bag.

He doesn’t miss. Iskall offers a coy smile beneath his beard, though inside he’s freaking out. He’s currently winning a championship event. He stays calm, but in his mind he’s already celebrating. Doing his own little dance in the sand at his feet.

Until a barb whizzes down the field, burying into the center ring. He opens his eye, staring at Avon beside him. Her eyes are trained on the target, like a predator stalking it’s prey. Her wings are slightly ajar, counterbalancing her weight from throwing the poison barb forward. She straightens, another projectile appearing in her fingers. He can see purple toxin dribbling from the tip of the barb. The gaze never falters, determination locking her in. She twists around, launching the barb like an arrow in the wind. It digs into the hay-filled target, the larger base of the barb brushing against her first target.

“No...way.” Iskall whispers. The wind picks up. Surely that will mess her up, right? He was Iskall, deadeye of doom. Nothing can stop him. The last barb flies in slow motion, her throw slightly curved against the wind. Letting the breeze push it to center.

The tip of the barb splits through the first shot. A perfect bullseye, not once but twice. Iskall has no ability to be bummed that he only got silver- that was mega awesome. Avon seems calm, collected even as she receives her medal, albeit tired. Exhausted physically, but never betraying what she’s thinking or feeling.

Mumbo and Iskall are still talking about the sight when Grian and a few other hermits join them in the stands. “So, how’d it go?” Grian sings, trying to be as bouncy as usual despite sleep still holding his eyes. He notices the silver medal hanging off Iskall’s neck. “What?! How’d you only get second? You’re like...the best shot i’ve ever seen, Iskall.”

“Those three wanderers, bro. I’ve never seen a least conspicuous group ever...but wow.” If it wasn’t for their lack of members, they’d give the hermits a run for their money. At least they have that going for them. “So G-man, you ready to prove your true talent?”

“Flying? You bet.” Grian flicks his arms out, and his angelic blue and white wings unfurl from nowhere, appearing like clouds in the sky. “That pageant was just a warmup.”

He hops onto the railing of the seats, before taking off into the air. Flying among other winged wizards, the hermits can already see his mastery of the sky. On the ground, Etho is warming his muscles as obstacles rise above the stadium. Pillars and rings teeter into the sky, caves and ravines digging in the ground, the dual events taking place at the same time. Neither Etho or Grian were the only nonguild wizards- Ecto is back, snacking on a cactus as she watches the course construct before her. In the air, the basilisk mage, Ty, is testing his wings against his short, lanky body.

“I don’t know who to watch!” Mumbo whispers, glancing from one course to the next. A firework crackles in the air, and in both the sky and the sand wizards take off. Across the obstacle course.

“You watch Grian, I’ll watch Etho.” Iskall chuckles, observing as the shadow ninja disappears through a shadow, reappearing in the lead. He bounces off a wall, dropping onto a raised bar and flipping across a pit of acid. Who even made that pit? Seems dangerous. But danger means nothing for Etho, and his incredible agility across the course.

Mumbo is biting his lip, watching as Grian brushes against a pillar of stone in the sky. Grian’s flying is risky, even in the best of times. The amount of heart attacks Grian gives his best friend on a normal day is spectacular. Today is even worse. He loses a year of his life watching the sky angel plummet from the sky, wings snapping open just in time to fly through a ring, pulling into the lead. Mumbo swears he can see a blue feather sheared off Grian’s wing as his friend squeezes between two rocks.

“Oh no, not again!” Iskall’s groan turns Mumbo’s attention to the ground. Ecto and Etho are both at the finish line, huffing and puffing as they clasp hands and congratulate one another. Mischievous eyes glimmer and grin, sharing quips and laughing. The two look at the other contestants, but based on Iskall’s outburst Mumbo knows who won. Again.

“Grian’s winning though!” The two look up, a shadow passing over their seats in the crowd. He’s got a heavy lead, while Ty and a gryphon wizard battle for second. Ty takes the lead, his scaly wings fluttering in the wind and ducking low to go under a blockade. The guild mage flies over, swinging his arm. Magic shoots out, aimed directly at Grian.

“Is that allowed?” Mumbo gasps, standing up. Grian’s almost at the finish line. He can’t let himself get hit by whatever spell the mage just cast.

“Go Grian!” Iskall shouts. “Watch out!”

Grian looks back, eyes widening as the golden magic hurdles his way. He’s so close...he’s not going to lose this. Grian curls his wings, tightening them against his body. He plummets from the sky. Wind whistles across his ears, feathers fluttering and the ground quickly rising up to meet him. But so is the finish line. A blast at his back pushes him into terminal velocity, the guild wizard’s magic blossoming into an explosive barrier. He needs to open his wings, to slow down. But he’ll become a target. So what does he do?

He closes his eyes. And crashes into the ground. Bouncing off the grass and hurtling over the finish line, Grian wins first place. Blood and bruises quickly appear on his skin and face, but he’s conscious and sitting upright as the coliseum erupts into cheers. Iskall and Mumbo only sigh. For the healer of the guild, he gets himself hurt more often than anyone.

Once on the sidelines, Etho helps Mumbo wrap bandages around Grian’s wounds. Mumbo shakes his head, prodding a bruise. “That was totally an illegal move, that explosion.”

“The guilds are pissed that we’re winning.” Etho hums. He tries to manipulate a shadow to cover him against the sun, but frowns when his magic refuses to appear. “You should’ve heard the wizards in the agility course. They think we’re cheating. They don’t get how a bunch of misfits are winning in almost every event.”

“It’s just cause we’re that much mega better.” Iskall chuckles. “They don’t have the awesome teamwork and diverse wizards like us.” He leans back, watching Joe standing before a sphinx. It’s the riddle event. “Maybe if they stopped worrying about money and status they’d do better.”

Grian hisses in pain, only for Etho to hush him. From the field, the sphinx stalks Joe. “I am alive, but without breath. I am as cold as life in death. I’m never thirsty, though I always drink.” The feminine voice purrs from the sandy skin of the sphinx’s human face. Feline haunches roll and rock under feathered wings and fur, but Joe only looks to the sky, his glasses hiding the emotions in his eyes as he thinks. “What am I?”

The hermits hold their breath, watching Joe in the lion’s den. His lips curl up, and his clasps his hands behind his back. “You’re a fish.”

The sphinx pauses, then dips her head. “Well done, poet. How about this? What can you break, even if you never pick it up or touch it?”

Joe snickers. “Easy, a heart.”

“How very poetic, Joe of the Hills.” The creature pauses directly in front of him. “But not what I was looking for.” Teeth snarl and claws glisten, and the embroidered fabric of Joe’s cape is flung across the field, glasses clattering to the side. The hermits collectively wince, even Grian feeling the ache in his bones that Joe will feel come tomorrow. “The next contestant. Ian.”

The engineer mage bounces to the mark, completely unconcerned by the vicious lion-bodied creature before him. He wipes his brow, leaving a trail of black oil across his forehead. “I’m ready for whatever you got, miss sphinx!”

“Hmm, alright then.” She chuckles, sitting on her haunches. A lion’s tail, with feathered tips, flicks like a clock against the grass. “What can bring back the dead; make you cry, make you laugh, make you young; is born in an instant, yet lasts a lifetime?”

“Memories!” Ian quips, grinning proudly. “Let’s see if you got any better.”

The sphinx growls. “Alright, engineer.” She offers another riddle. And another answer. Iskall leans forward, biting his lip. The current leader has only two correct answers- Joe and another wizard were the only ones clever enough to come up with correct answers with enough time. One final question. And one final answer. The sphinx stands up after Ian responds, shoulders rolling. “Congratulations, Ian of the Crafted. You have won my challenge.”

“At least it wasn’t a guild that won. I don’t think we’ve heard the end of it.” Mumbo whispers, sitting back. Grian winces, pulling his arm against the sling it’s in, to which Etho swats him to keep it still.

“Stress is next!” Iskall grins, exciting to see his friend perform. Stress chose this event herself, and no one dared question her claim. And as she stands among the other wizards, she’s easily the most out of place. Surrounded by large men and mages of strength and muscle, many hardly wearing much more than whatever their guild deems necessary and often glistening in oil, Stress crosses her legs and pats the warm material of her ice blue dress. She casts a quick spell, and her short brown hair caresses pale cheeks as an icy wind cools her down. Iskall leans back, shaking his head. “She’s going to freaking crush this.”

And crush it she does. No one, not even the audience is prepared to watch the short, dainty ice wizard lift more weight than any oiled, burly man around her. Her magic, and her own strength, easily lifts the shelled form of a tarasque, a hydra, and a baku in one wall of ice. Not just lift the still living creatures, but doing so with enough care that each beast is left unharmed and even cradled by the ice rink beneath their feet. As soon as the creatures are back on their feet, Stress is immediately cooing- ignoring her gold medal in lieu of praising the hydra’s many heads for all their work helping her win.

Truly a strange mage for the strength event.

__________________________

“Are you sure they’re not here just to compete? You really think they’re here to...stop him?” A black cloaked figure whispers, eyes following the ice wizard as she skips to her friends. From the nosebleed section, the brothers can hardly see each individual person. But the hermits are easy enough to pick out. They stand out, unlike the other guilds. Each person with a unique outfit, unique features.

“If I know my brother, he can never take anything sitting down.” Red fabric moves as the white haired wizard talks, sharp eyes never leaving their target. A mask like that can be seen from a mile away. “And his friends aren’t much better.”

“They’re incredible!” The third figure, clad in a white cloak to hide his mop of rainbow hair, stands to get a better look. His friend grabs him by the arm and pulls his rear back to his seat. “These people are the true heroes we nee-”

“Can’t you be quiet for a minute, loudmouth?” His brother seethes, glancing at their contact. They’ve only just met him today, despite being in contact for much longer.

“I don’t know if I’d call them ‘heroes’, but they’re all Lairyon has.” The contact pulls his cloak’s mask up over his nose, tugging on the long white hairs stuck in between.

“A ragtag team of criminals, rejects, and outcasts is the only hope for Lairyon. Great.” The black cloaked brother huffs, setting his head on a propped up hand.

“How much different is that from us- or, I mean, the crown and his advisor?” The white robe lowers his voice after his brother slaps his arm, sharp gaze daring for him to try that again. “Lairyon needs light to return, and I think these hermits are exactly what we need.”

“I hope you’re right, your majesty.” The contact tugs on his long white ponytail. “They’ll need more help if they expect to survive. Which is why I came to you.”

“Well, let’s get started?” The three stand up, disappearing amongst the crowd. There’s a few people they’ve seen on the field who can help the hermits. Help from afar- as Ex always does.

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

LoL Chapter 15- Enemies or Allies

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Back in the capitol, Milliara, the hermits discover they aren’t the only ones who have entered the Chimaera’s Championship as a non-guild team. New faces with similar ideas, or new enemies to take on?

Ecto belongs to @cooler-cactus-block

Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland

___________________________________________________

“Did you really register us as team STAR?” Grian mumbles, glaring over at Doc. They never should trust a puppet mage. “We’re the hermits, not some silly dodgeball team.”

“They know we’re a guild as the hermits. A guild that isn’t legal. At least now they won’t be suspecting us.” Doc takes the scroll, passing it off to TFC. Milliara was busy, busier than he’s ever seen it. The championship brought people from all over Lairyon, here to see the best mages compete for glory, gold, and good times. “Come on, now that we’re checked in we can go to the accommodations.”

“I was wondering why our packs were so light.” Mumbo hums. “I don’t have to carry my own bed and home.”

“Thank the gods.” Tango breathes. He likes camping out with the other hermits, but having to carry the tents and bedrolls long distances is a pain. He hurries to catch up with Impulse and BDubs, chittering about what events they plan on doing. It feels weird, walking down the streets of Milliara after last time they were here. Welcomed back as a team, after Magistrate Dolios threw them out and told them to disband as a guild. Tango winces, remembering the cape in Dolios’s dark office. He’s not losing another guild, not like Impulse, Zedaph, and he has before.

They round the corner, walking over a raised bridge that rises above a swamp canal, spotting the inn they were given. It’s made of old, weathered wood, almost no windows on the bottom floor. One window on the top floor is broken. The building looks to be leaning, only propped up by the chimney at this point. TFC shrugs. Better a roof over his head than sleeping in a tent. He marches towards the door, invoking the others to join him.

“Here we ar-” TFC is cut off as soon as he opens the door, heat blasting his face and hot magma illuminating the tavern of the inn. Water splashes the group, followed by a shout.

“Mitch! You’re gonna burn the whole town down!” A kipling yells, sending a wave over the lava and forcing it to cool.

“Jerome said the wood was magic tempered.” Mitch shrugs, looking over at the large creature at the bar. Someone the hermits can only assume is Jerome, who shrugs and returns to his drink. “So long as it didn’t burn you, what’s the harm?”

“You did almost burn these people.” The kipling waves behind him, pointing at the hermits. The group can only stand in shock and a bit of fright. It...wasn’t exactly the nicest inn in Milliara. Far from that, in fact. The tavern was small, dark, with the only light coming from a dying fireplace. Barstools were rickety, the one holding up the fuzzy beast hardly taking his massive size. Chairs were held together with glue, mismatched around each different table. A bartender cleans varying mugs, no set complete. Only six other people are in the tavern, including Mitch, Jerome, and the kipling.

“Uhhh, hello?” Wels’s response is more of a question than a statement. “Are...are you competitors for the Chimaera’s Championship as well?”

“We were ssssstarting to think we were the only team that wasssss boarded up in the lossssserssss cabin.” Joe leaps back, alarmed as a talking snake slithers past him. The snake climbs up the cooled lava, curling up next to the fireplace. To the hermits’ surprise, the snake becomes a man, stretched out in front of the warmth.

“Is that what this place is?” Doc grumbles, looking around. He’s stolen from beggers richer than this.

Next to Jerome, one of the mages stands. A brown mop of hair frames a boisterous face, childish eyes hidden behind tinted glasses. “Don’t listen to my friends. They’re just a little hyper. I’m Sky, these idiots behind me are Quentin,”

“Hey!” Quentin retorts to the idiot label, but Sky isn’t listening.

“The hothead is Mitch, and his friend Jerome.” Sky points out the ginger haired flame mage, who’s doing his best to clean up the cooled magma. Lucky for him, he’s got the help of Jerome, who’s own earth magic handles the rock easily. “Ty is the snake.”

“I’m a basilisk, dude.” Ty sits up, eyes sharpening into a challenge for the gloved leader.

“Still a snake, in a way. Whatever, there’s also Jason-” He points out the last person, reclined in a chair with his feet on the table. He winks and salutes hello, not getting up from his perch. “And...uh, where’s Ssundee?”

“Last I saw him he was out in our room, tinkering with stuff.” Quentin nods to the stairs.

Cleo furrows her eyebrows. “The window was broken open in one of the rooms above.”

“Ah, so he’s out shopping.” Quentin sighs, stepping over Mitch and Jerome as they clean up and flopping down in a chair.

The hermits squeeze in, retrieving keys from the innkeeper. Groups pair up to find bedspace, their meager supplies tossed into their rooms before returning to the tavern floor. A few remain upstairs, taking the time to rest.

Once he’s downstairs and settled, BDubs frowns, looking at his drink as he’s hit with the aftertaste. He knows a thing or two about ale, and this tastes like swill. “They really put us up in, like, the worst place possible.”

“I think they did that to every team. You know, we aren’t quite as important to be a guild, to get the good accommodations.” Quentin mutters, pouring out his drink and watching it foam on the floor. Disgusting. “But you guys...you’re big. How’re you not a guild already?”

“Let’s just say the magistrate doesn’t really like us.” Grian sighs, flopping across his chair in an awkward position. Surely not the way a chair was designed to be sat in.

“Screw that guy.” Everyone looks up, quite surprised to hear Ty hiss out his words. To say such a negative thing about Magistrate Dolios, in the open. What if an arcane guard walked by? “He thinks he’s so high and mighty, so perfect. It’s annoying.”

“Things...have changed since that man came to power.” Jerome adds.

“That’s right, your kind lives much longer than most species.” Xisuma leans forward.

“Mhhmm,” he scratches at the crown of his head, fur petting across fur. “Guilds aren’t what they used to be. Guilds used to be just groups of friends, or maybe organizations with likeminded interests. Anything could be a guild, anyone could be a guildmember. Now...now it’s a status symbol for the wealthy and powerful.”

Xisuma glances around, seeing other hermits nodding. He itches to tell their fellow competitors their plan, but Doc’s red robotic eye keeps him silent. He knows that what they’re about to do is treason. No one else needs to know about it. They could rat them out, and then Dolios will have every reason to arrest them.

“I’m just glad we get to compete in the games!” Scar cheers, earning a chorus of agreement and a few toasts. “What do you think changed the Council’s mind to let teams compete?”

“I...I’ve been wondering that as well.” Doc growls. Why all of a sudden now? The games have been closed to guilds only for years, and now the Council is letting anyone join in? It seems unusual. But it doesn’t matter- this is the perfect coverup. He looks around, pushing the thoughts out of his head. He needs to focus on planning the heist. It needs to go off without a hitch. They have no room for error. “I thought I saw another nonguild team joined? Have they been boarded up here as well?”

Sky shrugs, tapping his gloved fingers against the pewter cup. “We haven’t seen anyone but you guys.”

“Do you think they flaked out?” Etho appears suddenly, reclining in a chair as he appears from the shadows around it. The other group, who have called themselves Team Crafted, all leap in surprise by his arrival. The hermits have grown used to his shenanigans by now. “Or maybe the guilds intimidated them into quitting.”

The talking continues, but Doc has retreated into his own conversation. As welcoming as it is to meet another group of mages who seem just as frustrated as them about the Council and their restrictions. But can they be trusted? He’s learned a thing or two about trust, his time spent as a criminal and a rebel. They may all be laughing and sharing this horrible beer now, but come tomorrow, come the tournament, and they will do anything to win. He doesn’t know if they’re to be trusted as allies, so he’ll see them as enemies.

The door crashes open, jolting Doc out of his mind. Across the way, Jerome sighs, putting his head in his hands. “Ssundee, what have we told you about kicking doors?”

“I found new friends!” The person in the doorway skips in, black curls bouncing alongside a five-oclock shadow. Brown overalls are stained with oil, as are blue gloves. “Though it seems like you guys found even more.”

“And that’s Ssundee.” Sky states, finally able to reconcile with his whole team. “Ssundee, this is the Team STAR. They’re competing in the championship as well.”

“Oh, so you’re the last nonguild team that signed up!” Ssundee surges forward, eyes glimmering with excitement, curious to see everyone.

“Last? What about the third group?” Iskall tilts his head.

“Those are my new friends!” Ssundee waves to the open door, where three figures stand in the precipice between sunlight and the dark tavern. Iskall raises his eyebrows, watching as the shortest one joins Ssundee’s side. They already look like best friends, even though they’ve hardly known each other. The other two enter in, the tallest closing the door behind her quite abruptly.

“Three people? That’s not a very big team.” Grian questions, sitting up to get a good look at the trio. It’s an odd mix, three very different people and three very different attitudes.

“We’re the wanderers! I’m Red,” The short kipling motions to himself, smiling. “And my friends are Ecto and Avon.” Red motions to each one. Ecto offers a short wave, a coy smile appearing on her face from under a brown hood. The last one doesn’t respond, sticking to the corner. Grian’s eyes widen as he notices that the last has massive black wings. What kind of magic is that?

“So this is everyone who dares go against the guilds?” TFC looks at the eclectic bunch. He can’t help but laugh, shaking his head as the wanderers scrabble up the stairs and over one another. And he thought the hermits were a strange team. “They won’t know what’s coming for them.”

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writing-the-end · 4 years

Text

LoL Chapter 2- Departure

Master Post

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

The hermits are ready to leave the safety of their home island, ready to venture out into Lairyon and face whatever threat the magistrate contracted them for. All packed up, weapons sheathed, and tools stored, ready to travel on... sky turtles?

_____________________________________________

“Are you sure I’m ready to go on a guild mission?” Mumbo questions, slipping vials of redstone into his pockets and pulling on his black robe. Twilight still holds rule over the Ashioll sea, mystical fog hiding the numerous islands within. Magic that hides the hermits and their illegal guild, as well as other dangers that live on the islands and in the water that surrounds them.

“We’ve been training for this day for like, ever and ever. We’ve all seen what you’ve got on the training grounds. You’re ready Mumbo.” Grian shoulders his pack and pulls his hair free from his cloak. Mumbo has been packing since they left the guild hall, but his roommate just finished shoving his underwear into his backpack. Mumbo isn’t sure why he continues to live with Grian- he may have been the only person he knew when he joined the guild, but that was a year or so ago. More than enough time to build his own place.

Grian nods towards the open archway of his home. Most of his place is open windows, wide enough for him to easily fly through white pillars holding up the glass dome. Protecting Mumbo’s stock of redstone, inventions, and his bed on the lower floors. The two wander down the quartz stairs, feet bouncing against the strengthened cloud that the tower sits upon. It took Grian and Scar days to find the right consistency of cloud that could hold up a building and people. Grian couldn’t help but want to lay down and bask in the cool droplets, playing in it like snow.

But Mumbo keeps him on the right track, continuing down the stairs and across the bridge to the main island. Above them, they can hear BDubs shout from the top of his jungle tree, grabbing hold of a vine and sliding down. His landing isn’t that graceful, but his rebound is almost immediate. He shouts, waving to Keralis and sprinting down the dirt path.

Mumbo and Grian pass by Joe’s library, lanterns blown out and books missing from their shelves. Including a few from a locked cabinet- his most important and dangerous books. In the distance, they can also see TFC’s gem cave has also gone dark, the crystals without the glimmer of light refracting through them, and the deck of Cleo’s shipwreck is devoid of ghosts and zombies. Her crew has been sent back to slumber while she’s gone. Grian jumps out of the way as Zedaph, Tango, and Impulse come rolling out of the barn. Tussling with one another, laughing and trying to beat the others to the guild hall. False is still at her forge, sweeping her hand and finishing the touches of another weapon.

The guild hall is awash with talk, excitement, and nerves. They’ve never had a whole guild contract- it’s always been less than five, with one instance of about ten hermits to a single job. That was their highest paying job- until today. Normally, they have to curate their teams to the task at hand. The girls go into situations that need strength, team ZIT when they need a carrot and a stick. Transport missions often go with Etho, Scar, and Cub, and infiltration works best with Doc and Ren.

False walks up the steps, plucking a pastry from the pile of food generously made by Stress. Her belt is filled with knives, and her backpack is swinging with various blades, all handcrafted. She tosses a saber to Cleo, who catches it with ease from midair. TFC clears his throat, looking at the collection of wizards before him. “Is that everyone? Do we have a headcount?”

“We’re all here.” Xisuma states, pulling his mask over his face as the sun starts to rise. He may not be the guildmaster anymore, but he still takes a headcount every time they’re at a meeting. It’s just his instinct to.

“Good, great. So, Gildara is a small town in the northern plain of Lairyon, which means it’ll be a few days' journey. Unfortunately, we’re too large a group to use Cub’s magic, and he’s never even heard of Gildara, much less been there. So that’s a wash.” TFC shrugs, and the hermits near Cub ease his apologies away. “We need to stay together, and be alert on our way there. We’re a large group traveling, people may ask questions. Does everyone remember our alibi?”

Everyone nods their heads. Almost everyone. Mumbo leans over to Iskall, biting his lip. “Dude, I forgot it!”

“That’s right- you’ve never been on a mission before.” Iskall leans back, listening to TFC as he continues down his list of preparations. “We aren’t a guild, we’re a circus troupe. Our magic isn’t regulated that way, and all you have to do is some silly tricks with your magic and they’ll just keep on going.”

“But I can hardly get my magic to appear!” Mumbo’s eyes widen.

“Then you’re just a clown.” Iskall grins, and leans away from Mumbo.

“I think that’s everything I have listed here. Does anyone have any questions?” TFC rolls up the paper, slipping it into his messenger bag. Tucking it between bags of crystals- all charged with moonlight and ready for anything they’ll face.

“Did the contract say anything about what we’ll be facing?” Joe questions, tapping his quill on his chin.

TFC shakes his head, the braid in his beard rustling against his tunic. “No, it just said a ‘discrepancy’ has been occurring in Gildara. I can only assume the magistrate needs us to do more than just go at it with our weapons, but rather understand what’s happening.”

“Why else would he offer such a large sum of money?” Grian points out. He knows he grew up poor, one orphan of many in a village that was ravaged by an uncontrolled magical fire. But even a noblewoman like Stress seemed alarmed by the price the contract brought.

“It still seems too good to be true.” Doc whispers, but he’s not going to back out. He’s never one to shy away from a fight, a challenge. And what better than being a criminal that is getting paid by the very magistrate he despises? It’s too sweet a treat to deny himself.

Zedaph sits up, eyes blinking back to himself. “The sky turtles have arrived! Let’s not waste another minute!”

He’s gone before anyone else, even the rest of his team, can process what he said. Running over the hillside to the sandy beach below the hill. Grian is up next, wings appearing and his tongue protruding from his lips. “Last one to the mainland has to pitch the tents!”

That gets everyone to their feet. Tango casts his magic circle, red wings like a dragon’s appearing and sending him into the air after the angel. Disappearing into the thick fog of the Ashioll sea. And for the rest of the guild, those without the ability to fly, they have the sky turtles. Massive beasts of islands far off Lairyon’s shores. Flippers that double as wings, feathers flapping in the air as easily as they move through the water. Gentle giants, as old as the islands that they move between. Older than wizardkind. And they love Zedaph, his easy voice and soothing magic.

The hermits board the flying turtles, three to a creature, holding onto the cloud colored carapace as the lumbering beast eases from sand to sky. Taking off after Grian and Tango. Departing to a new adventure.

#hermitcraft #LoL #light of lairyon #wizard hermits #wizard au #hermitblr #grianmc #wizard grian #mumbo jumbo #wizard mumbo #iskall85 #wizard iskall #tinfoilchef #wizard tfc #xisumavoid #wizard xisuma #zedaph #wizard zedaph #hermitcraft au

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