Rolled 14, 20, 6 = 40 (3d20)
>>5795075>>5795078>>5795125>>5795165>>5795178>>5795187>>5795265“So we backtrack, or we head straight into an ambush?” you’d considered. “Neitehr sounds especially appealing. But luckily, we won’t be DOING either.”
“Oh?” Pearce asked warily.
“Oh?” your father asked excitedly. “I recognize a caster with a prepared spell for the occasion when I see one! What have you got for us?”
“Let’s wait for dusk,” you said. “It works better at dusk.”
“Traveling after dark in goblin country?” Terzo had asked. “I think I agree with Master Pearce’s tone, Rudolfo.”
“Nonsense!” your father had proclaimed. “My boy is the son of two adventurers born, and a skilled elven mage besides! Two lineages of combined prowess, and of bardic and fey luck, ride with you!”
“Mm,” Terzo had said, but had not pressed the matter.
You and your compatriots settled in for camp, but not for the night. Rather, you each took your rations—double rations for Muffins, of course—and the humans stole what rest they could while you opened your mind and expanded your senses beyond the Materia Regnum and into the realm of magic immaterial. You sought out the leylines which spread out like cracks upon the world’s mundane surface, shifting patterns of rifts and ripples revealing areas of especially potent magic… And there, you found it.
“<Faerie Fire>,” you whispered, and summoned forth that bluish flame, smokeless and heatless.
It hovered upon your palm, its faint glow casting no shadows upon your best friend’s still-sleeping face, nor interacting with the more typical, orange-yellow flame of Terzo and Rudolfo’s small and sputtering scrub-brush campfire. The shadow it DID cast stretched far, though, further south and east, and resembled nothing more than a shadowy path.
“Go,” you said, and released the fey flame from your hand with a quick jerk away. It continue to hover there a moment, and then with a faint whining drone like an insect’s, it began to manoeuvre down the unseen pathway. You gave Pearce’s shoulder a shke, rousing him, and jumped to your feet. This, in turn, drew Terzo and Rudolfo’s attention.
“After that flame!” you cried, pointing.
“What flame?” Rudolfo asked, confused, exchanging a confused glance with your coachman.
Ah, right, he wasn’t a mage…
“I see it,” Pearce said, a little groggily.
“Well, then at least it’s no wasteland mirage!” your father said, and drew his shining blade to point it in (approximately) the direction of the fire he could not see. “Lead the way!”
