All Campaign Reports

Non-narrative Reference Links

Artificer-Forager deck (Constructed at beginning of campaign)
Deck as Amand has progressed in the campaign (Note, this is current to my latest progress in the campaign, not necessarily the Day you are reading. In other words if you are reading Day 6 but I’ve played to Day 22, you will see the deck from Day 22.)
Campaign Log

1. Day 15
2. Day 16
3. Day 17
4. Day 18
5. Breaking the 4th Wall

Day 15

Meadow

I resolved to take a slow day before venturing further south into the reclaimer nest at Alluvial Ruins. I hoped the good people of Meadow might be celebrating the Harvest and eagerly struck camp and set out with the sunrise over my shoulder chasing night down over the distant mountains.

Before I could even find the town I was turned aside by the high grass in every direction. The gentle wind created persistent whisper, which was charming until the third time the trail dead-ended. After that all I heard were whispered taunts. Why had the townsfolk let the grass grow unchecked?

I gave up finding an established trail to Meadow and set work carving my own with my trowel. It was slow going at first but eventually the town buildings began to emerge from the fields as I climbed a gentle rise out of the grassy sea.

To my dismay I arrived at Meadow in between the Harvest Festivals. There was no party, in fact everyone I saw seemed in a very workmanlike, almost dour, mood. I overheard talk of the reclaimers so perhaps it was the invasion depressing the spirit (and trail maintenance) of the town even though no biomelds had yet been seen in the expansive fields around Meadow. I thought to tell them the Reclaimers were unlikely to threaten Meadow, at least not yet, but I recalled my goal to forget about the Reclaimers for just a day.

Unfortunately I was new to town and travelers bring news, so a knot of villagers slowly coalesced around me asking for updates from the rest of the Valley. I demurred and deflected as best as I could. Then, someone recognized me from Sil’s stupid portraits and the game was up.

After filling them all in to satisfy their curiosity and anxiety, I asked where I could find Elder Jular and a place to rest. The crowd pointed me towards the food stalls circling the Growers Assemblage while a young man ran off to track down the Elder. To kill some time I browsed the market, but finding nothing continued off to find a hot breakfast.

With a bellyful of eggs, hash, and oats I leaned back into a cup of mourning root tea, determined again to enjoy the morning. I looked out on a tilled field where the town cultivated mourning roots and I could see some stilt horses grazing in the distance beyond the fence line. A swishing that wasn’t grass came from my left where a young man was fiddling with a gauzeblade. He barely met my eye and kept up with his annoying game. Swish, snap! Swish, snap! All I wanted was to enjoy a few minutes to myself! I asked him to stop, to no avail. The only way to get his attention was to impress him, teenagers, so I asked for a turn and whistled the blade through a large clump.

“Hey you’ve got some skill,” he said. “Name’s Jaris,” he informed me. Couldn’t care less.

“Hey, if you want a real challenge let’s go to Greenbriar Knoll,” his eyes glistened. “My buddy says crazy stuff happens there at night.”

We were in the middle of an invasion of unknown biomelds and this kid wanted to go thrill seeking? I opened my mouth to start the lecture when two scrofs burst from the grass and tore through the fence surrounding the mourning root field. Several people shouted in alarm and ran towards the fence, but nobody dared get between a Scrof and food so they backed away. I looked back to Jaris to see if his bravery extended to real problems. Apparently it did not. He was gone. Good riddance.

Turning back to the invasion at hand, the scrofs were busy nosing around for mourning roots when Elder Jular sprinted out waving her arms and screaming obscenities at the boars. It was a bracing experience to hear such things come from such a wizened mouth, and perhaps it wasn’t an act of wisdom because it did absolutely nothing to deter the intruders. Meanwhile the stilt horses stepped through the gap produced by the scrofs and starting eating the vegetables. An artilope followed but was promptly chased away by one of the scrofs. Total chaos in the mourning root patch.

Elder Jular retreated from battle and plopped down next to me. She was winded but managed a breathless, “Good morning.”

She cast me a dark look when my mourning / morning pun fell flat but underneath it I saw a glimmer of humor. “Har har, newcomer. Before you make light of our problems, maybe you should make yourself useful.” I glanced quickly over to the scrofs which looked like they were in a competitive dust bathing contest as they looked for roots. “Not with the scrofs,” she continued, “though they might be useful. With the Clicker. I’ve heard you’re familiar with it.”

Elder Jular went on to explain the terror and inconvenience inflicted by the Clicker on the residents of Meadow. “The tunnels are an absolute hazard! Between Reclaimers and the Clicker, people are afraid to leave the town anymore. I don’t care if you kill it, sweet talk it, or mind meld with it, just deal with it.”

I agreed to help. It seemed to get a day off I’d have to go on a solitary mountain retreat, and even then some nosy traveler would come find me. But I wasn’t too sour about helping the Elder. I did feel some inexplicable connection to the Clicker and wanted to take the opportunity to find a peaceful resolution before someone like Kal or Kordo came along. Before leaving Elder Jular turned back, “You know, the best advice I can give you is always scout ahead. You never know what help you can find or trouble you can avoid if you take the time to stop and pay attention.”

Now these scrofs weren’t just my mourning entertainment, they were my ticket to lure the Clicker out from its tunnels. I nervously jumped over the fence and carefully circled the boars. I was now directly in harm’s way and they could decide to charge me at any moment. I equipped my darter and looked to create an opening with my kinetic glass. After some tinkering I had discovered how to make different shapes with it, so I quickly approximated a velox and darted into the grass nearby. The scrofs were drawn by the sound and charged it. I managed to hit one but it broke off from the velox and bashed into my leg. I limped away and threw my carbon forged cable around the second scrof while it attempted to kill the imposter velox.

Turning back to the scrof that had injured me, I blanched to see it pawing at the ground preparing to charge again. I desperately loaded another dart and shot it in the neck, severing an artery. It lay twitching and dying in the dirt.

The cable had bought me some time so I took stock of the situation. An artilope had joined the feast and the stilt horses had completely made themselves at home in the mourning root patch. They had eaten their fill and apparently held me accountable for their good fortune because one sidled up and knelt next to me. With a length of rope I lassoed the artilope and tied it to a fence post. With another, I tied up the dead scrof. If I could only calm or subdue the cabled scrof I’d have enough prey to lure the Clicker from its tunnels.

I approached the frightened animal bucking against the cable. I sat next to it and put my hand on its heaving chest and felt it shudder. I suddenly came back into my own body and realized how frightened I felt and tried to calm myself. As I calmed, so did the scrof. I lowered my awareness into my heart and felt a deep sadness. I had killed… perhaps its family? I felt its fear about what I was going to do and so I tried to project back a sense of safety and a promise I wouldn’t let any harm come to it. The animal had no reason to trust me, but I felt every last bit of resistance drop away. With complete confidence it wouldn’t attack I hitched it to the stilt horse, mounted the horse, and made for the ravine up to Rings of the Moon.

My leg was not in good shape from the scrof attack and I needed to hurry before nightfall. I could only keep the prey together for so long and dragging a dead scrof around would tire out even the stoutest of horses. But I dimly remember riding past the entirety of the populace of Meadow. I guess I had put on quite a show. At least Sil wasn’t there to paint me in front of a horde of rabid boars, then send it to every corner of the Valley.

Rings of the Moon

I was listing heavily in the saddle by the time we exited the ravine. The world swam around me. Within me too, as wave after wave of nausea rose in my throat. Scrof are not the cleanest animal and I had done my best to clean the wound while on horseback, but there’s no telling what I might have picked up. Nobody has ever been happier to hear the clicking of many spidery legs and sharp mandibles.

I semi-gracefully fell off my horse to move to protect the artilope and living scrof. Despite the dusk and fatigue I could make out what seemed like hundreds of eyes, with my face reflected in every single one. I don’t want to think about how close I was to the Clicker, and certain death. I slurred some request to leave the fields around Meadow alone and in exchange it wouldn’t run afoul of Rangers more willing to do violence to it. I asked it to let the artilope and scrof go, but it could have the dead one. I know I wasn’t eloquent but the kaleidoscope of my reflections receded into the darkness.

I unhitched the prey and somehow made it back into the saddle. The horse decided to take me to the nearby archaeological outpost. I certainly didn’t. I fell asleep and bumped through the night.

Day 16

Archaeological Outpost

My hand went immediately to my bruised leg. Yep, still bruised, and deeply. I’d be feeling that one for weeks. It also pained me that I had to kill the scrof. Did I? I felt doubt looking back on it. In the moment, yes. I needed to kill it. It was charging me and could have done severe damage. But I put myself in that position. I chose to wound it in the first place.

I was freeing Meadow of the danger of the Clicker. Was that worth the life of one scrof? Nobody would fault me. In fact it all could be regarded as a heroic act of self-sacrifice, what Rangers were trained to do. But I didn’t feel heroic. I felt sloppy.

I needed perspective. I needed to move on. I was heading into the nest of the Reclaimers and having my mind on the events of yesterday would only get me hurt, or worse.

As I rubbed the bruise, ruminating on the scrof, suddenly I remembered my dream. I was deep in the Verdessa and surrounded by beings like the one I encountered directing the Reclaimers to Spire. Like it, but also fantastically different of all sizes, colors, and shapes. I strained to remember any words or message contained in the dream but could not. Were the verdessians communicating with me or was this all my subconscious? Regardless, I felt a surge of energy and inspiration.

Then I was broken from that reverie by Zek atop a stilt horse. He tossed me an oily packet of hydraworm jerky and told me that Kasende sent her thanks. Nobody else would even think to send hydraworm jerky. In an instant, I saw Kasende’s intense eyes; a memory from our parting at Biological Outpost, but I felt like she was looking at me, into me, again. I hoped she would be there in Alluvial Ruins, a foolish fantasy, to help me navigate whatever challenge waited for me.

I bit into the jerky. It was foul, but it got me on my feet. Time to stop wasting time.

I could see the Silverfin in the valley far below and began looking for a trail down from the rocky ridge. The scrubby trees grew low and twisted among the rocks, seemingly as old as the rocks themselves. Such a deformed thing could only survive in the deformity gave it some advantage. And for the trees, it did. Their low profile hid them from the merciless weather and elements of the high country.

I swung myself over a boulder and landed at the mouth of a cave. Thinking nothing of it, I continued on my way when I was knocked flat on my stomach by what seemed to be a hurricane erupting from the cave. I half-expected to be blown of the rocks and cast into the trees far below. When I wasn’t, I rolled over and saw feathers and talons rush just a few feet above my face.

Nobody had ever tracked Umbra to a nest. Nobody knew if she had one or many nests. Maybe this was because anyone who saw her was so intent on not getting lifted by those massive talons that they couldn’t even tell which way she departed to. Had I just stumbled onto her nest? By the look, and smell, of it, I had. She landed on a nearby outcropping and gave me what I interpreted as a salty look. Maybe I had woken her up or she was irritated at me for giving her the slip at Mt. Nim several days ago. Maybe both. I didn’t want to hang around to find out.

I deployed my kinetic glass and it pulled Umbra’s eyes for the moment I needed to scamper away and out of sight. I dispersed some nycta bats with my darter and dropped below the tree line aiming for the confluence of the rivers below. I wouldn’t be able to lose Umbra this easily, but who knows, maybe I could whet her appetite for Reclaimer.

Alluvial Ruins

I arrived at the ruins fully equipped with my darter, kinetic glass, the trowel, and a canteen, all stowed cleverly in my belt. I felt ready to tackle any and every Reclaimer that crossed my path. And so in I went, swigging go-juice and darter blazing. Ready, as Sirisana had implored me to do several days prior, to deal ruthlessly with the reclaimer threat.

It was showy, it was exciting, but I failed. Sure I shot one grub full of puffercrawler spores and carved it up with my trowel. Sure it was exciting to see umbra and and an irix dive-bomb some reclaimers. But I wasn’t there to slay, I was there to study, and in my enthusiasm I drifted away from the central nest and ended up surrounded by fractalwire and atrox that came down from the mountains. I had to retreat to a makeshift camp bivouacked up in a tree of all places. Reclaimers didn’t show any interest in living things so I figured I’d be safe overnight.

Day 17

I slept wonderfully anchored high in the trunk of the dolewood. Even the strongest wind could barely rock a mature and healthy tree. The understory of a dolewood canopy was eerily calm during a storm. That is unless the storm manages to grab hold of a weakened tree and topple it over. A falling dolewood could create a cascade of destruction nearly a half-mile long. My tent was barely 50 feet off the ground so I felt barely a stir from the wind high above.

Before unhitching my tent and climbing down I took a moment to reflect on my efforts the day before to infiltrate and study the nest. Yesterday I had overreacted to the newness and unfamiliarity of the Reclaimers. I knew what I did wrong – I tried to be hero – but what could I do differently today? What stood out to me was the behavior of the predators. They were drawn to the reclaimer grubs and attacked at the first opportunity. In my haste, I failed to see that the local predators might do the job of killing the grubs for me freeing me up to study the nest holistically. I resolved that to be my new strategy: stay out of sight, out of the way, and only strategically reveal presence.

Climbing down from the tree was more challenging and took longer than I expected. Before I reached the ground a Reclaimer Seeker and bearsloth were already scuffling around the outskirts of the nest. I couldn’t get properly equipped but did manage to find my camoweave cloak, perhaps the most helpful thing for my mission to stay as secret as possible. The seeker must be some kind of outer perimeter guard for the nest. I didn’t want a confrontation so soon, so I decided to circle around to the northwest.

The trouble was the scree slope that I tried, and failed, to cross. Stuck in scree and sliding downhill towards a bed of fractalwire, my day nearly ended before it began. I managed to escape the scree and find a way past the fractalwire. Now I was closer to the nest and saw a Reclaimer polyp nestled between two massive tree roots. It pulsed and started to tear, though didn’t quite open fully. An irix started circling high above so I decided to lay low and wait.

Off to the north, approaching the ruins from Greenbriar Knoll, I saw a cloaked figure flitting through the trees. As it got closer the features crystallized into none other than Calypsa. She saw me and glided through the forest and jumped noiselessly into the small hollow next to me. “Amand!” She whispered urgently, “What’s your plan?”

I explained my strategy of laying low, observation, and opportunistic intervention. Calypsa’s eyes warmed as I spoke. “You speak with the wisdom of a Ranger many years your senior. I’ve been shadowing you for a couple of days now and after your struggles yesterday I wanted to drop in and see how you are doing. Seems like you’ve got this under control.” I couldn’t even get out a reply before she melted back into the trees.

My eyes flitted back on the ruins and, more specifically, the seeker. It wasn’t guarding anything after all. It seemed to be searching for a place to lay its eggs. It retched and sprayed mucus between two fallen chunks of rubble. The mucus flexed and flowed into a throbbing mass. It didn’t look like the polyp yet, but I could see it beginning to.

I inched closer, readying myself in case I wanted to act swiftly once the polyp burst open. Unfortunately, the bed of fractalwire wrapped around in front of me. I equipped my trowel and began digging it up by the root to create a path through when the Irix and Seeker suddenly moved closer to the bursting polyp, as if readying themselves for what came next. I dug again and the polyp burst open revealing two enormous slug-like grubs. The irix attacked one and a bearsloth swung down from the trees behind me and lunged at the other. The grubs were wounded but proved very resilient, perhaps they exuded some chemical that blunted the predators attack, because the irix and bearsloth quickly retreated.

I was now free of the fractalwire and had a clear path onto the large circular platform made of some intricate combination of stone and metal where the grubs were. They seemed to be growing before my eyes and I didn’t want to lose the opportunity to dispatch them. I pulled my darter from the belt pouch, packed away the trowel, and was preparing to fire when a second reclaimer leapt over a great stone block and devoured one of the wounded grubs. It seemed I might have little to do after all if the seekers were themselves cannibalistic. Were they vying to ensure only their offspring grew? I had no way of knowing.

The first seeker had by now ejected enough mucus to produce another polyp that rose from the stone and metal like a glowing red egg. I needed to move quickly to take care of the second wounded grub so I steadied my arm and sent a dart deep into what seemed like its head. It shuddered and collapsed.

So far I had avoided exerting myself at all. The camoweave cloak was a warm shroud around me, concealing and protecting me. To everything else I was nothing but a lump of rubble that occasionally shot darts, but by then it was too late for them to do anything about it.

Now, everything started moving really fast. The second polyp burst to reveal two more grubs which were promptly swarmed by two atrox. The seeker was getting too close to my cloaked position for comfort. I bathed a dart in puffercrawler spores and shot the reclaimer. It spasmed and fell instantly, and I ran towards it and vaulted atop a ledge so I now looked down on the melee below. I could see a way through and past the ruins but needed to stay just a bit longer to complete my reconnaissance of the nest.

There was still something I hadn’t seen: the metamorphosis of the grub into a seeker. I pulled out the old sketchbook that Sil had given me and began a hasty sketch of the stages of reclaimer reproduction and growth. As I drew, it all clicked together. When the grubs had nearly completed their growth, they stopped moving and began to harden and elongate. The two grubs below me were doing just that. In act of desperation, because I couldn’t afford to have them both turn into reclaimers, I kicked a rock the size of my head off the ledge onto one of them. It interrupted whatever process was happening to slide away from me, which gave me enough time to line up another darter shot and eliminate it.

I was ready to go. I had all the notes and sketches I needed to report back to the Elders in Meadow. My strategy had worked marvelously and the predators had done most of the heavy lifting for me. I sighed some silent gratitude to the fierce animals of the valley. Did they sense the threat too and were defending their homes, or were they just hungry?

Almost on queue, the most elusive animal in the Valley climbed up from the riverbank. Quiet, the bearded lynx, surveyed the situation. I bounded off back up the ridge towards the Archaeological Outpost. Quiet had this under control and I would only get in her way.

Day 18

Archaeological Outpost

The stars were still bright when I broke camp and stepped onto the trail. I wanted to get to Meadow as quickly as I could. Not only to brief the assembled Elders and Rangers but, I was embarrassed to admit, partake in as much of the Harvest Festival as I could. The sooner I got there, the sooner I could finish business, the sooner I could find the party.

I breezed past the Archaeological Outpost and through Rings of the Moon. Shooed some bats, got caught in a webwall, and ignored a Reclaimer Polyp. Easy and efficient.

Meadow

Everyone, and I mean everyone, had traveled to Meadow to hear my investigation of the nest. Calypsa, Kal, Ben Amon, Elder Thrush, and more. That didn’t surprise me. What surprised me was my own confidence. My experiences in the Valley the last few weeks had challenged me, injured me, and defeated me. But they had also stripped the doubt that I belonged in the Ranger corps. I deeply respected the assembled veterans, but I was not in awe of them. Well, maybe Calypsa, but she has that effect on new Rangers.

The assembly arrived at the same conclusion I had: we needed to deal with the threat directly. Too many lives were at stake to stand aside. There is a time for stewardship and there is a time for self-preservation. I, for one, did not feel reluctant to uphold that animal instinct as just as important as all the other, more “refined”, human qualities. We can be stewards of the valley without imagining we are separate from it.

When it came time to decide on the best course of action to take I was happy to hear Ben Amon recommend Kasende. To be honest, I didn’t even really consider trying to track down the Shaper. I wanted to see her again, to see how her wounds were healing, I told myself, and if she could also help solve the Reclaimer problem, fantastic. She hunts hydraworm all on her own, perhaps she could single-handedly kill all the Reclaimers too.

Everyone packed up and departed from the meeting. Some filtered down through Meadow towards the clearing where the dancers were gathering for the festival. The grass was cut back into a wide circle and the ground was beaten by the thousands of feet from hundreds of harvest festivals over the months and years. Nobody could quite say when the first festival happened. Most stories seemed to be some version of the first festival happening after the prolonged drought of 4410. For three consecutive summers the rain failed to come to the Valley. The tall grass withered and Meadow was surrounded by scrubland. Many villagers worried the dirt itself would blow away, fears that were ultimately unfounded. The deeply rooted prairie grass held the soil in place just long enough for the rains to return.

The first rains in 4413 brought joy and celebration. People wandered out into the dust and dirt, spinning and dancing in the wind and rain. All grudges and conflicts were suspended. Fears forgotten. Everyone danced with everyone. This spontaneous expression of relief and joy formed the basis of the Dancer’s Round that continues to this day.

Excitement crackled in the air and I was at the center of it. I was the conquering hero returning from the unnamed danger of the Reclaimer’s Nest. I had also freed the village from the constant specter of the Clicker. In previous years the percussion of many feet on the ground had drawn the Clicker into the Dancer’s Round itself, scattering festival goers like ants from an anthill set upon by a scrof. The possibility of the Clicker never stopped the festival, but now that the Clicker was gone the weight of that anxiety lifted. And like the cap removed from a long-fermented bottle of sunberry tonic releases a cloud of bubbles, laughter and singing rose to the mountains high above.

“Well look who it is, the hero of the day,” came a voice from over my shoulder. I turned and Kasende was standing close, so close I nearly elbowed her in the stomach. She smiled. “Be careful. The last person to elbow me ended up grappled to the ground.” Somehow that possibility didn’t frighten me.

Kasende was taller than most women, sinewy, and strong like one of the large cats from the jungles of the Verdessa. Perhaps she was, transformed by some verdessian magic and climbed the cliffs of Tumbledown.

“Has the hero given thought to his dancing partner?” Kasende didn’t move and I imagined I could feel heat radiating from her body. I hadn’t, but I didn’t need to anymore.

As few words as Kasende used to get her point across, she required me to use even fewer. I felt there wasn’t anything I could hide from her sharp eyes. I dipped my head slightly (to hide my reddening cheeks) and extended my hand (because any words were caught in my throat).

She looked at my hand in mocked scorn. “What kind of dancing do you imagine I meant?” And she spun on her heel away from the festivities and back towards the ravine, which was now falling under late afternoon shadows. “Come with me, let’s see what trouble we can find among the rocks.”

What was happening? Was Kasende, the legendary huntress of Tumbledown, flirting with me?

We crossed the fields and came to the base of the rocky ravine. Kasende would pull ahead as if goading me to keep up with her, then halt and remain perfectly still, frozen in place with her eyes fixed on the hillside ahead. Finally, she pointed.

“There. Do you see it?” I didn’t see anything. “An Opilon nest.” I still didn’t see anything. “Under the northern end of the rope bridge.” She scampered up the rocky slope to a narrow ledge and crouched, coiled like a spring.

I summoned my inner atrox and mounted the cliff face, trying to match Kasende’s path. I did… ok. A slip here and a loosened rock there, I finally hoisted myself behind her. She looked back in amused irritation and I was glad the amusement exceeded the irritation. If I was too much of a drag she’d leave me to fend for myself.

It was at this point that I realized this whole expedition was a test, but of what or for what purpose, I couldn’t know. Perhaps she was feigning the flirtation to entice me to follow her, perhaps not, but it didn’t matter. I would be best served by shoving my feelings and nervousness aside and set about the task at hand, which clearly was a spider hunt. She could have done this alone, but she wanted me to come with her.

Kasende remained still and silent. Eventually I realized she was waiting to see what I would do. This was part of her test. We were on the northern side of the ravine, about 10 yards beneath the spider’s nest and we had no visibility on the nest itself or any spider coming out of it. We were in the worst possible position to take proactive action against the spiders. They could drop on our heads and we’d be powerless to do anything about it.

Kasende turned and looked at me, the sunset glinting off her eyes. What will you do? I unspooled a length of rope and pointed skywards. Above us, just below the the lip of the ravine where the slope of the cliff eased a bit, was a gnarled old pine that curved outwards from the rock face. I tied the end of the rope around a fist-sized rock and threw it up and around the trunk. Then, with a quick slip knot, we had an improvised top rope. There was a shallow cave about halfway the distance to the spider’s nest. We made for it and pressed our backs against the rock.

Except the wall was covered in a thick layer of webbing. The opilons had built a trap, most likely to catch a wayward bird, and we had walked right into it. I ripped and slashed at the fibers, and freed us, but not without sending a shower of debris falling to the ground far below. We now had completely lost the element of surprise and any Opilon would surely be on its guard, if it hadn’t retreated already.

Kasende and I acted wordlessly and in unison, both hearing the urgent cadence of the moment. She vaulted up to the tree, straddled it, and unfastened the rope. She lashed it around her waist and between her legs to make a harness while I took up the slack and braced myself for a belay.

Kasende was now above the nest and walked herself further along the wall. With a flash, I saw her draw her blade. The rope grew heavy as she gave me more of her weight. Then the dance began.

She leapt from the rock. The tree quivered but held and I lay back to press my feet into a crevice. A pendulum of death, she swooped down upon an unsuspecting spider and cleaved it in half. I knew because one half landed near my feet with the legs still quivering.

The rope when slack. Although I couldn’t see her I knew she had found footing again, so I stood and tightened the rope until I felt the reassuring tautness of her body weight at the other end.

A voice came from the trail below. “Whoa! That was the absolute coolest thing I’ve ever seen!” I knew that voice. Jaris.

“Hey! There’s another one. It’s coming for you!” Unclear who he meant but I didn’t want to ask clarifying questions. I wanted him gone. We were entwined in a roped ballet with swords, and we could handle it ourselves. I hollered to him to leave and when that didn’t work, kicked a rock in his general direction. That did.

Back to the spider hunt, Jaris had not been wrong. A spider dropped onto the same ledge I had set up my belay and was slowly moving towards me. Perhaps it was investigating the disturbance to the web wall, but it was getting closer and I started to make out its many eyes and its mandibles. I dared not drop the rope to equip my darter, not with Kasende on the other end, so I began edging away and further into the shallow cave.

Suddenly the rope tightened, almost pulling me off my feet, then went slack. She was jumping and I had only a moment to react. I opened my brake hand and felt the rope whir through my palm. Kasende was falling.

I’ll remember those seconds for the rest of my life. Had she jumped to avoid some danger I couldn’t see and in letting go had I just allowed the bravest hunter in the valley fall to her death? But holding on would have had its own perils. If she jumped, she did so for a reason, and under control. My instinct said to trust her and get out of the way.

She landed and impaled the spider into the rock then cast it from the tip of her sword off the cliff.

Kasende sat on the ledge and made room next to her. “You did well. You listen without having to be told. Explaining takes time, then the moment is gone.”

Time became elastic. The sun was far behind the mountains above us and their jagged silhouette ran away from us on the grasslands below. Anything I said would punctuate the end of the moment. Eventually I managed. “It was easy to listen to you.”

I felt a brush of her skin on my cheek and a light kiss. “Come find me in Tumbledown. I have an idea to solve this reclaimer problem of ours.” With that, she was gone into the night.

Before the reclaimer problem, I had to solve the problem of how to get off this ledge. Climbing down was a terrible idea but if I could get across the bridge, the far side seemed more gently sloped and an easier scramble back to the trail below. Beyond the cave was a vertical crevice and by wedging my hands and feet into it I began to climb. It reached the tree trunk we used earlier and from there I clambered up and over the edge onto a bed of tryptafolum. A harrowing run across the fraying bridge and I was in the clear, bounding through a field of boulders until I found myself back on the outskirts of Meadow.

I made my way back towards the festival, though I didn’t feel at all like dancing. A semi-aerial spider hunt really leaves one exhausted. I found Elder Jular sitting on the porch of the common house and sat next to her.

“Is there something on your mind?” She asked after several minutes of silence. There was, but I didn’t need to talk about it. Somehow just sitting in silence was helping make everything else about this day, and the days that came before, more real. Everything seemed to be changing in and around me. If I could make one moment solid, and feel completely myself in it, everything that came before must become more real as well.

“I just want to be able to recall this moment perfectly,” I said quietly, mostly to myself.

I left Meadow late that evening for Stoneweaver Bridge. Light from my campfire accentuated the motion of the tall grass, surrounding me with an undulating mass of light and shadow. Above the stars struggled through high, hazy clouds.

Breaking the 4th Wall

I’ll keep these sections brief, but I want to make a spot for any thoughts or observations I have that are a bit awkward to try to include in the story.

• I traded out Touch of the Verdess and Local Fare for two copies of Perfect Recall. I don’t have a ton of moments in the deck due to the higher gear and attachment count, but I love the flexibility that Perfect Recall offers.
• I brought in one copy of Kasende Technique and the Dolewood Canoe.
• I’m feeling really good about the deck. Bringing in Eagle Eye has really helped make my days more efficient and scouting up cards I want. I sometimes feel like I’m not making the most of the Forager background, mainly because I can’t use the Loose-Leaf Tea Set. I also think I should have taken Secret Garden at deck construction because as an attachment I can no longer access it.