Almost four months have passed. Time flies faster over textbooks than I can realize. No, really, very fast. And it's a very interesting experience.
Being an elven girl, at first glance, is not much different from being a human teenager. Study and entertainment, handsome guys walking around, you know...
True, for those who lived in a village, the experience differs. Still, our town is small—or a village, I still haven't decided. And thanks to magic, we have all the benefits of a city here, and even a bit more, like clean air and low noise. Seriously, in these four months, I've only heard the shouts of arguments a couple of times. And twice more—songs during festivals. The rest of the time, we have birds singing here, domestic animals running around, the sound of the blacksmith's magical hammer. An idyll, at least for me; everything is very calm and measured. I can get busy with more interesting things.
Books, theory and practice, magic and side jobs. To master Mechanics and golem-building, you need to know a lot of related things. If I want to make a dispenser-spider, I need a glassblower. And knowing how to fire clay is also useful. I have to visit the blacksmith too, take design lessons from Mom, and from the Master—no one canceled the magical lessons. There isn't much practice, but it's there too. Not to mention various humanities, etiquette, and so on. A lot, a lot of information.
I just have almost no time for anything except studying. A bunch of sciences; after the success with the spiders, I got more active with golems, their kinds, types, and possibilities. I'm small, my hands are weak. Controlling a bunch of tools is difficult. And golems are almost a ready-made conveyor belt that does everything instead of you. However, it's not all that simple.
As I already mentioned, a golem can do what you taught it. That's why, by the way, I lose to the boys in golem duels; they simply understand fencing better. This is important when creating tools too: want stone golems? Go to a stonemason to process the material correctly. Want to give a golem an iron sword, or say, metal claws? The blacksmith is waiting for you. In such conditions, almost no time remains for entertainment, which those around me have noticed and started pestering me about.
"Don't rush; life is passing by, and you're sitting in the workshop designing a gargoyle instead of being at the festivals."
Actually, I started thinking about gargoyles when the Master pointed out the dome enchantment that resisted the explosions of my spiders quite well. And T-1 Air just looks promising. Essentially, gargoyles don't fly; they levitate with telekinesis because they are heavy. And they need wings to move in the right direction. But Giant Bats, the size of a horse, already fly.
The only problem is that my parents don't want to hear about the fact that I simply remember everything. And I know for a fact that they spoke with the master. And he agreed. Life moves slowly and steadily, so the teacher has begun to slow the pace. No matter what I ask about, I run into obstacles. And reasons to wait another six months.
"I passed practical magic. You spoke of a book on Mechanics."
The elf only shrugged.
"I said I would apply to the Magister's library. I did. It has been decided that you are in too much of a hurry. You will receive the textbook when you are ready. I recommend focusing on golems for now; you are definitely making progress there. Mechanics is an unsuitable pursuit for a young lady, and the Magister wishes to ensure you master golems sufficiently so that you do not take the easy path."
Really? I catch information on the fly. I won't argue, golems are cool, but when the Sunwell fails, Mechanics will be what separates me from Affliction. And even cooler. With the Destruction of the Well of Eternity—or rather, our well—Mechanics will be what separates us from death. All these Dolls and magical tools will lose their charge; magic will be bled dry by starving elves. But hydraulics will stay with us. And Technomagic too.
"I still don't understand what the problem is, master."
The elf smiled, but now I want to drive an icicle into that face.
"As I said, you are in a hurry. You are neither a Human nor a Dwarf; there is no need to rush, you have dozens of their lifetimes ahead of you. You are making progress, but you don't rest at all. Your parents and friends are worried. You have closed yourself off from everyone again. Do you know what I was doing at your age?"
You'd be surprised, but I do. Actually, this painting was there during my first visit too, but I was too preoccupied inspecting the golems. It was a typical heroic painting, really—five heroes posing pretentiously against the backdrop of a burnt troll temple.
The standard five. A Battle Tank (Human Warrior), a Priestess (also Human), a Dwarf Marksmanship specialist, and two Elf Mages. As it was explained to me, these were our Magister (the first time I've seen him anywhere) and the master himself. Pompous individuals, though everyone except the elves has already died of old age, hmph. A pity; it would have been interesting to talk to them.
What impressed me was the difference in scale. The elves are more or less the familiar human size I'm used to. But the humans... The Priestess is just "sturdy," visible even under her uniform. But we're in the Middle Ages here, and a serving Priest of Light... ahem, eats well. Excuse me. Consequently, she's quite spherical in all the right places. I'm damn jealous; I'll never get curves like that. Maybe I should invent silicone?
Then there's the Human male and the Dwarf. That man is a freaking wardrobe! No, seriously, he's insanely wide and muscular! Like two elves. And something tells me it's not a bodybuilder's diet; they're just naturally that broad here. I'm serious, in terms of dimensions, he's almost a space marine.
The Dwarf looks colorful too. A bearded barrel, also wildly muscular. Quadratisch, praktisch, gut. With a firearm. Interesting, I want to study that. And anyway...
I'll run away from you to Dalaran if you keep being so stifling, so there. As soon as I can, I'm gone. I'll pester the local Mages, seduce Khadgar so he performs twelve labors. Though he's an old man... to the Demons with him. I wonder if Kil'jaeden would take me in? Just kidding. Or Kael'thas. How does he feel about lolis with massive magical potential? Man, my jokes are getting dark. Okay, now seriously.
"Master, I am concerned by the lack of results. We spoke of new books; now it's unclear when they will arrive. And no, I am not interested in orgies. I am interested in Mechanics. I don't know, maybe in Silvermoon it's customary to arrange orgies between masters and students, but please keep that information to yourself. And tell me when I will receive the textbook."
But the Mage had an answer for that. And yes, I know I'm being rude, but he really did promise—what the hell? The master replied, looking me in the eye:
"Well, I suppose we shall find you an activity. Golems can be useful, so master them. A group of Rangers will be operating in our area, and as I've been told, someone needs to handle their supplies. Yes, this means you passed your practical magic exam nearly three times faster than I anticipated. And now you are permitted to leave the city. I believe a walk in the fresh air will help you relax. Perhaps it will suggest new ideas without insulting those around you, young lady."
And he watches, waiting for a reaction. No, I'm glad, but there was nothing difficult about the exam. A Magic Shield, telekinesis, basic charging, an immobilizing ice puddle, and a Magical Arrow. With my Mana pool, it was a protective dome, an icy lake, and a perfectly decent magical machine gun. And the guys provided me with practice so that all these spells became almost reflexive. When we fell out with each other, I started using golems as targets.
I nodded with satisfaction.
"Thank you, master. I will finally be able to appreciate Quel'Thalas not just within our town, but around it as well."
And immediately, I was hit with a setback.
"But you are only permitted to distance yourself from the city as part of a group. And do not argue."
I froze. What kind of setup is this?
"Why, master?"
He sighed.
"The Ranger Corps didn't send their subordinates for no reason. Trolls have come down from the mountains; they are prowling the forests, DaVi. It is simply dangerous to walk alone, especially without experience. Our neighbors have suffered casualties; it is not worth the risk for you."
And it also means I have to make up with a group of idiots. Or not make up, but just keep studying. I see how it is: the book is withheld, and social interaction is forced upon me. What if I don't want to?
"Perhaps I can better prepare for the moment when the trolls are dealt with. I need to finish my pottery course, and at my mother's bakery..."
Suddenly, for building golems, it would be good to understand Blacksmithing, and pottery too, or better yet, glassblowing. Not to mention Artifactоrics. You don't want to build golems out of crap and sticks, and then have to drag a dozen families of specialized professionals around with you, do you? That's why I ultimately want to have a mobile workshop on an airship, for example. Or a Mech that unfolds into an assembly complex. And to properly enchant tools to work with all that, you need to know how it works.
So besides theory, I also work as a hired hand for the blacksmith or my mother. I watch how things are done correctly, learn the theory, and haul things around with telekinesis. The forge, as it happens, is almost automatic. And my new dispenser-drones are helping mother. Yes, I've said this already, but the process eats up a lot of time, even with a perfect memory. On the plus side, all the masters in our town know me. And I've gained a lot of practice working with telekinesis. Everyone is happy. I could even become a citizen of this city with recommendations. But that's not necessary. And anyway, it's a joke no one here would understand, alas.
But relations with my classmates didn't work out, yeah. Nor with my Main character's brother. But the master made it clear that poking one's nose out of the city alone is a bad idea. Hmm. What if... a floating disk? That's a form of telekinesis. I have plenty of Mana; I can compensate for precision with the amount of energy...
In short, I buried myself in blueprints again. From which Silanira dug me out an unknown number of days later.
"DaVi! Don't sleep, we'll be late! Move it, sleepyhead!"
Huh? Where? Ah! Levitation, of course. She's hovering outside the window, looking judgmental. Dressed for travel. I had to tear myself away from drawing and grumble discontentedly:
"What do you want, Syl?"
She put on an expression of offended innocence on her doll-like face.
"We're leading a convoy to the Rangers. Aren't you interested? The master said you need to clear your head so that instead of nonsense, you think about... well, practical things. And Mom thinks you're overworking yourself. Father agrees, as does the blacksmith, and everyone else too. Basically, you're a bore and a nerd, but you have to know how to have fun! So stop withering away and let's go already!"
It's not that... Actually, it is interesting to see what those Rangers are like and how they live. I don't think we'll run into anyone important, but you never know. Hope dies last! But I'll have to make up... and I don't want to. But making connections wouldn't hurt. So what should I do?
Rangers... they'll likely be in a unit with the guards. Based on what I know and what I found in textbooks, Rangers are the elite. The best infantry, trained in Marksmanship, Survival in the wild, and Nature Magic. Not Druids, more like hunters. The elves are thin on regular army; Rangers and Farstriders are closer to commandos working in symbiosis with other troop types. The Windrunners lead this whole operation, but the chance of running into one of them is vanishingly small. The Ranger-General will be in the capital. Politics, balls, and other things the nobility occupies itself with.
Well, the rank and file travel across the country, helping the guards maintain the status quo and driving off overly persistent enemies. Except, as I recall, they specifically *drive them off* rather than wipe them out. So they always have something to do and someone to die at the hands of in the process. An axe to the head from a Troll is still fatal, you know.
On the other hand, these guys from the camp are my ticket to the big world. And here's an opportunity to build relationships. All right, it's decided! We're going on the mission! Maybe I'll actually think of something cool while changing my surroundings.
"Fine, Syl, I actually am interested. What will we be doing?"
The elf giggled.
"Well, for starters, it wouldn't hurt to apologize. Not to me, to everyone. I understand you were offended, but..."
I hissed, barely restraining my anger. Is she joking or does she just not understand? Though... what a stupid question, of course she doesn't understand. For them, Trolls are a terrifying but familiar enemy. Even my brother has supposedly fought them at least once. This was the first time in four months I'd seen them in the flesh rather than in textbooks. I have enough impressions to last a year, thank you very much. So yeah, I got angry.
"Offended? Syl, I was genuinely terrified! I don't remember anything; I saw a group of Trolls for the first time not in a picture and not as a simple illusion. I saw a Troll in the flesh for the first time in my life right at the moment when four of those lovely creatures were about to cut my head off! And you say 'it's no big deal'? Is this a joke?"
She winced.
"We weren't going to—"
I cut her off, barely restraining the urge to send a hail of icicles through the window. Only because a hail of icicles with my potential and in my current state would require hiding a corpse. All I can do is hiss with rage!
"I know! *Now* I know! What good is that knowledge to me now?"
For me, it was a truly unforgettable experience. I think I'll be blasting a stream of fire into any Troll face on pure reflex now. The only problem is that the master, the bastard, is right. I can't handle a solo trek through the woods yet. You can only venture into a forest where Trolls might be alone if you're something on the level of a Magister. Or smeared in several layers of shields. Or with good company, which is our case.
After reading Warcraft fanfics, I always wondered how these weaklings hadn't been wiped out yet. Well, these aren't Trolls. This is the Viet Cong!
I read a bit about these guys' capabilities, and they shouldn't be underestimated; it's lethal. A Troll Warrior is dangerous precisely because of the Berserk state. Thanks to regeneration, these guys can push past physical limits that any other organism couldn't handle. Moreover, pain only fuels the Berserk state with a hormonal cocktail, so a Troll can drive himself to death from wounds, but he'll be hitting you... you don't want to know how. Armor doesn't stop those blows.
Their Biotics users are good at blood magic and various cunning poisons and curses. Even if you fight them off, you might simply not live long enough for help to arrive. And all of them, regardless of type, are trained in Subtlety and forest Survival. Yes, an Elf Mage can destroy a Troll camp with area-of-effect spells from a kilometer away. But a Troll hunter can sneak within thirty meters and throw a spear. A poisoned one. He'll smear it with the venom of local frogs, and you'll be leaking snot and seeing hallucinations until you die. Or not a spear, but a dart. Basically, to hell with that kind of entertainment.
Therefore, I have to say what I'm about to say, even if I have to force it.
"I don't want to see you, Syl, but the master is right. Outside the city limits, one cannot manage alone. We will have to cooperate, one way or another. So... I'm asking you to help me, please. Syl?"
The elf nodded, clearly not particularly happy with the situation.
"It's better than nothing. So, you're with us?"
I nodded.
"Exactly. I'll just grab the spiders. And the tube."
The girl flinched, clearly remembering her introduction to those insects.
"What's the point? They're useless in battle. And leave the tube; you're forbidden from sitting buried in blueprints. The master said so."
I smiled. The tube is mine; I'm not going anywhere without it.
"I don't plan on taking the combat version of the spiders. They are golems, and as the master says: golems are very multifunctional. I'll try to make a scout."
Two hours later, I was bored at the city exit. The convoy looked a lot like what you see in games: essentially standard levitating containers with the emblems of Quel'Thalas and an escort. A dozen guards, three archers, and the four of us. I brazenly sat on the roof of the lead container. And yes, my brother was among the guards. He easily confirmed:
"Yes, DaVi, you need to clear your head. Everyone decided so; we're worried about you. You'll stay a midget forever, unwanted by anyone."
I responded to his welcoming nod, as we're currently in the same boat. I just snorted at his jab, which made the elf laugh. Laugh all you want. I'm not vindictive, but I have a good memory. When we get back, I'll get my revenge. I'll think of something.
"It's fine; if there's clay there, I'll make golems."
Well, my brother shrugged. He's on the job now, so hopefully he won't be pestering me. I looked around. It's beautiful, damn it.
What are elven forests? Well, it's a very interesting color palette. Deep green grass, but with golden leaves and light tree trunks; the bushes are something in between. From yellow to deep crimson. As the master explained:
"The Sunwell affects both plants and animals. Trees live for many centuries, just as we do, soaking up magic, becoming even more durable, stronger, and better suited to the land where they grow. In the capital, mages have made the colors even more saturated. One day, you will be able to see them too."
And even if not, it's still a fascinating sight. The color scheme of Quel'Thalas is exactly that: green-yellow-red. And the trees on the lands of the High Elves have acquired precisely those shades. The road is ordinary, packed earth. Ranger camps are mobile, so there's no reason for a proper road. Thus, knee-high grass, bushes, and branches are our reality. Well, I'm sitting on top anyway; my only problem is tree branches. But I decided to be a bit difficult anyway. Out of boredom.
"I thought the road would be paved with stone."
The senior guard, Guard Sergeant and Warrior Teacher Keynonar, laughed.
"This Ranger camp is temporary. The Farstriders don't keep a permanent camp here, and for the Trolls, that would be an overly conspicuous signal. No, they move around, appointing one of the juniors as a guide for convoys like ours. So new roads are forged every time. We deliver food, clothing, dishes. We take back forest products, meat, herbs, hides. Barter—everyone is happy."
Logical, I suppose. Generally, we're delivering the "blessings of civilization" to the Rangers and their youngsters. They themselves learn not only Marksmanship but also magic quite close to Druidic magic. But these gifts from the villages, supporting their existence in comfort, are a matter of good manners as well. And a reminder of who pays whom for protection, naturally.
In the meantime, while waiting for the guide, I can pester the guard with questions. It's convenient from the height of the container. And I can ignore certain unpleasant individuals.
"Who could actually attack us? Trolls? Murlocs?"
The guard nodded.
"Mostly them. Trolls come from the mountains; Murlocs settle near bodies of water and might attack just for the sake of robbery. Don't worry, we'll fight them off. No one would send students into a danger zone."
A strange sensation washed over me, as if magic had shuddered from an impact, like strings tightening and emitting a faint hum. Strange. No one is casting. The slackers are all here in plain sight; the guards aren't trained in serious magic. So what's happening?
I closed my eyes, catching the sensation. Someone is running their fingers over the strings of magic... behind me.
On pure, practiced reflex, I teleported forward, spinning around and preparing to unleash a cone of ice. At the spot where I had just been sitting, an elf in a green cloak was crouched, holding a bow and wearing a cheeky smirk on her young face. She was playing with a knife; seeing my reaction, she brazenly licked it, smiling. Judging by her appearance, she's about a hundred years older than me.
"I could have taken your head off about a minute ago, Mage. And you forgot about human outlaws. What on earth are they teaching you here?"
I was more interested in the visitor's appearance. Leather gloves, a camouflaged hooded cloak, high boots, and leather pants. A bow on her back, a pair of knives and a long sword at her belt. Holes were cut in the hood for her long ears. That smirk—nasty, overconfident. I really want to shove an icicle into it.
"I'm not a Wizard; I'm just a student. And I didn't ask to be dragged out of my workshop."
The elf spun around sharply, impaling a spider-golem that had jumped onto her back with her knife. The Outlaw inspected the golem, showing it to me and raising an eyebrow inquisitively. Now it was my turn to smile crookedly.
"If that were a bomb, you'd be splattered or fried. I built damage-triggered detonation into the combat ones."
She snorted, flicking her dagger so the golem fell off the blade. I caught it with telekinesis. It won't be hard to fix; it's just a simple clay toy. The elf clarified, clearly referring to the combat version of the spiders:
"Why aren't they here?"
I spread my hands.
"Well, I was forbidden from using the combat version of these insects. I have to think about the fact that you would have just been burned right now. Sad, but it is what it is."
An understanding grunt was my answer. Actually, she hardly scares me; I'm more curious to find out what she can do, to hear stories. After all, Rangers are a point of interest and a potential sponsor for me. So I'm in anticipation! I already want to know everything. Or is it just the day off after long days within four walls affecting me? I don't know, but I feel in high spirits. This is interesting!
The Outlaw put away her weapon and said:
"One-one then," and addressed the others, "I am Venidan, a Ranger apprentice. And your guide. Ready to move out?"
Keynonar nodded with satisfaction.
"Get ready! We're moving out."
That was how I first left our hospitable town, taking a step into the big world. Actually, a rather boring step. We hardly make any noise. Birds are singing, small animals are scurrying here and there, branches are annoying, constantly trying to hit you in the face. The Ranger, besides showing the way, took up scouting.
And I tried to track her by her magical trail. She's an elf; even the warriors have enough magic. But I ran into an unexpected problem: trying to sense concentrated zones of magic showed that they're everywhere, damn it! Trees, animals—there's a Mana Wyrm sitting in the canopy. A transparent flying snake that eats magic. It has a nasty bite, by the way. And the Outlaw just gets lost against the backdrop of them all. And yes, Outlaw isn't a profession here, but a class. It's unlikely a Ranger is engaged in robbery. She certainly doesn't rob elves. And if it's Trolls, that's more like trophies than robbery.
So, I tried to sense her by her magical trail, but there's magic even in the trees. What if...
I tried to pull on the magical strings I felt in the trees. I felt the familiar resistance; any magical manipulation creates it. Except... it's unexpectedly strong, this resistance. Usually, static objects, if they don't have a shield on them, resist change, but not strongly. Sentient beings, even untrained ones, resist more. Even turning someone into a sheep requires concentration. But these trees—it's like I'm trying to move not a string, but a taut steel cable. What's happening, why is it like this?
A second of doubt was replaced by resolve—am I a Mage or just out for a stroll? Yes, I'm a Mage who's out for a stroll! In any case, I need to see what happens; I have nothing else to do anyway. I pulled harder. No effect. I concentrated and pulled even harder! And more. More! Breathing became difficult; a weight seemed to press down on my body; the resistance was as if I were trying to uproot a pillar...
The branch of the tree I was pressing on snapped with a loud crack and fell to the ground. A large branch, about three times my size. Naturally, everyone heard and noticed this, and they immediately grew anxious.
"Is someone there?"
"It seems... it's moving!"
I immediately stared at the branch, which really *is* moving! How interesting! The branch, by means of small twig-arms, stood up vertically. Burning blue fire eyes formed from hollows and fixed on me. After which the log let out an indistinct creak-crunch (it has no vocal cords, but I'm absolutely certain it was swearing) and walked toward me. Well, "walked"—it rolled, fell, and scuttled toward the convoy using its branches like tentacles very quickly. And it's reaching out its branches, creaking in a very unfriendly way! The guards grew worried.
"Get ready! A Treant!"
"Where did it come from?"
I have a suspicion, let's put it that way. In any case, I don't intend to stand aside. A fan of icicles formed around my body with a familiar light tension, which, after a mental shove, struck the tree. The tree didn't die from that; only the bark was stripped away, and it swore at me again in tree-language and ran faster. Makes sense; ordinary ice shards are bad at crushing a trunk. What if I use magical arrows? The effect was better; several branches were torn off, and scorch marks appeared. The creaking seemed to become painful? Maybe? I don't know how to translate from tree-speak. Okay, it's already halfway there; enough joking around.
"Move aside! Frost Cloud!"
In my case—a cone-shaped icy field a meter high. The grass and bushes were instantly hidden under a thick layer of solid ice. This helped; the tree and part of its branches were encased, and the warriors ran up and began hacking at the rest with their swords. I didn't fire again so as not to hit our own. And fire... I don't want to start a forest fire. I think I've done enough already.
The Treant creaked helplessly in its dialect until it was hacked down. It still tried to wave its branches, but being well-encased, it couldn't go anywhere and lost its combat potential. But the guards, having finished, turned toward me.
"DaVi, what was that?" my brother asked.
I sighed.
"Why is it always me?"
"Because," the huntress replied, appearing from the forest, "we all felt the tension in the magic. And I was told there's only one sorceress of that level here. So what were you doing?"
I shrugged. Nothing terrible happened, why complain?
"I was trying to track you through magic, felt the magic in the trees, and poured power into them. More, and more, and there. I think it turned out quite well. An interesting result; I certainly didn't expect that."
The guide laughed.
"I see how it is, squirt. You have to be respectful with the forest. No wonder it got angry."
My brother sighed.
"Don't do that again. Promise."
Bore.
"I promise not to do that again *right now*."
These stumps could make decent targets, I think. But the guide clearly didn't understand something and asked my brother:
"What's with her? Is it her first time in the forest or something? She's acting strange, constantly daydreaming, looking around like it's her first time in Silvermoon. It's the forest! Your village is literally on the edge of the woods. I don't get it!"
My brother looked embarrassed but nodded.
"Yes, in a sense, it is her first time in the forest."
It seems we broke the guide. She's standing there like an idiot, staring with wide eyes.
"Eeeeh, seriously? You live in a village; you have forest everywhere here! How???"
I should answer, probably.
"Troll tablet. I don't remember anything; my life effectively began less than six months ago. Yes, it's my first time in the forest and everything is interesting to me."
The long-eared one vanished into the forest again, clearly considering me mentally unstable. I almost feel bad. Not because I liked her, but out of curiosity. It's my first time seeing someone with that specific "class." I've never met a Rogue; we don't have them in our village. Mages, Warriors, yes. Not Outlaws.
Another few hours passed, during which I silently obsessed over my spiders. This time, I felt the ripple in magic instantly. Partly because I kept trying to track the brat.
"Oh, boy!" I teleported from my perch again.
Naturally, that brazen girl was sitting behind me again. You're annoying!
"Boo! He-he."
I'm already regretting coming.
"What do you want?" My voice clearly betrayed my irritation.
Which didn't faze Venidan at all. She tossed a knife in her hand and jumped off the container, making almost no sound.
"You're the only one who's spaced out, that's all. Easy prey. And I am a hunter."
I sighed. It seems they won't let me think.
"Do you think we'll be attacked?"
She hid the knife again, somewhere. And no, it wasn't a dagger, but a butterfly knife. From somewhere.
"They might. For Trolls, this convoy is much easier prey than the camp. Murlocs unlikely; the convoy is a bit big for them. A human gang might, too."
I decided to clarify the elephant in the room.
"Human bandits? Here?"
It wasn't the Ranger who answered—she had vanished again—but the Guard Sergeant.
"Sometimes they wander over here. We're far enough from Silvermoon that the reaction time is slow. And there are those who think settlements or convoys are prey they can take. They get caught, they get beaten, but things happen. Basically, just be prepared for the fact that nine out of ten trips, no one will attack us. Но it's important to stay vigilant, because on the tenth time, there won't be a second chance."
We weren't actually attacked. The convoy continued moving toward the mountains; I wasn't given a chance to think, so I had to keep looking around for anything interesting. Forest gave way to forest, one hour, then a second. The mountains are slowly approaching. Overgrown mountains, among whose caves and ancient structures the Trolls dwell. But no one came to greet us.
I wonder who will be at the camp. The Entity, as I recall, spoke of me having to go through several important meetings. But the probability that one of the Windrunners will be found in the camp is EXTREMELY LOW. What would they be doing here, in a field camp?
On the other hand, I can practice some magic. Casting shields, trying to hit the annoying Rogue with an icicle. Or making golems.
"Why are you even bothering me?" This long-eared girl has been hovering around for the umpteenth time, which is irritating.
She shrugged in her cloak.
"You're constantly threatening to zone out; the others aren't. In the field, that's unacceptable; someone has to keep you moving. You missed my swing; you'll miss a flying axe to the head too. We're in the field; the games are over. I don't know why you're so slow, but I won't let you sleep. Don't know how? We'll teach you. Don't want to? We'll make you. Clear?"
"Uh-huh."
Hmph. Well, okay. There seems to be a camp up ahead. Actually, we stumbled into it quite suddenly. One moment it's forest, and the next there are tents in a clearing, a sentry sitting on the branches, and there's movement within the makeshift camp. They're already waiting for us.
***
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