It’s a grand day for an adventure! Mostly. The weather’s cleared up, but the sky isn’t without clouds, however not of the rain-bearing sort. They’d set out early after breakfast as they’d planned. Aloysius provided the transportation, and hopefully Cal didn’t have a problem with riding the creature, one of two, that had been saddled and loaded with whatever sort of things Aloysius felt necessary for a trip out into the wilderness.
At least Aloysius himself knows how to dress for travel than a casual day out and about in Vesper. He wears a simple shirt that at one point might have been white or perhaps was always that shade of ivory, dark brown pants tucked into boots just short of his knees, and a worn leather duster that’s obviously seen its share of adventuring. Topping it off, he wears an even more beat-up looking cowboy hat of sorts.
He’s in good spirits, but then when is he ever not? And given that Cal’s the next best thing to an expert on these Eastern redbud trees, Aloysius is more than happy to let his friend lead.
Out of uniform, Cal is now in black pants, a black shirt, a black vest, and a black tie. There is some illustrati protective runework sewn into all of this in…you guessed it…black thread.
Whether the motif is because Cal lacks imagination when it comes to fashion or because he is loathe to reveal to any casual onlooker exactly the extent of his protections is anyone’s guess. Dirt and stains and blood don’t show up so bad on black either. It could be a general part of his whole motif where he fades into the background, forgotten until that moment he isn’t, unassuming and easy to overlook.
Whatever it is, there he is, riding this beast and consulting a map, controlling it with his knees. “Shouldn’t be long now,” he says thoughtfully. “I marked the last location of them anyway. And,” he waves a hand around. “I’m starting to see a lot of the associated flora you’d find in the vicinity of these trees.”
Aloysius has already needled Cal about his choice of clothing more than a few times since they’d set out. “You look like you’re going to a dinner party!” he’d laughed. Black seemed a good thing to wear at night if you meant to be sneaky, but out here the an stuck out like a sore thumb…or a hole in the landscape. Even though these points have been made, Aloysius otherwise didn’t seem terribly worried that they’d come across trouble, his teasing good-natured.
“Oh, good, good, good!” he chirps, standing up in the stirrups of his saddle as Cal mentions they can’t be very far from their destination. Aloysius lifts a hand to his forehead as he looks about as though ‘shouldn’t be long now’ translated to ‘just ahead’.
“Are they also influenced by the ley lines?” he asks, settling back down and now giving all the plantlife they come upon extra attention.
“Everything around here is,” Cal says, grimly. “Last time I was out this way there were a whole lot of…”
And that’s when a huge, massive branch sweeps him right off his mount. He goes flying, hits a tree. Blue-white energy sparks and flares along his clothes, he’s probably not completely down for the count. Indeed, he manages to grunt the word, “Ents,” as he stands up in a daze. Just because his stuff activated doesn’t mean that doesn’t hurt.
Meanwhile, three of the trees seem to be moving around Al in a big stompy circle, their big tree-faces drawn down in expressions of fury. Good news though! One of them is the tree they’re looking for. So you know. If they can avoid getting eaten by that, the bark of that thing is probably a bit more potent than a normal one sitting out here only a fortnight before midsummer.
Eyes wide, Aloysius stares at the empty saddle his friend had only a moment ago been sitting in. He tries to make a grab for the reins but finds himself in need of having to keep his own mount under control as the creature shifts and snorts in a panic.
“Whoa, whoa, easy, easy…!” he blathers, trying to calm the beast, even as his attention has completely shifted towards the moving trees that have moved to surround him. “You know Cal, one might have thought to make mention about the trees being able to walk.”
He puts on a smile that perhaps amazingly enough isn’t at all forced, waving a hand even as he clutches the pommel of his saddle with the other. “Hallo there, friends! Um. Do they speak, Cal?”
“I’d hoped…they’d be gone after last time,” Cal says. “They didn’t…”
One of them wraps his massive branch-arm around Cal’s neck and draws him upward. He chokes, legs kicking just a little bit. He can be a truly formidable mage when he hasn’t just been knocked off a saddle by several thousand pounds of force, but at the moment he’s kind of a mess, and the mess is not helpful. This is up to Al.
“We speak,” says the Oak, sounding oddly feminine for her massive size. “And this one you travel with is a criminal among my kind. He killed several of us…and harvested our bodies for parts.”
That sounds like Cal trying to explain why, buuuut now he can’t really breathe. Probably it was a damn good reason. What Cal isn’t is bloodthirsty, but he does grow absolutely ruthless when it’s time to protect innocent people. If he killed ents, its because they threatened people who couldn’t fight back. If he harvested them for reagents…
Well. That does sound like Cal. Waste not, want not.
Aloysius jerks around with a gasp as Cal’s snatched up in the branches of one of the Ents. “O-oh, you do..!” He seems a bit surprised to be responded to, twisting back around to stare up at the Oak. Leaning forward in his saddle, he seems to be having a hard time trying to process that these tree people are claiming Cal to be a criminal. He vaults down from his seat, giving the nervous creature a reassuring pat.
“Now, now- um. I would very much like that if you could refrain from throttling my friend, please,” he says, cringing a bit at Cal’s choking. Aloysius slips off his hat. “I’m sure there’s some misunderstanding here. My friend is no criminal. In fact, it’s his job to hunt them down! -I think. Is that right, Cal? Oh, right, um.” He drums his fingers along the brim of his hat. Think faster.
“-in any case, perhaps we should hear his side of things? It makes it a bit difficult when you’ve got your…branches around his neck like that.”
The Eastern Redbud that is trying to choke the life out of Cal drops the Illustrati. But this does not really represent an improvement. He is out cold, though not dead. Thing is, the tree puts a massive tree foot on his head. “I do not need to hear his side of things,” rumbles a masculine voice. A low bass from the thing with the pink flower hair. “I need to hear his brain squishing out of his ears like a grape.”
This is maybe a kind of a. Kangaroo court situation.
At least he’s not being throttled anymore?
Aloysius scrambles over to him, stumbling and practically throwing himself at the tree’s leg and the unconscious justicar. “Halt! Stop! No brain squishing!” he shouts, latching onto the Redbud’s leg. “Surely we can settle this another way! Since it seems like my friend’s a bit indisposed to speak his case.” There may be just the tiniest glare at the big tree.
He’s quite adamant about sticking to the tree, as though it’d keep it from stomping all over Cal’s head. The very scene might look ridiculous, but Aloysius doesn’t seem too proud to get himself dirty or hug a tree trunk. “Is there anything that can be done to make amends? -short of turning my friend into compost?”
“Perhaps,” the Oak says, waving a branch at the hot headed floral. “‘Death’ is not so much a matter of chopping us to kindling. The magic which allows us to waken was stripped out of our bodies.”
She waves to a group of felled trees not far from their location. “The sigils that did this work are too small for us to remove. If you remove them, the damage will be undone, and we will let your Cal-thing go. The harvesting was a small enough detail, it is nothing they can’t recover.”
“He robbed and humiliated them!” yells the Eastern Redbud.
The Oak ignores him. She senses an opportunity. Someone with small enough hands to get the job done. For one thing.
Loosening his hold on the tree, Aloysius falls and lands on his backside with a soft ‘oof!’ He dusts himself off as he looks over where the Oak has gestured, pulling himself to his feet and lastly grabbing his hat from the ground.
“Remove…sigils? That sounds easy enough,” he says carefully, thumping his hat against his side before setting it over his head again. “Well, I’ll go and have a look.”
He pats the mounts again, then wags a finger at the trees, at the Eastern Redbud in specific. “No doing anything to Cal behind my back,” he warns, putting his sternest face on at that before he turns and picks his way towards the group of fallen trees.
Sure enough, if Al looks he’ll see that there are a series of Arcane marks burnt right into the sides of the five or so trees that they’ve pointed out as being their kind. They aren’t neat and precise; they look like they were done fast and furious with searing magical bolts. In some cases bark has been removed from around the sigils, in others it’s hard to see what manner of thing Cal might have taken. Leaves, maybe, or berries or branches. Nothing too major, which is perhaps why the patient Oak isn’t all that concerned.
The Eastern Redbud grunts at Al, but that big barked foot doesn’t come down on the Illustrati’s head. It’s probably as good as Al’s going to get, but then they aren’t attacking or anything either.
Also a good sign.
Aloysius points to his eyes, then to the Redbud and back before spinning about to make the short trek to the fallen trees.
Dealing with talking, moving trees is definitely new for him. At least Aloysius takes it in stride. It’s too bad Cal’s been knocked out, because it probably would have been easier to understand what was going on with these sigil things. Aloysius isn’t exactly a practitioner of the magical arts, but he’s read a lot. Broken sigils should be enough to break whatever magic they were meant to enforce.
“Hmmm…” He runs a hand over the bark near the seared lines, a finger following the almost haphazardly done symbols. “Can’t be too deeply engraved…” he say to himself as he slips out a knife from his belt and applies it to the bark beneath one of the closest char marks to attempt to pry it off.
It takes a little doing, but it’s not an impossible feat by a long stretch.
And in this case he’s correct. It’s a binding spell; breaking it breaks the binding.
Fun fact. Ents are not graceful wakers. They’re more like that one guy a lot of people know, the one who always seems to wake up swinging if you dare to touch him before 9 AM. The closest tree was a pine tree, and it flails upright in a flurry of limbs and motion, its face sort of reappearing in the wood even as it does.
It lets out this massive groaning sound that sends needles showering everywhere.
All this amounts to Al needing to think fast if he doesn’t want to get accidentally smacked sideways the way that Cal was purposefully smacked earlier.
It’s a general rule of thumb to Always Be Prepared when adventuring. That especially goes for when dealing with the unknown and arcane, although where most would approach such situations with trepidation, Aloysius tends to go all in, no holds, figurative guns blazing. …this is also why he’s not allowed to gamble. Ever.
“Ha-ha!” He grins broadly as the broken off bark mars the sigil. That grin is frozen on his face when he sees the blur of movement out of his peripheral. It’s by pure reflex that he ducks in time to avoid getting swiped off his feet, his hat the only casualty as it lands in front of him. As the tree continues to shift, Aloysius grabs his hat and throws himself backwards to avoid the flailing tree limbs. He lands on his back, huffing at the shower of pine needles before rolling to the side so he won’t get crushed by the next wild movement.
“Hey! Take it easy there!” he shouts, stumbling to his feet as he dusts himself off. One down…just a few more to go? Egads, are they all going to be like this?
“Well done,” says the Oak placidly, as if Al wasn’t just compelled to dance to get the Hell out of the way of her freshly restored companion. Who is rubbing his eyes and blinking at the rolling, leaping adventurer before him. At least the other four seem to be younger, smaller tree varieties…though this isn’t exactly saying much, as none of them look that fun to be hit with. With that being said, the rest wake up a little slower, which means Al is not compelled to shake, rattle, and roll his way out of there. And when all five of them are standing, the Oak says, “You may take your friend, and we will be on our way. I shall keep these hot-headed young ones from attacking any more towns. I plan to take them deep into the mountains where few humans ever go.”
Aloysius twirls his knife and slips it back into it sheath once the job is done, fanning himself with his hat as he makes way back to the stand of Ents that have surrounded his friend.
“Great! Thank you for not crushing him and sparing our lives.” He nods, looking towards the others that ring them, smirking a bit. “And that sounds like an excellent idea. Less trouble all around. Sorry for the misunderstandings!”
Setting his hat back in place, Aloysius steps over and drops beside the justicar. “Cal? Hey, Cal!” he says, giving the man a bit of a shake and a few pats on the cheek. And if that doesn’t work he’ll just splash his face with some of the water from a canteen.
The ground shakes and rumbles as the trees stomp off in a line.
Meanwhile, it takes the water, which is probably just as well. Who knows what Cal might have done had the damned ents still been around.
Cal splutters a little bit, then opens one eye. Dryly he says, “Let me guess. We’re dead, and we’ve just found out you’ve been my soul mate all along.”
He already knows this isn’t the case, from the grimace that he’s wearing. His voice is rough and the bruises around his throat probably aren’t the only one. “How’d you get rid of them?” he asks, looking left and right. One eyebrow arches, vaguely impressed…that was an awful lot of ents to deal with, after all, and yet here they are, both miraculously still alive.
Looking greatly relieved that Cal’s woken up, Aloyius sits back, gulping a bit of whatever water remains before grinning and offering the rest to the justicar.
“Well, you could have been. Dead, that is. That one Ent was certainly intent on stomping your head in,” he says, shaking his own head. “I didn’t get rid of them, I just offered to help. Undid those nasty sigils burned into their inert buddies and they went on their merry way.”
Cal rubs a hand over his face. “Last time they were stomping through the homes in a settlement. I didn’t have much choice but to take care of them. I don’t know how you got this group to listen to reason. The ones I marked sure weren’t in the mood for it at the time.”
He plucks an Eastern Redbud flower out of his hair, grunts, and says, “With any luck we can still find one of these damn things that isn’t walking and talking.
He flicks the buds off to the side and pushes himself slowly to his feet. “I’m not complaining,” he adds. “We’re certainly not equipped to take them ourselves. I had a whole group of mercenaries behind my back last time.”
“…that would have been nice to know if you hadn’t been knocked out,” the other sighs. “I didn’t think you would have done something like that without good reason. Maybe that’s why that oak tree was so considerate. She’s taking them all deeper into the mountains where they won’t be a threat to people.”
Aloysius rocks himself back to his feet, offering to help Cal up as the other rises. “Oh good! I thought all the ones you were talking about might have been sentient.”
“Gods, no,” Cal says, shaking his head emphatically. “I am not sure if those are d-bees or just got themselves awakened or what, but I wouldn’t advocate grinding up people anyway. Even troublesome tree-people. And my apologies. I really thought those five were the only ones. I guess they had a leader or some such. Family they were separated from? They didn’t exactly stop to answer my questions the first time.”
He struggles back onto his mount, brushing off his clothes. He rolls his neck around and says, “But perhaps we won’t hear from them again.”
He starts patting himself down. “Now where did that map get to.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’m not familiar with the family structure of trees,” Aloysius shrugs, smiling crookedly as he steps back over to his mount, patting the creature’s head. “All the big scary tree people are gone, see? You’re fine. Who’s a good girl? You are~~”
He glances over at Cal again and then looks around the clearing. “Did you lose it? Maybe it fell when you were being thrown around,” he suggests, already turning from his mount to have a closer look about the area, particularly where Cal had gone colliding with a tree.
And there it is, right in a pile of leaves. Cal, still dazed, missed that particular clue today.
“Ah, good,” he says, looking low-key embarrassed as he rubs the back of his very tender neck. He controls the mount with his knees and exhales.
Fortunately, a look at the map says they really aren’t so far from the spot he’d marked out in the first place, though of course by necessity it’s a general spot. The ley line in question is marked too though, and they’re not far from that. Once they hit that spot following it north or south within the circle indicated should get them to the appropriate tree.
Dusting off the leaves and dirt, Aloysius looks over the map as he wanders back towards Cal to hand it over. “Time to see if these trees haven’t wandered off from the place in question, I guess,” he chuckles, looking in the general direction their due to head. He trots back over to his mount, vaulting back into the saddle with ease.
“You all right to go on? How’s your head? How many fingers am I holding up?” …Aloysius you’re supposed to actually hold up fingers when you ask that.
“Forty-two,” Cal says dryly, in a way that indicates he knows the answer is mostly zero. “My pride’s more bruised than I am.”
A categorical lie, really, but the laconic wizard has always been known to be stoic. He simply takes the map and nudges the beast in the direction indicated, rather than back towards town. It is unlikely he’d give up on a venture he suggested without considerably more damage than he’s currently sporting. His stubborn resolve is a quiet, understated thing, but it’s there.
Whether he’ll seek some sort of care at home, or just crawl into bed until he doesn’t need it anymore, is anyone’s guess.
“Nothing’s broken,” he decides to add, realizing that might be a big concern. Well. That and a concussion. But it was the choking that took him out, not the knock to his person, which means he’s probably doing fine in that regard, too.
Aloysius takes a moment to look at his hands as though expecting he’s suddenly sprouted forty-two fingers before laughing and pulling his own mount around to follow Cal’s.
“That’s good to know,” he says. For all that he’s eager about continuing on, the last thing he would ever want to do is push forward at the expense of the health of those in his company, especially his friends. It’s quite the opposite when it comes to himself, unfortunately. He’s been known to carry on, especially if he knows they’re close to their goal, while dealing with a sprain or a few knocks upside his own head.
He might also be far too trusting of his friend’s own opinion of their state of being, figuring that they would (should?) know best how they fair.
Whatever the truth of the matter, Cal doesn’t suddenly double over, or flag, or collapse. He’s maddeningly quiet, but then he almost always is maddeningly quiet.
And at length, the gorgeous blooms of the redbud trees come into view. Cal checks the map and nods. “Any of these should do.” he says. The ley-line’s influence is obvious. The bark really is almost bluish, but the blooms are expressed in such vibrant color that the ent’s version is rendered into pale imitation. The scent of them is strong on the wind, an intense sweetness that stops short of being too strong for the senses to bear.
Sometimes the magic in the world produces ugly horrors at worst. Sometimes it just produces complications.
Sometimes what one gets is nothing short of breathtaking beauty.
There’s a pleased gasp from the intrepid adventurer as the blooming trees come into view. “Beautiful!” he shouts, and despite the near pungent aroma he inhales deeply, managing not to cough as he smiles as they draw nearer.
Aloysius hops down from his mount to jog over to the nearest of the trees, circling the base of one in full appreciation of its form and coloration. In experiment he gives the bark a knock, just in case one might decide to knock back.
“So we just need to strip some of the bark, was it? Aah, it’s almost too pretty to do so!” He fingers the bark, looking for any give.
“Here, wait, use this,” Cal says, offering a silver athame. He offers it hilt first, and says, “You want to scrape it down gently, from the top to the bottom, and catch it in this.”
He produces a small silver bowl, one that is inscribed with an intense series of rune work that marches all around the rim of it. “We’ll probably want to powder it right here, and it’s best to get that done with magically prepared tools. I brought plenty for getting that done, and enough containers to get you a good haul. So. You gather, I’ll grind and bottle. Just bring me your full bowls; I’ll have a spot prepared for you to set the bark and then I’ll take care of the rest.”
And if this means a bit of a pedantic side-lecture on the gathering of magical reagents, well. It’s Cal, full-stop.
Taking the athame, Aloysius gives it an appraising look. He nods at Cal, taking the bowl as well before turning to face the tree again. “Top to bottom,” he repeats, setting both items down so he can shrug out of his coat, that of which he tosses on the ground along with his hat. He rolls up his sleeves, picks up the dagger and bowl again, and then looks for a good spot to start.
“And here I thought we were just going to load up on bundles of bark and head home,” he grins, applying the blade to the bark just below eye level of him before digging it in enough to begin to carefully strip it from the tree. He tapers it off so that the piece will fit within the bowl, repeating the process.
It’s likely to be tedious work, but Aloysius is well accustomed to knowing that sometimes doing such things is what it takes to come out with something amazing. Cal’s lecturing at least won’t go completely ignored. Aloysius rather enjoys hearing about magical procedures, even if he might not necessarily understand it all.
“You could,” Cal says thoughtfully. “If we’d gotten it a bit earlier in the year.”
He sets down what looks like a sort of magically warded half box. He pulls out a mortar and pestle that are both as runically inscribed as the bowl is, and as Al brings the bark over he sets about grinding it. He has just plain glass bottles with wax stoppers for the product of this work, though the wax stoppers, too, are inscribed with Illustrati writings. All in all it all seems designed to protect the magical potency of the stuff they’re working with.
As for tediousness, well, Cal seems to find some sort of relaxation in it. And it’s a nice day for all that, with birds soaring and singing overhead. Not the worst day to be out in nature doing anything at all.
Just being within the vicinity of a ley line has been enough to give him tingles. It hasn’t quite made him numb to handling such items of magical properties, and now that Cal’s unloaded the things he needs, Aloysius can’t help but let his attention stray just a touch as he looks on with obvious curiosity. While Aloysius may not be able to properly make use of such energies or magic, he’s always had some sensitivity to it.
Handing off one bowl once he’s resumed work, he continues on gathering another bowl’s worth. At least he hasn’t yet decided to break out into song himself, but he seems to be enjoying the birdsong and the natural ambiance in general. Punctuated by the scraping of bark and the grind of mortar and pestle.
“This is much more preferable to gathering bark off of moving trees,” he comments, grinning over his shoulder.
Cal lets out a soft chuckle. “Indeed,” he says dryly. By now he’s withdrawn a funnel and has begun pouring the strange blue powder that has resulted from these efforts into the bottle. “Now, when you use it with the other reagents, I’d test it on…Oh I don’t know. A toy prototype or something, just to see how it does. And you might need to get some other experts involved. Getting the right magical aid is one thing. Making it work exactly as you wish is another, and that is straying far outside my area. I’ve never been much of a builder of things, and the elaborate scripts I’d have to build in to make such a thing work defy my thought process. You need someone who is elegant in the ways of doing those things in a way I am not, someone who can understand the gestalt of how it all comes together.”
Happy as he is to play a small role in the creation of something interesting, Cal knows his limits.
“Oh come now, you don’t give yourself enough credit! That you’ve even found something like this and a process to refine it is a major detail! The applications! -I wonder if they’d work on boots…” There’s that look in his eye…
Turning back to the tree, Aloysius slides the blade long the back of another strip of bark. “But yes, you’re quite right. It will take some experimenting. I know shipwrights, but I’ll have to consult to see what might be the best way to approach this endeavor. Initially I thought that all we had to do was get a ship and attach things to it but if we can integrate this…”
“I came across the lore on a read-up about boots,” Cal admits. “It was for a case, where we thought such things were being used. They weren’t, but the lore stuck with me. I tend to gather the odds and ends whether I ever think I’ll use them or not, just because they interest me and you never know. For my work, some of them can be mixed into inks in particular, or integrated when I make my paper.” He knows he’s one of the few people who uses either, but he goes to great pains to make both the ink and the paper, and to find quills that will sustain them. Small wonder he works to make them as magical as possible to work with what he does. If a spell is intense enough for him to waste paper on it he’s going to make sure it gets the full packed punch of everything that could help it along.
“You never know what you find reading old books,” Aloysius nods appreciatively. “I suppose that makes better sense though, looking into potential materials for your fancy paper.” Paper in general being rather rare in Vesper and a luxury in Dogwood.
“I might have to try this with boots. Boots that enable a person to fly, or at least hover… just think of the potential!!”
He shakes his starry-eyed look away, reminding himself to continue at his work, circling around the tree. It seems he’s decided that rather than just gather from one side, he’s making a bare ring around the thing. It may very well turn out to be striped by the end of it.
“In any case, I owe you! If you go on any special material gathering trips, count me in!”
“If I were to design such a pair I’d skip the flying,” Cal admits. “Going for something that merely allowed me to leap the height of an average building, and land on it. Then leap down again safely. Flying requires a lot of maneuvering about. It complicates the magical object, and it introduces hazards. Controlled leaping, on the other hand, gets you almost anywhere you want to go, still provides you some protection against falling or being dropped, and gives you swift escapes. Something that flies while they’re on your feet?”
He shakes his head, not liking the aerodynamics of that at all. “They’re essentially pushing you forward. It seems like it would be nauseating. Then again I probably shouldn’t knock it till I try it.”
If his hands weren’t full, Aloysius would be snap-pointing at Cal right then. “That is an excellent point. And I definitely see the uses in having something that can boost jumping and cushion landing.” He certainly does his fair share of leaping about on things. Higher than a building? …there’s that look on his face again, the one that just says he’s thinking of dangerous things again.
Somewhere in the Haberdeen House, Xavier is probably having tea and enjoying the peace and quiet.
“Would you say things might be better worked out with a technomancer, or an artificer? Maybe if we’re talking boots, the latter…”
Cal contemplates the question and says, “Mmmm. Artificer, I should think,” Cal says. “For boots. For your boat? I’d consult one of each, in addition to the shipwright. Make it a group effort. You need a whole team of experts for something like the boat. For the boots? Just a good artificer. And probably a very good cobbler, because nobody wants shoddy magical boots that fall apart on the first thump down.”
Cal gives it some more thought, and adds, “The main thing is for you to be able to control the trajectory and height. You’ll be in deep trouble if you mean to jump ten feet and manage to jump a hundred and ten. That’s where the real challenge comes in. Any idiot can make boots levitate. Making them levitate usefully, however…”
Cal probably means any wizard idiot, as not everyone can, in fact, use the magic to do it, but the point stands.
Aloysius is nodding so much at every point made that his head might fall off. “Well, I know an excellent cobbler and a shipwright, and I’ve got a few names for artificers and technomages to look into.”
He winces a little as the athame’s blade digs in a bit too deeply into the tree, quickly murmuring an apology as he adjusts the angle and strips off another several inches before passing off that bowl of bark.
“More than just throwing magical levitation dust onto the soles of your boots and taking a leap off a cliff, got it.” Because he wasn’t at all going to try just that. Really.
The trip to collect the bark of magically saturated Eastern Redbud trees doesn't go quite as smoothly as Cal and Aloysius planned...
June 08, 2411
Somewhere in the wilds North of Vesper