Solo Land of the Dead

[Aislyn Leavold]

82nd of Winter, 515 AV
The Western Guard

There was a lot of shouting. Screaming, screeching noise. Everywhere Aislyn had looked, something was dying. Be it a monstrous beast left undying and deformed, or someone still living, torn apart by something undead. Beasts of liquid consistency, which swords went straight through. Those ones didn't even kill their prey, they just kind of… Absorbed them. Then they dissolved.
That had been how the archer beside Aislyn had gone. Quickly, one tick alive and the next…
His arrows has gone straight through, until a large man with a strangely colourful arm had struck it down with a warhammer. Part of the sludge that remained had splattered onto Aislyn’s right arm, she had been so close. It burned like Hai and left a rather worrying black mark.

Other than that, though, the woman had made it through the apocalypse relatively unharmed. Physically, at least.

The day before, Aislyn had spent looking for Phobius, and after that, looking for some way to be helpful. She'd found work in the base camp, tending the wounds of anyone who needed the most basic of patching up. She knew how to bandage a wound, and how to stop bleeding, but other than that, the woman was rather useless. Nonetheless, Aislyn had been put to work, like she actually knew what she was doing.
The next day, she decided that maybe there was something else; something she was more experienced in that she could help with. Such as fighting. Granted, she wasn't much better of an fighter than she was as a surgeon.
But she was trying her best. And she was getting better.

Without the crossbow in her backpack, her possessions were pretty light, and easily held close to her body with an extra piece of cloth connecting the straps together over her chest. That, combined with a quiver that had come with straps that kept it completely motionless against her body, and she was able to keep everything with her relatively easily without losing agility. Which was very important when there was something very big, very angry, and very dead coming towards you very fast. There had been more than a few close calls, and Aislyn had only been on the front lines for a few bells.

Once, the woman’s skin had even been saved by what had appeared to be an ape of sorts, that had pushed back the fairly intimidating pair of weapon-wielding humanoids that had managed to sneak up on her. As the humanoid had fended them off, she herself had been helped back by a girl whose name Aislyn believed was Manna. Or Menna. Or something.
She felt slightly guilty for not being able to remember the name of the person that had saved her from an axe to the skull, but not guilty enough to ask. There was something about the girl, something that seemed far too familiar for someone Aislyn had only met in passing. They hadn't even exchanged words, after all. The girl had been too busy orchestrating whatever she was doing with the ghosts. Aislyn didn't blame her. Whatever the younger girl was doing, it was impressive. Several times, an arrow or blade would come near to her or those around her, only to be deflected by an unseen force. Once, when an arrow had come near to the large, ape-man, it hit something almost shimmery before falling to the ground. Aislyn had heard whispers of shielding before, but even that didn't seem to be what had piqued her senses about the girl. There was something else. Something very… Ionu.

It was only when she was forced to retreat rather closely to the girl, the ape, and a woman Aislyn didn't recognize did she realize what it was that had bothered her. With no explanation of where the thought came from, Aislyn realized. Menna, the girl with the ghosts, was marked.
An alarming discovery, and rather distracting when one was taking shaky shots at monsters from afar. The woman wasn't exactly the best shot when she focused, nevermind when her eyes were drawn to a girl who knew next to nothing of her existence.

It was only when she was faced with yet another close call did Aislyn finally snap out of it. There were more important things to worry about.

As the battle roared on, Aislyn held back, choosing a single figure to focus on protecting. She didn't trust herself to actually shoot the monster the figure was fighting without shooting the warrior instead, but the beasts surrounding the target were a different story. She could thin the amount of things that they actually had to fight, and therefore help that way. Right? That was how teamwork worked?
Aislyn was rather new to the whole war thing.

One shot. A hit, though Aislyn took only a tick to celebrate. Struck in the chest, the weapon-wielding undead stumbled backwards, at least distracting it from attacking. It was a relatively large target, but she still felt a bit of pride as the shambling body fell over it's own feet a few meters from where the fighting figure fought.
Hurriedly, Aislyn put her crossbow on her knee, rushing to reload before another danger came up. She was getting faster, but it still took her a whole chime to ready another bolt.

Two shots. Not as lucky. Just barely grazing the stomach of the wolf-like creature she'd aimed it at. The bolt buried itself in the ground, uselessly acting as more of a trap for those unlucky enough to step on it, as many of her shots often ended up.

Three shots and she came very dangerously close to the shoulder of the woman Aislyn had meant to be protecting. Her breath caught in her throat as the arrow flew- and just barely missed. Letting out a hiss, she bent to load again.

Certainly, yes, she was getting better. But she wasn't good enough. Not yet. She needed to load faster, shoot faster, shoot better, be stronger. But she wasn’t.
At least, for now.

[Aislyn Leavold]

For now, all Aislyn had to work with was her minimal ability to not miss what she was shooting at, and a whole lot of luck. Luck was never her strong point, of course, but perhaps now, now that it really mattered, she could do it. If she just tried hard enough, perhaps she’d get better with time. Perhaps her bolt would always hit it’s mark. Perhaps…
Lining up another shot, Aislyn held her breath. Perhaps, perhaps.
Perhaps a lot of things would happen.
Perhaps this was all just one big illusion.
Perhaps everyone who she had seen torn to shreds before her eyes were just fine.
Perhaps none of this was real, and Alvadas was just playing one of it’s darker tricks.
Perhaps everything would be okay. Perhaps they weren’t really losing ground. Perhaps the undead were not coming in larger and larger waves. Perhaps, when Aislyn had arrived, it had not immediately been as bad as she’d perceived. And since then, perhaps something had changed.
But that was all just perhaps.

In all reality, Aislyn knew full well that things were not going as peachy as she’d like to believe. A few bells was a short time to be on the battlefield, yes, but it was long enough to understand what was happening, what needed to be done, and what was going wrong. She, unlike those who fought with swords and axes, was able to see quite a lot. She had managed a good vantage point, on top of a shed that was just short enough for her to climb atop. And from there, she had seen how vicious the opposition was. She’d managed to maintain her perch for nearly a bell, before eventually, things got a little too close for comfort. Things being large clawed slimy amalgamates that had come very close to claiming Aislyn as their next target.
That was when she had realized they were losing ground.

After a very quick retreat, Aislyn had landed where she was now, behind an overturned table from who knew where, lopping shots over it with an overall success rate of maybe one every five shots. When she’d first learned how to use a crossbow, she’d never actually had to hit a moving target. All she had done- all she could do- at the age of ten was knock glasses off of fences. And even then, her success rate was not much better.
At this point, she kind of wished she’d picked up her “trusty” weapon more often.

Keeping her eyes on the warrior she had chosen to protect, Aislyn tried to find a reliable way of making sure she hit her target with some sort of accuracy, at least. The crossbow shot relatively straight, which was fantastic, but actually seeing where she was shooting was the problem. Without being in the way of danger, she had to stay at least thirty or forty yards back, and considering her maximum effective shooting range was more around twenty yards, she was having a bit of a difficult time. But that didn’t make her foolish.
Even if it meant sacrificing a few more bolts, she wasn’t getting any closer to a eyeless, soulless, merciless beast that had more teeth than brains. And besides, if she just kept her target safe, her job was successful.

Pulling sharply down on the trigger, Aislyn let another arrow fly. She watched, breath unconsciously held, as it soared ten, twenty, thirty yards. It was a good shot. She had taken her time, and it had paid off.
That was, until the fighter moved.
A jerking motion, a sharp right to where they had been standing. Dodging the rotting weapon of their newest foe, it seemed.
But unfortunately, that movement put them right in the path of Aislyn’s arrow.

The bolt grazed the back of the beaten helm the warrior wore, deflecting off and finding it’s way into the ground a few feet away. The artist watched in a staring silence, not sure if she was reliably comprehending what was going on. It happened very fast, but played back in her mind in slow motion.
The warrior turned, having obviously felt the arrow hit, their eyes briefly meeting Aislyn’s before disaster hit.
Or rather, the rotting weapon hit. A pick, the end broken off through either previous battle or simple wear. The exact one the fighter had moved to avoid, swung by an adversary that had barely enough meat on it’s bones to hold up the weapon. It struck the fighter in the shoulder, cleaving between plates of armor to hit flesh beneath. Aislyn couldn’t hear anything, the battle was too far away and the rest of the commotion too close. It was a silent film, as the pick was retracted and swung again, this time hitting the stumbling fighter in the side. Instantly, the warrior collapsed.
As did the living corpse.

Shot with an arrow, face crumbling inwards around the shot.
Aislyn’s arrow.
In a moment, she momentarily forgot what had just gone on in front of her, instead celebrating the fact that she had actually managed to take something down. Her first direct hit. But the death of a monster didn’t bring back the life of the living.
Unless…
Unless they weren’t dead yet.

No. It was too dangerous. She wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough, and couldn’t put herself in that much danger for someone else. She didn’t do that. Helping people in the end of all days was what brought you to your own end. She couldn’t die helping someone that was already dead when there was so much else to live for.
She had to leave them behind.

Taking one last look at the fallen figure, Aislyn turned away from the battlefield, her back pressed against the overturned table that had been her cover for the past bell. She was going to need to abandon that, too. There was no helping it. The dead were getting stronger, and she was no match for the agility of the more specialized undead. She would be lucky to survive, if any of them came close enough to hit her.
Just as she always had, Aislyn Leavold had to keep hiding.

[Aislyn Leavold]

Aislyn was certainly no lover, but it seemed she wasn’t much of a fighter either.
Well, that wasn’t true.
She most definitely was a fighter, she just wasn’t all that great at it.
The body of the fallen warrior had long been engulfed by the incoming swarm of undead, who grew ever closer to her temporary barrier. She needed a new plan. She was running out of arrows, and if she left to go find more, odds were her cover would be overrun by the time she returned. Do not let them pass, the chants had said. But what if they did pass? What if the base camp was overrun? What would they do? The wounded would be massacred, and the fighting forces would never be able to make it back in time. The Western Guard was the only thing in between certain death and the largest path to the main camp. What if they failed?

The Serpant’s beguiling words and the Seamstress’s healing stitches wouldn’t stop the wave of death that would certainly follow if they were to be wiped out.

Pulling another bolt out, Aislyn tried to think. Of something. Of anything. She was fighting like a warrior, but perhaps she needed to fight like an Alvad. Which meant…
Well, it certainly meant something.
Illusionism was certainly on her side, but upkeeping Maya and another illusion on the battlefield might be a bit of a challenge. Then again, it wasn’t going to be much harder than her attempts to land a tiny bolt on a tiny target at fifty yards, so it was at least worth a shot. And, she told herself, every pair of eyes are on the battlefield.
No one would notice a flickering hair colour, or the sudden appearance of scars. If she could make herself invisible, she could distract a blob of slime. No problem. And, if it failed, well, there were plenty of other monsters on the battlefield.
One of them had to be stupid enough.

One hand on her bow, the other extended outwardly, Aislyn tried to project. A butterfly, maybe. A butterfly that was large enough to distract a gelatinous blob of teeth and claws long enough for it to be struck down. But not too big as to sacrifice ‘Maya’ in the process. Then, all she had to do was concentrate.
From the air, a clunky, somewhat stoic insect appeared. The wings flapped far too slowly for it to ever actually fly, but it being an illusion, that didn’t matter. It moved like strings were pulling it, slowly floating over to Aislyn’s target.

The oversized butterfly lazily moved circles around the blob, as if unaware of the carnage of the battle surrounding it. The blob regarded it as it turned, slowly rolling over to follow the butterfly’s movements. The man below the blob, who had been slashing parts and pieces of the goo off of the body seemed momentarily fazed by the fact that he was no longer being attacked, before going back to his hacking. The blob didn’t seem to mind, the teeth that floated aimlessly within it now as distracted as the blob itself. It didn’t appear to have eyes, but it did begin reaching out, elongating itself in the direction of the butterfly.
Squinting at her illusion, Aislyn moved it backwards, forcing the blob to stretch itself out farther and farther for it to reach the distraction.

The man below, with the assistance of another swordfighter, took advantage of this, attacking upwards towards the tilting bridge of slime. As the blob stretched, the blades of the fighters began taking chunks out of it. Eventually, the body was strained too far, and one hack of the blade went clean through. The “head”, or what could be considered the head, considering all of it looked relatively the same, was separated from the rest of the slime, crashing down to the earth. It splattered ungracefully, scattering tiny teeth in the wet dirt. The rest of the slime followed suit, melting back into a puddle of goo.
It had worked.

Allowing herself a moment to celebrate, the butterfly fizzled out of Aislyn’s focus, disappearing into the nothingness it had come from. Briefly, she caught the gaze of the man she had helped to take down the creature. There was a look of understanding, and all of a sudden, the illusionist realized that the mark she had spent so many illusions concealing was actually rather useful for things other than hiding. If she could just maintain her focus, she might be able to keep the undead still, or draw them close enough for her to get a good shot off. The larger ones, such as the blob, were probably best left to be taken down by others, but the smaller, faster ones... They could be taken down by an arrow, if only she was able to get a clear shot.

So now she had a plan, it was just a matter of executing it.

Ducking behind her cover again, Aislyn tried to get a feel for her illusion. In her hand, she crafted the butterfly once again. It was much smoother, much more detailed, and quite a bit smaller when it was so close to her. But that wasn’t what she needed. She needed a distraction, which meant it had to be big and colourful, even if that meant sacrificing detail and realism. The mindlessness of the undead meant they didn’t care how beautiful or realistic an insect looked. They fought with strength and speed, not guile and cunning. They didn’t have the ability to process what was real and what was fake, from what she had seen, at least. Mostly, it seemed their tactics were charge and scream. Which was manageable, as long as nothing got out of hand.

Sending her butterfly off once again, Aislyn watched as it grew less detailed, the wings turning from a shimmery green and blue to a flat mix of the two colours. The flittering of the insect became simply floating across the battlefield, the wings sometimes moving in a vaguely flapping movement. She slowly maneuvered it over to a white sheet of a figure that was little more than skin and bones. It seemed to be covered with patchy fur, yet it stood on two legs. It’s face was already bashed in, leaving it with more of a hole than a head. Steadily, Aislyn guided her illusion over to where the living corpse stumbled. She shut out the noise of the battle, taking her time to make sure nothing went wrong.
For a few moments, the faceless being regarded the illusion, in a sort of assuaged calmness. Then, the illusionist began to line up her shot. Her eyes remained on the butterfly, keeping it intact, but her hands brought up the crossbow, lining it up in her peripheral vision. Her chance was there.

Or rather, her chance had been there. The corpse all of a sudden tremored, letting out a screech that penetrated past the battle, past the front lines, to where Aislyn sat.
Immediately, she lost her focus.

[Aislyn Leavold]

In a matter of seconds, the scene had gone from a calm baiting of a weak monster to a screeching incoming battle. All Aislyn’s efforts to block out the sound of the commotion around her failed, bringing back the sounds of death and dying in a wave of pure noise. The butterfly, of course, shriveled out, leaving the undead marginally closer and worse yet, still alive. Even ‘Maya’ flickered for a moment, the illusion of her white-blonde hair and pale skin swaying as Aislyn lost everything all at once.

Of course, ‘Maya’ came back, but the butterfly didn’t. And she had lost her shot. And the creature she had been distracting was no longer distracted. And it appeared that it was coming her way.
Still screeching, the shadowy corpse hurdled itself towards Aislyn, breaking past a surprised swordfighter that was too preoccupied with another beast of slightly larger proportion to stop it. It wouldn’t make it. It couldn’t, there were too many fighters in the way.

Nonetheless, Aislyn tried to take aim. As the creature came forward, the illusionist moved back, knowing that if she missed, there would be nowhere near enough time to reload before it was upon her. She held the bow still, resting it on the table, closing one eye and leaning into the shot. That helped, right? That was what she’d always seen.
As an afterthought, she opened both eyes again. It did not help. What a lie.

At twenty yards, Aislyn took the shot. The shot that mattered. That she couldn’t miss.
Except she could.
And she did.

The bolt fell short, the arch of gravity obviously weighing it down too much to reach it’s target. It landed with a thunk in the ground audible enough that even Aislyn could hear. The approaching corpse, of course, took no heed, bounding over it with something measurably less than grace. A dazed expression on her face, Aislyn pushed back her cover in an attempt to stop the corpse. The beast stumbled, tripping over it’s own feet. But it was a fast runner and fast to recover. But she almost had the bolt loaded. Just a few more ticks-
Then, it was upon her. She kicked at the flailing body, but only succeeded in getting a claw to the face. Maya flickered in and out of existence as she struggled, all of her concentration, of course, diverted to surviving.
That was it, then. She was going to die.
How unfortunate. She’d really wanted to see the outcome of the apocalypse. Too bad it still took her a full petching chime to load, or perhaps she’d have a chance. Or maybe if she was a better shot, or had any sort of hand-to-hand combat experience.
She should have known better. What artist was any good on the battlefield? She’d been overconfident; cocky. How tragic she couldn’t draw her way out of death’s way. Sketch herself a weapon, maybe.

Raising her palms sharply into the creature’s fragmented chin, Aislyn managed to delay her demise for a few precious ticks. She tried to roll away, but ultimately failed, the body on top of her, although small, weighing her down. She was doomed. She couldn’t breathe.
When had the creature gotten that heavy?
And why wasn’t it attacking?
Looking up, Aislyn found herself looking through a sort of ghostly mist. A fog. Had she died?
Was this what death looked like?
It was rather underwhelming, if she were entirely honest.

No, no, this couldn’t be death. She still felt like she couldn’t breathe, and her cheek still stung like Hai. She could taste metal, and her eyes still fazed in and out of focus. She had to still be alive, because everything felt like it was dying. Wonderful.
Pushing herself up and away, Aislyn found herself witness to quite a scene. The ghostly mist she had seen seemed to be just that- a ghost. An apparition that appeared to be actively pushing back the creature that had given the illusionist quite the scratch. As she retreated away, her hand went up to touch her cheek. It still felt like it was burning, and touching it only aggravated the feeling, but it didn’t seem too bad. Though granted, her fingers did come away red.

As she scooted backwards, her hand fell upon cool metal. Her crossbow. Still loaded with the bolt that never fired. As Maya flickered back into existence, Aislyn took the shot, shattering the ghostly apparition as it flew through to hit it’s target. The mist dissipated out, mingling with the air. Hopefully she hadn’t hurt it, whatever it was. It certainly didn’t seem hurt.

Leaving red fingerprints on the trigger, Aislyn tossed her crossbow to the side, taking a moment to breathe. She’d managed to save herself from most injury, bar small scratches on her legs and a slightly deeper scratch on her left cheek. It would heal, she was sure. And besides, it wasn’t bleeding that badly. She was fine.
She could keep going.
Picking herself up, Aislyn looked over the immediate area. Her backpack was still attached to her back, and had actually cushioned her fall when she’d been tackled. Her quiver was still attached too, though the arrows had all but scattered on the ground. Quickly, she picked them up, constantly checking to make sure nothing else would sneak up on her. It seemed the monsters were more intelligent than she had first believed. It also seemed that the whispers of shielding- of the conjuring of spirits- was true. If she had truly taken a few moments to look instead of just see, she probably would have realize it, too. As soon as she stepped back, she began to notice more than just inexplicitly missing arrows and deflected swords. She saw the mist, subtly floating over any one area at any one time.

Sometimes the mist had faces, and sometimes it lashed out. But it seemed even ghosts were not enough to fight the undead. As she abandoned her overturned cover, Aislyn found that they had lost more ground yet, foreshadowing a rather grim ending to the Western Guard. But they still fought, kept fighting. There was no cease in the crossfire, no end to the forces that seemed to keep coming. The living side fought almost fruitlessly. It seemed pessimistic to think so, but Aislyn liked to think of it as being realistic. They were no army. They were Alvads.
But they weren’t dead yet.

[Aislyn Leavold]

As she retreated back behind the front lines, Aislyn took a look at the sky. The sun was dipping. How long had she been out there? She was tired, yes, but not dying, and not dead. She could keep going until the sun set, as long as she played her cards well. She was more able than some of the injured she’d seen back at the base camp. She was lucky to be alive, luckier to still be able to fight. Now she had her opportunity to restock her supply of crossbow bolts, at least.

As she moved back, Aislyn met with an incoming wagon, presumably from the base camp. Several, less combat-oriented people buzzed around it, unloading the few crates on it and tossing bags of something on board. From her distance, she couldn’t make out quite what they were, other than long, seemingly heavy bags that were handled with somewhat care. As she grew closer, however, it became evident what they were. Bodies.
Decreasing her pace, Aislyn went from a brisk jog to a stunned walk. So that was what they were doing with the bodies they could recover. Hauling them all onto one big cart and toting them off, back to camp. Effective, but…

Another bag was tossed unceremoniously onto the wagon.

...Undignified.

Dragging her eyes away from the quickly filling wagon, Aislyn moved herself over to the crates. The first one contained provisions, which she left alone for the moment. She still had her own, there was no need to steal what she didn’t need.
Besides, she hadn’t exactly gotten explicit permission to take the supplies, so she might as well avoid trouble before she found what she was looking for.
The second one, praise the gods, was full of arrows. Most of them for regular bows, but some appeared to be at least crossbow-esqe. She didn’t know what difference it made, but since the two kinds of bolts looked different, it was safe to assume they flew differently as well.

Several other fighters, most holding bows of various shapes and sizes, joined Aislyn as she pulled out one of the bundles of bolts. Each bundle contained a set type of arrow, held together by a short piece of string. Conscious of her movements, she moved back into the crowd. She had what she had come for, now it was time to return.
As she moved back, the woman hesitated. Return to what?
Return to the battle, until she dropped from exhaustion or died. Or both. It seemed so insignificant. She’d been consumed by some sort of feeling of righteousness at the idea of serving Alvadas, in the way an Alvad would. She had always told herself she’d gladly die to save her city, but now that the opportunity was in front of her…
Now she wasn’t so sure.

Alvadas was certainly something worth fighting for, and Aislyn would fight for it until her end. But there was no use laying down her life in a way that would benefit no one. There needed to be some solution to this- some end. Something had to be causing this, causing the apocalypse to happen. The Speakers had known. They had warned them, on the final day of fall. Then they had disappeared. But how had they known? And where had they gone? Certainly they couldn’t have come to apocalypse-alvadas so early. Without forces to fight, who held back the undead? She in no way doubted the power of the Speakers, but everything seemed so… Clouded. She had yet to see an illusion that was on the side of Alvadas, on the side of the people. She had yet to see an illusion at all, actually.
Not even a flying, colour-changing fish to lighten the mood of the apocalypse. That all pointed towards the absence of the deity. But if they weren’t here, where were they?
Then again, where were any of them?

As soon as they had stepped through the door, there had been no escape. As far as she knew, they were surrounded by walls on every side. Or, on almost every side. On one side, they faced what seemed like endless waves of creatures no mortal eye had set their sights on before. There was no warrior strong enough, no trick solid enough, to push past the undead and find what was on the other side. Perhaps something could fly over- a bird, or a Zith- but that must have already been tried.
And from the lack of new information about just where in Hai they were, it must have already failed.

It had been only two days, but already, hope was dwindling. What had become of the people still on the other side of the door? Had the original Alvadas been swallowed up by the same chaos of Apocalypse-Alvadas? Were they in the same situation as the missing people from earlier in the season? Where had the missing people really gone, if they hadn’t ended up in the chaotic land of the undead? Had they already been wiped out by those the survivors now fought?
Had they already joined the undead they fought?

If they were dead and the original Alvadas was sealed off from the apocalypse, what were they fighting for?

Shuddering, Aislyn forced herself to begin walking again. There was no use in such thoughts now. Yes, maybe her actions were the tiniest bit futile, but what else was she to do? As her legs carried her back into the fray, her mind carried her back to Alvadas. The Alvadas of before. Was that what she was fighting for? Not just for Alvadas as it was, not just for the Alvads that couldn’t fend for themselves, but for the Alvadas they had all known. For the Alvads they had all known.
With that, it was decided. The best she could do was to stay alive long enough to see the End to it’s end. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, Aislyn caught a glimpse of the last body as it was tossed on top of the cart. It appeared they had run out of bags, now, and had simply resorted to piling them on. The uncovered body was that of a woman, her eyes closed tightly and helm removed. Heaving under the weight of its burden, the cart shuddered as it moved, allowing Aislyn to glimpse the woman’s cause of death. A shattered pickaxe, still imbedded in her side.
Perhaps there were things left to fight for yet.

[Kiva]

Aislyn Leavold

The Good Stuff :

Experience:

Tactics	4
Weapon: Crossbow, Light	3
Endurance	3
Planning	3
Observation	3
Meditation	2
Logic	2
Running	2
Stealth	2
Disguise	2
Scouting	1
Detection	1

Lore(s):
Tactics: Knowing When To Retreat
The Casualties of War
Reasoning With The Fight or Flight Response
Aiming: Two Eyes Are Better Than One
Combat Technique: Using Illusions In Battle

Loot:
- 4 bolts
+ A wound on Aislyn's face. This will need to be properly cleaned and cared for within the next few days to avoid scarring or infection.

Notes:
I adore your writing. I think your descriptions and the tone of the thread are lovely. You have a great sense of when to pack an emotional punch, and I swear I really, really wanted Aislyn to try and save the warrior. We had the same thoughts. I knew he was dead and it was dangerous, so when your PC made the "smart" decision, I couldn't even be mad.

The cart with bodies was a nice touch at the end, and this whole thread has me falling in love with Alvadas all over again. Great stuff! Also, congratulations on in order. You completed the first weekend challenge and that's awesome. If there was anything I may have missed or you had something else in mind for lore, I'm only a message away. Can't wait to read more of your stuff in the future!

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and I'll be happy to discuss it with you. Keep writing!