Chapter 0: The Road to Restov¶
Prologue - Perry Marlowe¶
Cold air makes a better companion than most men; it keeps one honest. The road to Restov ran gray under a low sky, and I found myself measuring bootprints and voices as much as miles. The big human with the dwarven beard—Elroy—walked like a shield already raised, every step a promise to stand first. Rust, the smallest of us, wore a healer’s worry like a coat two sizes too large; when he wasn’t peering at my kit, he was checking everyone’s footing and pulse by habit. Grotdor’s heat was less metaphor than fact; even his silences felt like banked coals. And Dravyn… whatever rune was chiseled into his poise, it lent him the stillness of a drawn bow.
I am not given to omens, yet each of them set some familiar instrument ringing in my head. Elroy’s discipline, Rust’s care, Grotdor’s decisiveness, Dravyn’s exactitude—each a note I’ve relied upon in other lives and other ruins. As Restov’s outskirts came into view and Lady Jamandi’s invitation tugged us onward, I cataloged the five of us as I would a laboratory: components, tolerances, failure modes. If fate did nudge, it did so with a technician’s hand—precise, deliberate.
By evening the light had thinned to pewter and the fields smelled of wet soil and pumpkins. I loaded Infernis by touch, the mechanism’s soft hiss steadying my breath. These first pages are a ledger of choices and consequences; I intend to keep them neat.
¶
The late winter sky hung low and gray over the muddy farm road, heavy storm clouds promising rain that had not yet come. A chill wind sent dry leaves skittering across the ruts and furrows, and the distant silhouette of Restov rose against the hazy line of the Stolen Lands beyond. Five travelers converged along that well-worn path, each bearing the same formal summons—a letter sealed with the sword-pommel of Lady Jamandi Aldori, promising land, titles, and glory to those bold enough to claim them.
Perry Marlowe walked with the measured stride of one who missed nothing, his sharp eyes constantly cataloging every detail of the landscape. The halfling investigator carried an air of anachronism about him, as though he belonged to a different time entirely. Beside him shambled Rust Freelox, a goblin oracle whose ridiculous top hat somehow suited the strange life-magic that simmered beneath his jokes and japes. Behind them marched Dravyn, his runic staff etched with glowing sigils that pulsed faintly with each step, while Elroy Jenkins kept pace in full armor, his shield already raised in the defensive posture he'd maintained throughout the journey. The last of their company was Grotdor, a kineticist who radiated heat like a walking furnace, small sparks of elemental fire dancing at his fingertips as he walked.
They were strangers yet, bound only by common purpose and the promise of a banquet at Aldori Manor. The mud squelched beneath their boots as they passed between sprawling pumpkin patches and tumbledown farm fences, the unharvested fields stretching toward the tree line.
Then the wind died.
In that sudden stillness, the pumpkin field began to move. Lanky shapes wrapped in twisted vines pulled themselves up from the soil, their eyes glowing from within hollow gourds. Two thorny vine leshies emerged first, followed by a pair of sturdier gourd leshies, their bodies thick with autumn-hardened shells. They shuffled onto the road with rustling, leafy voices raised in jeers and muttered threats, spears and seed-pods clutched in woody fingers.
Without parley, they attacked.
The longwinded vine leshy shambled forward, its spear leveled at Elroy's chest. The weapon struck true but glanced harmlessly off the guardian's already-raised shield—his cautious traveling stance proving its worth immediately. Behind it, the stinky vine leshy hurled its spear toward Rust, and though the goblin's smaller frame and quick reflexes spared him the worst of it, the blow still found purchase.
The patronizing gourd leshy lumbered into view and began pelting Elroy with hardened pumpkin seeds like sling bullets. The first bounced off his shield with a hollow thunk, but the second found a gap in his defense. Elroy interposed his shield fully, absorbing the impact with a grunt. Before he could recover, thorny vines erupted from the gourd's body in a magical ensnaring spell, wrapping around the guardian's legs and dragging at his stride. He felt his boots tangle in the clutching vegetation, his movement suddenly hindered.
The gutsy gourd leshy advanced through the pumpkins, planting its feet among the vines and preparing to add its own barrage to the assault.
Elroy planted himself in the middle of the road, drawing the creatures' ire and making himself an unmistakable target. Behind him, Rust stepped sideways to find a clear line of sight past his ally's broad shield. The goblin conjured shimmering bone-white needles from the air and flung them at the nearest vine leshy with a flick of his wrist. The darts whistled through the creature's foliage, but the leshy's wild thrashing kept the worst of the damage from landing true. Rust muttered something about needing to be more helpful.
Grotdor called upon the Plane of Fire, first channeling his elemental gate until it blazed to life within him. He shaped a tiny arrow of flame and sent it arcing through both vine leshies in a graceful curve. The burning missile scorched past them, singeing their outer leaves, though both proved surprisingly nimble—one dodging adequately, the other twisting away with uncanny reflexes that left it nearly unscathed.
Dravyn brought his staff to bear, tracing sigils in the air with practiced precision. An orb of biting cold formed above one of the leshies, then descended in a blast of frost. The creature's hardy fortitude resisted the worst of the spell, but a scatter of withered leaves showed that even these autumn-tough plants could be hurt by cold.
Perry paused, his eyes narrowing as he studied the stinky vine leshy. His mind raced through angles and calculations, cataloging the creature's movements while simultaneously recalling what he knew of leshies—their modest defenses, their particular vulnerability to bludgeoning damage. Using the pre-calculated trajectory from his analysis, he threaded a crossbow bolt through a gap in the tangle of vines. The quarrel struck solidly, and the leshy staggered, clearly on its last legs. Perry quickly reloaded and stepped closer to Elroy, sharing the front line.
The longwinded leshy pressed its attack on the taunting guardian at the top of the second exchange, making a flurry of spear thrusts. Most were turned aside by Elroy's defensive stance and sturdy shield, but one managed to slip past and deal a modest wound despite the guardian's natural resilience. The stinky leshy, desperate and staggered, also focused on Elroy with a trio of wild attacks. Only one stab landed cleanly before the creature found itself on the wrong end of Elroy's sword.
The gourds continued their barrage, hammering Elroy's shield with hardened seeds and forcing him to rely on repeated blocks to prevent serious harm.
Rust, determined to contribute more meaningfully, shifted his position and called upon his life mystery. A soft shimmer of divine favor blossomed around him—a blessing that clung to his allies like morning dew, promising a crucial edge to their strikes as long as they remained within its subtle aura.
Still wrapped in vines but fighting through the hindrance, Elroy decided the stinky leshy had poked him one time too many. He hacked into the wounded creature with a powerful sword strike, nearly scoring a critical blow. The blade bit deep, dealing devastating damage that cut the leshy nearly in half. As it fell, its body erupted in a verdant burst of primal energy—glowing seeds and magical sap that healed all nearby plant creatures by a few precious hit points while filling the area with thick, grasping vines that turned the ground into treacherous terrain.
Elroy raised his shield again and soldiered on through the tangle.
Emboldened by Rust's blessing, Grotdor strode forward until he too stood within the blessed zone. He launched another flying flame, threading a fiery path through both gourd leshies and the remaining vine leshy. This time the damage stuck: the gutsy and patronizing gourds both caught fire, while the longwinded leshy's leaves smoldered and charred, leaving it considerably weaker than its hardier companions.
Dravyn waded into melee behind Elroy's protective presence, swinging his runic staff like a polearm. He landed a solid blow on the longwinded leshy, further weakening it, then channeled arcane energy through the staff. Shards of pure force erupted from the weapon—one tearing into the longwinded leshy and popping its head like a balloon, while another streaked down the field to slam into the gutsy gourd.
As the longwinded leshy died, it too triggered a verdant burst, healing both gourds again but at the cost of scattering more primal seeds and tangling vines across the battlefield.
Perry engaged his strategic mind once more, focusing now on one of the gourds. His first calculation was catastrophically bad—the worst possible angle. Without hesitation, he forced himself to recalculate, pushing through the mental strain to run the numbers again. The second result was better but still not ideal, and Perry, ever cautious, chose not to commit to such a risky shot. Instead, he repositioned in the shifting terrain and withdrew a healing elixir from his pack. "Lean over, Elroy, and drink this," he instructed, feeding the potion to the guardian and restoring a measure of his strength.
With both vine leshies down, only the two tougher gourd leshies remained. They doubled down on their tactics, the gutsy gourd stepping up to swing and hurl seeds at Elroy. At least one solid hit landed, but Elroy's shield diverted the damage yet again, leaving the guardian unscathed while his shield took the punishment. The patronizing gourd kept up its mixture of long-range attacks and vine tricks, though one desperate shot at Rust went wide, missing badly.
At the top of the final exchange, Rust saw that Elroy had taken genuine damage despite his stalwart defense. The goblin dropped his focus entirely to healing, raising one hand and channeling a surge of warm, life-soaked energy. Vital magic flowed over the guardian from thirty feet away, knitting flesh and bruises and significantly restoring his vitality.
Bolstered by the healing, Elroy went on the offensive. He strode through the tangle of vines and scattered gourds toward the gutsy leshy, his sword raised high. With a mighty strike, he landed a brutal blow that cut through the gourd's shell with devastating precision, reducing the creature to a heap of smashed pumpkin in a single swing.
As the gutsy gourd fell, it released its own verdant burst, turning the surrounding area into a lumpy minefield of difficult terrain while restoring strength to the last remaining ally. Elroy raised his shield and fixed his attention on the patronizing gourd, ready to intercept any attack against his companions.
With only one foe remaining, Grotdor decided to escalate. He called down a scorching column of flame on the pumpkin, wreathing it in a roaring pillar of fire that seared the leshy for tremendous damage. The attack left behind a charred circle of hazardous terrain that threatened to burn anything moving within it. The last gourd wilted visibly, its vines blackened and smoking.
Dravyn piled on with cold to complement Grotdor's fire. He cast another biting frost upon the already-scorched gourd, wrapping it in numbing chill despite the creature's surprisingly strong resistance. Then he followed with a frozen glare, his runic eyes filling with cold fury as his gaze inflicted additional damage and left persistent cold clinging to the leshy's form, continuing to sap its strength.
The combination of blistering heat and numbing cold left the pumpkin staggering, leaves sloughing away like autumn petals.
Perry seized the moment for a decisive strike. He engaged his strategic mind one final time, calculating trajectory, wind, and angle—and his planning produced a perfect result. Confident in his analysis, he squeezed the trigger on his hand crossbow.
The bolt flew true. The quarrel punched straight through the gourd leshy's head in a devastating strike, and the creature collapsed in a final spray of seeds and glowing sap, its taunts cut short mid-sentence.
The field returned to silence save for the natural rustle of the autumn wind.
As the echoes of combat faded, the pumpkin field lay in ruins: scorched circles where columns of fire had burned, thick mats of new vines from the verdant bursts, and clumps of gourds scattered by the creatures' deaths. The heroes took a moment to check on one another.
Rust confirmed that Elroy was back to near-full strength thanks to healing magic and the earlier elixir. Perry adjusted his crossbow, mentally filing away observations about leshy weaknesses for future reference. Dravyn allowed his runes to dim, satisfied with how his magic had performed. Elroy inspected his shield, pleased that it had successfully absorbed multiple hits without failing. Grotdor let the last flames fade, noting with satisfaction how well fire and cold had combined to weaken their final foe.
Finding no loot of note beyond seeds and plant matter, they left the ruined patch behind and continued toward Restov. The city—and the banquet at Aldori Manor where Lady Jamandi Aldori awaited—lay just ahead. They had proven they could work together under fire.
Now the real test would begin.