That morning, he came into the guild looking for a quest.
Haunted by the possibility that his potion induced nightmare was somehow real or would one day become real. Zorion needed information, he needed proof something that could allow him to say one way or another. For that he needed to test the limits of what he learned in his "dream" to see if the knowledge held up or was made up.
Those two years in the "future" Zorion lived relying on his ability to survive in the woods, the things the survivors of Scribel taught him seemed so logical and real, but how real?. For this test, he needed a trial, he needed another mission in the forest of Scribel.
He needed to be a forest ranger...
The Northern forest... Zorion recalled that northern forest of that uncertain future... will 'that thing' be in this world too?
===
The civilians Zorion was escorting were a trio of trappers, they used to be a group of four. Their fourth member was a skilled woodsmanand with his skill in navigatiion the four was able to set traps deeper in the woods.
But a few summers ago, the foursome ran afoul of a bear, the woodsman gave his life so the other three trappers could escape.
Ever since, the three trappers had hired adventurers as escorts. The journey to the traps the three left in the woods were not too far but was not close either, it took the majority of a day to get there from Scribel.
Zorion used his animal tracking skill to great effect; early on in the journey, he spotted tracks of dire wolves. So he asked the trappers to stay put while he investigated. After noting the spaces between paw prints and the trail the pack left behind, Zorion understood the history. He and the trappers did not wander into a dire-wolf hunting ground, instead, tracks were only of a travelling pack of wolves. Thereafter, the foursome moved on.
Another encounter followed later, again Zorion exercised his ability to discern the nature of his surroundings, finding claw marks on the trees, the four was able to avoid a bear's territory, a great black bear that the four saw the shape of, but did not confront.
After arriving at the trapping ground the trappers went to work and less than an hour secured all the animals that were in sacks and nets. Quickly losing daylight the group made camp; there was a small disagreement on whether they should butcher and dress the animal right away. Without a river near the camp, the blood would attract beasts that would most certainly attack at night. The three complained that adventurers before would defend them against the night attacks and it would mean more meat and more leather.
Zorion disagreed. The rising the level of peril was not something he was willing to content with. Ultimately, he, who had the sword, won the argument.
===
While the trappers slept so did the trapped animals. Awake as the first watch, Zorion considered his bearings. He was a little north-west of the slimecreek goblin settlement, about three-quarters of a day's walk from Scribel.
The Northern forest of the “future” was different, for one thing, it was called the dead zone, it had no other name. The reason for that was the northern forest was contested territory between the southern slime army of Scribel city, and the demons who ruled the north.
The humans hid there because neither side wandered too deep without reason. But at times... there was a reason. Magic. Any magic used meant the attention of all the dangerous creatures of the land. If you use magic in the dead zone, run, run away from where it happened, if you stay... be it slime or demons you are dead.
However, within the dead zone there was a place of reprieve. It was not too far from Zorion's camp at that moment.
He had to know.
If that place does not exist, then the dream was just a dream, demons won't overwhelm the north, slims won't decimate the south, that the golden rose won't turn into fanatical devil cultists.
So halfway into his shift, he checked to make sure around the camp the rattler alarms were secured , then Zorion snuck off into the woods to find the place known as the Spark of Life.
In the “future”, the Spark of life was a place of recovery, it was a single tree in small a circular clearing about ten to twenty meters in diameter. Although it was called a tree, it consisted only of the trunk and a single branch. Suspended from that branch was some kind of light, a ball cage made of vines and between the gaps of the cage once could see a gentle pulse of light, the Spark.
Under the light of the Spark, the survivors of the Scribel often visited, the light energised the weakened and strengthened the strong, and wounds that would have taken months to heal, would be alleviated in a few days.
The spark was a great help to the survivors, but they all used it sparingly since none knew what it truly was. As far as anyone could tell, it was not magic, not mana, Zorion had used it more than once, the sensation was as if life was forced into his body.
===
After a little over a quarter of an hour, Zorion was at the clearing, a circle of tree-lined the edge, too perfect to be natural. Zorion did not recall the tree line being so perfectly round in the future, but nonetheless, the clearing was there.
His heart sank.
It is here, there is a clearing, but…
Hope sprung in his heart, at the centre of the clearing there was no tree, no Spark of life. The clearing was empty.
It wasn’t real… As if to show further vindication the moon peeked out a sliver from the sea of night clouds, the clearing lit up showing true the emptiness within the circle, Zorion exhaled in relief.
As the moon hid once more, something caught the ex-squire’s eye. From where he stood it was a rock... no. a flat stone no, no, not that, something else, it shimmered for a moment.
Not to be caught off guard, Zorion drew his long alloy dagger. And step by step he inched closer and closer. As he approached the true form of the object revealed itself under the faint glow of the shrouded moon.
It was a creature, a little bigger than a wolf, scaly skin with a pair of rainbow-coloured wings. The creature’s form spooled in a spiral at the centre of the clearing.
It was a faerie dragon.
Good, faerie dragons don’t tend to be vicious creatures, mostly pranksters, Zorion relaxed, was prepared to sheath his blade. Dragons are magnificent creatures, he was not a mage, but even so he felt the mana radiating off the winged serpent.
Strangely, the dragon offered a nostalgic feeling, the mana blending into another energy, concentrating... gathering at the tail of the dragon. Zorion saw it then, the tail not a sharp point, but the ball that was oh so reminisce of the Spark.
A chill ran through Zorion.
“Wha’ you up to here, knight, got a bounty all to yourself, hav’ ya?!”a voice
“Yer got something there? Something good?” another voice said
It was too dark to see the owner of the voices, but Zorion knew it was the trappers, they followed him, he had to explain, but first he lit a ball of luminescent light in the air close to the voices to find the trappers’ location.
The light magic revealed the men, one leaning against a tree, other with folded arms.
“Wha’s wrong?” the trapper asked when they saw Zorion’s face, a face of shock, horror, his mouth agape.
It was not the men that shocked him it was the tree line. Zorion saw the, the ring of trees surrounding the clearing, they were not just trees, they were people, trapped, embedded in their trunk!
On the ground, next to Zorion's feet, a spot the size of a saucer suddenly ruptured! A tendril of wood shot put aiming for Zorion’s head! He needed to block and his dagger answered, the impact made him stagger back.
He knew his his foe and turned quickly!
With no time to lose, Zorion advanced and swung his dagger for the dragon's neck, it dodged, he clipped the creature's wing, just barely!
The faerie dragon now made distance between them, it hissed and jabbed its tail into the ground, again tendril launched from the beneath his feet! Letting his reflex be the judge, Zorion moved and stepped like he was dancing as the earth fissured spikes of wood or root hungry for his life. He swayed quickly to avoid each attack. One spike wood missed its mark, another avoided, a third met his dagger.
I can’t win this, his breathing laboured, his concentration pushed to the limit. I need to run, but...
It was then, he rushed the dragon, with all the energy he could muster he dashed for his prey. The dragon reacted too slow, the wood like tendril burst from the ground, but was only in the wake of Zorion charge.With one hand on the dagger and the other cradling the pommel, Zorion hoped to bury the blade into the dragon's body!
Four tendril shot from the ground and seal the path to victory, his dagger slammed harmlessly against the wood-like barrier and no force could make it give way,
Shit, Zorion started to burn through his options, plans, he needed…
As soon as strength gave in his arms, the pressure on the dagger waned, the wood spikes retracted in a flash.
But Zorion was not without recourse, with a deft hand he grabbed the ink-pot from his belt and hurled its contents at the dragon.
.
The black substance lashed across the fae serpent's face. Without waiting, he took out [The Black Witch's Potion] and down the liquid without hesitation. The sensation wa a burning deep within his chest! Then it stopped, nothing changed, he felt his body was diffrernt but nothing of note, only his money pouch was suddenly empty.
With no other choice, Zorion turn heel and fled. His calf muscles burned as he ran towards the trappers, the trio were standing perplexed by the situation, and had simply been watched this whole time.
‘RUN!!’ A word of light flashed before the trio, shocking the three into attention.
A tendril shot from the ground just behind Zorion’s heel. He dared not look to see the state of the dragon, he only keep running towards the trappers.
Two of the men started to turn, the third was still as a rock. Zorion closed in, he hoped to grab the man by the scuff, drag him along if it needed be. But his reach was too late. The ground parted and a tendrill impaled the man, the blood splashed upon Zorion, marking him for the choices he made. Another spike shot up grazing the flesh of Zorion’s chest and splitting his leather armour.
The trapper died a most aberrant death, he struggled and clawed at the spike that impaled him only to weaken and struggled no more. Standing with life ebbing away from his body.
Zorion knew that the trapper would one day too be a mummified corpse, standing a silent vigil in the forest drained of life.
Zorion did not dally, one step in front of the other he steeled himself from the sight. The spike still launched from the ground but it was no longer as fierce, sluggish even, but he brushed aside the thought and simply kept moving.
One scream and then another, just as Zorion caught up with the other trappers so did the dragon. A tendril slashed Zorion’s arm as he ran past the other two trappers, they too had become standing corpses in the forest.
Till dawn Zorion ran, he did not know when the dragon stopped chasing him, perhaps it had stopped after the trappers, perhaps not, but he did not care to find out, nor did he look back to see.
When he tired he dragged his feet, when he stumbled and fell he pulled himself up, he kept marching until he was in Scribel once more
