#thread: path turn

There’s been word of crumbling ruins, remnants of an old town and its gravesite becoming overgrown with strange greenery. Beautiful though its blooms may be, superstition and old maid’s tales have painted it as a beautifully haunting omen for a disaster to come. To that effect, the neighboring villages are too afraid to venture and clear it up, avoiding any and all routes that might cross it, and so have pleaded for aid from every passerby willing to help. As you enter the mouth of the ruins to dispel their needless fears, however, you find that these are no mere ruins. The vines close the entryway from which you came, and, looking ahead, you find that the ruins are, in fact, a huge maze. To make matters worse, the vines that now prevent you from leaving don’t seem to be content to stop there. All around you, the labyrinth shifts and changes; the walls move, the plants snake and snap. You and your companion must hack and cut your way through and find a way out, lest you intend to bury yourselves in a grave that never needs to beg for flowers. [Grants Sword +1] 

“We’ve been here.” Despite the maze’s shifting nature, it never moved any marks made or added to its walls (so far). Bare fingers trace over a blackened stone, evidence of Morgan’s fire. “We turned right, and ended up back here.”

To their left, the path quickly succumbs to shadow despite the dim light emanating from above. Morgan had no intention of getting lost in the dark, especially not after what a good decision splitting up was during the mission. Lesson learned.

“Want to try straight on?” Chin juts forward to emphasize his point. “That looks far more hopeful than any other option.”

The journey thus far had been relatively silent. Although their current situation mirrored the one that had endured only days ago, neither party was keen on bringing it up; it wasn’t something they wanted to relive. Constant reminders walked with them whether they liked it or not, with phantom whispers tugging at the mage’s mind—and perhaps a nail or two missing from Leif’s hands.

The zig-zag sword clutched tight at his side was just another reminder of everything he did wrong between the pages. Morgan wouldn’t allow himself to be put in that situation again, unarmed, ignorant, wanting to be the hero. A glance at Leif—a real hero—and he exhales slowly through his nose.

“Are you... doing alright?” he asks eventually, but it remains unclear in what context he was referring.