Maladies of the Mist

Diary, well, Hillfield is officially a rearview mirror memory now. We're on our way to a place called Logvale – a summer-only logging camp that'll hopefully resupply our dwindling reserves before we tackle Keralon. Sounds positively rustic, doesn't it? Like, chopping wood and living off the land rustic. Though, a part of me wouldn't mind getting lost in this forest forever, as long as I wasn't lost without a certain white-haired someone by my side.
 
Today, however, was all about mental recuperation from our… let's call it "spirited encounter" with Griselda and her not-so-fluffy friend. The weather, mirroring our moods, remained stubbornly grim. The Lorewood lived up to its name – a dense, shadowy maze that seemed to actively repel our presence. The wagons creaked and groaned as they inched through the narrow path, branches scraping like skeletal fingers against Robert's poor wagon.
 
But hey, on the bright side, I scored some quality time with Elsa in our wagon. Practically a dream come true, even if most of it was spent buried in separate books, a comfortable silence settling between us. Every now and then, a rogue sunbeam would pierce the oppressive canopy, illuminating the fleeting silhouette of a white deer. Probably Sylvesse, Gael's elusive mentor, keeping a watchful eye on us. Maybe she's placing bets on how long it takes for Onvyr to snap under the pressure of dealing with us.
 
Evening finally descended upon the Lorewood, cloaking the forest in an even deeper shade of gloom. We set up camp in a small clearing, a few measly rays of dying sunlight struggling to pierce the dense canopy. A small fire sputtered to life, casting flickering shadows that danced across the tired faces of our group.
 
Liliana seemed determined to be entertained. She was Robert the bard's captive audience, his booming voice regaling her with tales of dragons – a running theme in his repertoire, I was starting to suspect. Ileas had taken to scribbling copious notes, his brow furrowed in concentration. Dragons, it seemed, were a topic worthy of serious documentation.
 
Elsa, meanwhile, was a picture of serenity, gracefully demolishing me at a board game (though in my defense, I was admittedly distracted). Onvyr, our perpetually grumpy elf leader, remained a restless spirit. He spent the day pacing between the wagons like a caged tiger, scouting ahead and generally making sure no rogue squirrels were plotting our demise.
 
After a hearty meal, Robert excused himself with a flourish. I barely registered his departure, my attention blissfully lost in the captivating depths of Elsa's eyes (seriously, girl, have mercy on a mage's fragile heart!). But then, Liliana's sudden movement caught my eye. She approached Robert, curiosity etched on her face. They huddled next to his wagon, Robert hunched over what looked like an ancient, very fragile book seemingly crafted from leaves and twigs.
 
Apparently, this was a recent acquisition from Hillfield – a collection of local fairytales, Robert explained, meticulously copying them before the book crumbled to dust. Liliana was practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of delving into these local legends.
 
She approached me later, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "Any chance you can, you know, magically reinforce the book?" she pleaded.
 
I had to shoot her down with a heavy heart. My magical repertoire, impressive as it might be to a novice, was still limited to setting things on fire – not exactly the delicate touch needed for book restoration.
 
But then, a voice chimed in from behind me. "I might be able to help with that," Hayley declared, ever the resourceful one.
 
Just as she gingerly picked up the book, a page fluttered loose, landing in her open palm. It wasn't a regular page, though. This one was filled with an ancient script, a poem titled "One Soul." It spoke of twins, born from a wish, and how one would stray from the path. A shiver ran down my spine as I read it, a sense of disconcerting familiarity washing over me. I glanced at Hayley, catching a flicker of the same unease in her eyes. The poem's words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.
 
Nightfall descended like a heavy cloak, shrouding the campsite in an inky blackness. The usual debate about watch duty ensued. Gael, the show-off, volunteered for a double shift again. He also cast a "primal spell" (whatever that means - nothing that any arcane school would consider real magic) to create a batch of magical berries – emergency snacks that apparently healed minor wounds. After some debate among us, I was left with the unenviable task of taking the third watch.
 
Everything started out peaceful enough. Then, just as I was starting to lose the battle against boredom, the wind died down completely. In its place, a thick mist rolled in, like a scene straight out of a bad horror story. Visibility dropped to a couple of feet, making conversation (and monster spotting) a real challenge.
 
Needless to say, any notion of sneaking in a quick nap was non-existent. By the time dawn finally broke, I felt like a particularly grumpy, sleep-deprived gremlin. My head throbbed, my spells felt sluggish, and the only magic I could muster was the internal monologue grumbling about the lack of decent rest.
 
Breakfast did little to improve my mood. In fact, I was about to unleash a full-blown rant about the lack of decent food and sleep in this whole "adventure" business, when Liliana, bless her divine-touched heart, intervened.
 
A gentle touch, a warm light emanating from her palm, and… poof! My fatigue vanished, replaced by a wave of renewed energy. Apparently, her god (or maybe it's just Liliana – the girl's practically a walking miracle) had a thing for banishing aches and pains. My sister, Hayley, who was sporting a similar shade of green, received the same divine treatment.
 
We traveled for a few uneventful hours, the oppressive mist finally clearing to reveal a mostly normal (well, as normal as a giant forest gets) landscape. Then, the air was split by Liliana's frantic yell.
 
"Something big!" she shrieked, her voice bouncing through the trees.
 
We pulled the horses to a halt, hearts hammering against our ribs as we strained to see what had triggered her alarm. There, lumbering out of the undergrowth, was a truly horrifying sight: a sickly owlbear, its fur matted, bloodshot eyes gleaming with a feral rage. Large gashes raked its back, a testament to some previous encounter.
 
This wasn't a creature out for a friendly chat. It was a wounded beast, cornered and desperate. Before anyone could react, I launched a firebolt at the creature. I hated to attack an injured animal, but it was either that or risk my friends getting mauled.
 
Dorr joined the impromptu fireworks display with a well-aimed javelin, adding another gash to the owlbear's already impressive collection. Alistan and Liliana formed a defensive line, shields raised. Liliana clanged her weapon against her shield, a futile attempt to scare off the enraged beast.
 
The owlbear, fueled by pain and a surprising amount of spunk, lunged at Liliana. Alistan managed to deflect the brunt of the attack, but she still ended up with a nasty scrape on her arm. Just as it seemed things were about to take a turn for the worse, Hayley, ever the resourceful witch, stepped in. With a muttered incantation and a flick of her wrist, she unleashed a curse of sleep upon the owlbear. The creature, its fight abruptly over, collapsed in a heap at Alistan and Liliana's feet.
Hayley cautiously approached the downed owlbear. She poked and prodded the poor creature, muttering about illnesses and other unpleasant things. Thankfully, she didn't find any obvious signs of disease. However, the owlbear's injuries, clearly inflicted by human or human-adjacent weapons, suggested a more sinister origin. This wasn't a random case of the Mondays – this creature had been in a fight, and a nasty one at that.
 
Now came the tricky part: what to do with the poor thing? Healing it was a gamble – it might wake up feeling peckish, and peckish owlbears generally don't differentiate between friends and snacks. Hayley helpfully informed us that owlbears, while originally manufactured monstrosities, had integrated themselves into the local ecosystem. Not the brightest candles in the forest chandelier, apparently, but still very dangerous.
 
We decided the safest course of action was to leave the sleeping (or possibly unconscious) owlbear behind and hope for the best (or worst, depending on your perspective on grumpy, wounded owlbears). We didn't stick around to watch the wonders of the natural world. A quick glance back confirmed our suspicions – the owlbear had woken up, but instead of seeking revenge, it opted for the more sensible option of flight. It lumbered back into the forest, nursing its wounds.
 
By noon, however, the good vibes started to wear thin. A familiar headache pulsed behind my eyes, and a wave of sleepiness threatened to pull me under. Luckily, I was sharing the carriage with Elsa, which meant I could spend my time napping and indulging in sweet, completely non-romantic dreams (okay, maybe a little romantic. Shut up, diary!).
 
But just as I was about to enter dreamland for the third time that day, Hayley barged in, shattering my peaceful slumber. Guess who else was feeling like a particularly grumpy troll? Yep, your friendly neighborhood twin. "Do you think it's something magical?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleepiness.
 
With a sigh that could probably power a small windmill, I mustered the last dregs of my magical energy to scan the area. And wouldn't you know it, magic was practically pulsating in the air, clinging to the mist like cobwebs. A thick, oppressive enchantment aura hung heavy, a possible source of our collective misery.
 
The question then became: why were only Hayley and I feeling the effects? Liliana suggested our connection to arcane magic might be making us more susceptible. But then Ileas, whose voice practically bathes in arcane energy, piped up that he felt fine. Gael mentioned that Elsa was also unaffected.
 
Edward, ever the defender of his sister, then interjected with the brilliant observation that Elsa was attuned to the divine, not arcane. Alistan chimed in with a dreamy, "Yes, she is," complete with a lovestruck gaze that would have made a lesser man hurl. If I wasn't so darn tired, I might have thrown a particularly moldy sock at him.
 
Night fell, and watch duty reared its ugly head once more. This time, however, I wasn't about to volunteer for a starring role in "Insomnia: The Forest Edition." Sleep, unfortunately, wasn't on the menu that night. I tossed and turned like a rotisserie chicken, my body a lead weight despite my exhaustion. It was like someone had siphoned all the energy out of me with a giant magical straw.
 
Morning arrived, shrouded in an even thicker mist that choked out the sun. Hayley and I felt like death warmed over – the worst flu ever multiplied by ten and then kicked in the teeth for good measure. A tough decision loomed: allow Liliana to give us a temporary magic boost, knowing it wouldn't last, or try to tough it out until it might actually be useful.
 
Hayley attempted to use her raven for recon. Big mistake. Every time she tried to see through its senses, a jolt of pain ripped through her head. Her face contorted in agony as she waited for the raven to return with its report. According to the feathered scout, the mist blanketed the entire forest as far as the eye (or rather, raven's eye) could see.
 
Just then, Gael, the diplomat (or maybe just the guy who yells the loudest), decided to have a chat with the mist itself. He bellowed some dramatic challenge, demanding to know who was messing with us.
 
To our surprise, a creature emerged from the swirling fog – a majestic white deer with a set of gleaming golden antlers. Sylvesse, Gael’s elusive fey mentor, had graced us with her presence.
 
Gael filled her in on our predicament, and Sylvesse, after requesting (and receiving) permission, proceeded to poke us both with her antlers. It felt… strange, like a magical acupuncture session gone wrong. Apparently, we were victims of some kind of fey enchantment, possibly a curse. The question was, had we somehow ticked off the local fairy population?
 
Sylvesse, with all her beautiful, horned heart, didn't have a cure. She also confirmed it was linked to the mist itself. With this newfound knowledge, Hayley whipped up a vile-looking concoction that seemed to perk her up… temporarily. With a grimace, I took a swig of the "magical pep potion" myself. It tasted like swamp water infused with despair, but hey, it did the trick (sort of).
 
Sylvesse, taking a closer look, dropped another bombshell. The curse, it seemed, targeted our magic. The worse we got, the weaker our magical abilities would become. The color drained from my face faster than you could say "mana shortage." Magic was basically all I had going for me!
 
Sylvesse did offer some reassurance. The curse, she explained, wasn't specifically aimed at us – the entire forest was shrouded in the mist. Our illness was probably just a nasty side effect. It was unlikely we'd managed to anger someone powerful enough to put a magical damper on an entire ecosystem.
 
Her solution? Find the edge of the mist. Apparently, leaving the magical fog would likely lift the curse's effects. We didn't have many options. Backtracking wasn't feasible – Onvyr, ever the ray of sunshine, informed us that the rest of the forest was crawling with gnolls (think vicious hyenas on steroids) and other unpleasant creatures. Not exactly cart-friendly terrain.
 
So, we made a pact. We'd use Hayley's questionable potions to keep us going during the day and rely on Liliana for a temporary reprieve at night. Hopefully, a few more days of pushing through this magical misery would see us free and clear. Onward, we trudged, illness be damned!
 
The rest of the day was unfortunately a write-off. The mist continued its unwelcome presence, clinging to the forest like a bad smell. My only solace? Being confined to the same carriage as Elsa, who, bless her heart, took it upon herself to be my personal nurse. She fed me lukewarm broth that tasted suspiciously like yesterday's stew, and fluffed up the carriage cushions to create a makeshift throne for my aching body. It was like a fever dream come true – being fussed over by the girl of my dreams. Almost, I said, almost made the throbbing headache and queasy stomach worth it.
 
Almost.
 
Still, I vow to cherish the memory of Elsa's gentle touch and concerned brow until the day I die (hopefully not anytime soon, preferably after a long, healthy life filled with epic adventures and maybe a few stolen kisses).
 
A few agonizing hours later, the front cart erupted in a cacophony of shouts. Apparently, they'd stumbled upon a scene straight out of a nightmare – a pile of dead horses, surrounded by the bodies of four unfortunate travelers, their throats slashed with chilling precision. Supplies meant for Logvale were scattered across the ground like a grotesque game of pick-up-sticks, and a web of tracks crisscrossed the scene. Small, booted footprints led away from the carnage and deeper into the forest.
 
While I languished in my carriage-turned-sickbed, the others set about the grim task of burying the dead. I watched from a distance, the world a blurry mess of grays and browns, as they dug makeshift graves with grim determination. Once done, Liliana whispered a prayer over the fresh mounds of earth.
 
Another day bled into another, the oppressive mist clinging to us like a damp shroud. My illness, unfortunately, remained my unwelcome companion. Just as I was starting to contemplate the merits of a permanent nap (preferably not the dirt variety), the usual commotion erupted from the front cart.
 
Apparently, they'd spotted something… well, someone. A lone figure stumbled down the path, dragging his feet like a particularly unenthusiastic zombie. He was a mess – clothes in tatters, bloody bare feet leaving gruesome crimson footprints in his wake. Alistan approached the stranger, offering him a cloak. Big mistake. The poor guy looked like he'd seen a ghost (or maybe a particularly grumpy owlbear), his eyes wide with terror. Alistan's attempt at kindness only sent him scrambling backwards, babbling incoherently before collapsing into a shivering heap at the side of the road. Dadroz tried to tempt the poor guy with some food, but received nothing but the sound of crickets (or maybe confused frogs, given our current location).
 
Hayley decided to take matters into her own hands. A touch, a muttered incantation, and a wave of calming magic washed over the poor guy. The spell seemed to have the desired effect, coaxing the man out from under the cloak. He was young, barely out of his teens, with a mess of white hair and eyes that still held a flicker of fear. He stammered something incoherent – he didn't know where he was, who we were, or apparently, even who he was himself.
 
Hayley suggested he join our little caravan, promising safe passage to Logvale. Unfortunately, the offer was met with more panicked whimpers and a desperate attempt to scuttle backwards like a particularly enthusiastic crab. Seeing as logic wasn't working, Hayley decided to take a more… persuasive approach. A quick sleep spell later, and our mystery guest was snoring softly in the front cart, finally succumbing to what looked like a much-needed nap.
 
That night, we settled into camp, morale lower than a gnome's kneecap. Hayley's dubious concoctions and Liliana's healing magic offered little relief against the relentless curse. The only silver lining? Elsa offered me a spot in her carriage for the night (apparently, Edward could "rough it" in mine). I readily agreed, despite a twinge of guilt. There's nothing quite like being nursed back to health by your crush, even if you're pretty sure the experience is turning you into a sniveling mess. Hopefully, the mist would clear soon, and I could regain some semblance of dignity (and maybe even impress Elsa with a heroic feat or two. A boy can dream, right?).
 
Morning arrived, and a miracle had occurred! Both Hayley and I were completely recovered. No more fatigue, no more head pounding – I felt like I could run a marathon, single-handedly slay a dragon, and still have enough energy left for a witty quip (or at least an attempt at one).
 
Breakfast was a glorious affair – a veritable feast compared to the questionable concoctions I'd been forced to endure the past few days. Hayley remained quiet through the meal though, staring intently at her magical dagger, a picture of intense concentration.
 
Finally, she approached me, the dagger held out like a prized possession. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a set of strange runes etched into the blade – runes that hadn't been there before. I focused my own magic on the inscription, and a curious sensation washed over me. The dagger felt… different, somehow intertwined with Hayley's own magical aura. It seemed to have gained new properties, a kind of malleable magic that could potentially grow stronger as Hayley herself did. The downside? The old runes were gone, taking their previous enchantments with them.
 
Just as we were engrossed in deciphering the dagger's secrets, our amnesiac guest from yesterday decided to wake up. He blinked blearily at the world, a series of questions tumbling out of his mouth faster than a startled squirrel. Liliana, ever the voice of calm, patiently explained our little rescue operation.
 
The traveler's tale was a confusing one. Flashes of battle, strange little green-haired creatures, a desperate flight – all of it swirling in a murky fog of forgetfulness. He vaguely remembered traveling with a wife, but the details remained elusive. It was like someone had cast a memory-fog spell on his entire life.
 
Liliana, bless her heart, offered some comforting words and assured him there was no need to force the memories back. But a chilling realization dawned on all of us: one of the bodies we'd buried a couple of days ago was a young woman. Could it have been his wife?
 
Liliana attempted to use her divine magic to further aid the poor guy, but it had little effect. The stranger, despite his amnesia, offered a heartfelt thank you for our rescue. He apologized profusely for having nothing to offer in return, but both Liliana and Alistan quickly reassured him that his gratitude was payment enough.
 
We decided the best course of action was to continue towards Logvale. Maybe someone there would recognize him, or perhaps a visit to the local temple could jog his memories. The man, visibly relieved, expressed his gratitude once more. Onward we pressed, a newfound mystery added to our ever-growing list of misadventures.
 
The day unfolded with a strange new twist. Gael and Ileas started giving us both these weird, sidelong glances, muttering about "unnatural phenomena." Apparently, light sources burned brighter when I was around, and plants seemed to perk up and bloom faster whenever Hayley was nearby. At first, we dismissed it as their usual brand of nonsense (Ileas could make a conspiracy theory out of a spilled cup of tea), but then Liliana, ever the pragmatist, decided to chase me around with a torch. Seemed a bit excessive, but hey, who was I to argue with a divine paladin armed with a flaming stick?
 
We did, however, notice a few… interesting effects. A flickering candle suddenly flaring into life, a wilting flower inexplicably regaining its vibrancy. Odd, sure, but a whole lot better than being bedridden with a magical hangover.
 
Our cautious journey continued, the oppressive fog clinging to us like a damp blanket. We remained on high alert, senses strained for any sign of danger. Unfortunately, our vigilance wasn't enough.
 
A bloodcurdling scream shattered the tense silence, followed by the unmistakable whizz of arrows tearing through the air. I peeked out the carriage window, my heart plummeting into my stomach. A horde of grotesque creatures swarmed the caravan – a nightmarish mix of goblin and goat, with tufts of matted fur and eyes that glowed with a malevolent green light. They descended upon us with a fury, their primary target: the horses pulling the carriages.
 
A horrified yell ripped from Alistan's throat as Thorin, our loyal steed, crumpled to the ground, felled by a well-placed arrow. The carriage jolted violently as one of the horses in front of us met a similar fate. Chaos erupted – panicked shouts, the clash of steel, and the sickening thud of arrows finding their mark. The once-peaceful mist now felt like a suffocating shroud, obscuring the battle and amplifying the sounds of terror.
 
The initial shock of the ambush faded, replaced by a frantic scramble for survival. Arrows zipped past the carriage, peppering the wooden frame with a sickening thwack. Dadroz and Gael roared defiance, unleashing a volley of arrows from behind the makeshift barricade of the carts.
 
Ileas leaped from Robert's cart with a battle cry that would make a barbarian proud. He charged straight at one of the creatures, his rapier flashing in the dim light. The creature, surprised by his audacity, took the brunt of the attack, crumpling to the ground with a surprised bleat. But victory was short-lived. A swarm of the green-skinned fiends descended upon Ileas, their jagged teeth bared in a feral snarl.
 
Just in time, Liliana materialized beside him, her shield a shimmering wall deflecting blows aimed at Ileas' exposed back. Her sword, a blur of silver, carved a path through the horde, her calm efficiency a stark contrast to Ileas' wild swings.
 
Alistan, grief and fury etched on his face, clambered out of the cart. With a guttural scream that would make a dragon reconsider its lunch plans, he charged into the fray. His longsword became a whirlwind of steel, carving a bloody swathe through the ranks of the smaller creatures.
 
Hayley stood atop the carriage, her voice laced with something that sounded suspiciously like ancient curses. One particularly monstrous-looking creature, its fur matted with blood and grime, seemed to shrink under her glare. It whimpered, its bravado dissolving, before collapsing to the ground in a heap of twitching limbs.
 
The situation, though dire, wasn't entirely hopeless. Onvyr emerged next to our carriage with a grave intensity. His sword whistled through the air, cleaving a smaller creature in two with a single, brutal swing.
 
I watched in a daze as the battle raged around me. Ileas and Liliana fought back-to-back, a whirlwind of steel against the relentless tide of green. A desperate hope flickered within me – maybe, just maybe, we could actually pull this off.
 
Fueled by adrenaline and a newfound surge of confidence, I decided to join the fray. I focused my magic, picturing a searing bolt of flame erupting from my fingertips. The result, however, was far beyond anything I'd ever imagined. Instead of a neat fire sphere, a torrent of fire erupted, engulfing the unfortunate creature in my sights. Its surprised yelp was cut short as the flames consumed it, leaving nothing but a smoking husk.
 
My jaw dropped. Where had that come from? Before I could dwell on it, the urgency of the situation returned. I tried to repeat the feat, but this time, all I managed was a paltry spark that sputtered and died before reaching its target. Luckily Alistan stepped in, delivering a swift blow that sent the creature sprawling.
 
The battle finally sputtered out, leaving behind a scene of carnage and confusion. Thorin, our loyal steed, lay panting on the ground, his once proud form marred by a gaping wound. Grief threatened to overwhelm Alistan, but before he could completely lose it, a strange urge washed over me.
 
It felt like… like nudging fate itself a little to the side. I focused on Thorin, picturing a future where the wound would close, and the blood would clot. I grabbed hold of that future and pulled with my magical senses. The effect was barely noticeable, but the bleeding slowed, then stopped altogether. Thorin's labored breaths remained, but at least he wasn't going to bleed out like a stuck pig.
 
Not exactly a knight in shining armor, more like a slightly dusty squire in training pants who could vaguely nudge the fates to allow a horse to live another day. But hey, a win's a win, right? Alistan, overcome with relief, tackled Thorin in a bear hug that probably sent the poor beast into a minor panic attack. Liliana followed up with some divine patching-up magic, ensuring Thorin's survival.
 
With the immediate threat neutralized, we turned our attention to our captives. Three of the green-skinned creatures, thoroughly unconscious, were unceremoniously tied up with some spare rope.
 
"These delightful fellows," Gael announced, gesturing towards the trussed-up goat-goblins, "are a particularly belligerent breed of fey known as Dianios. They're not supposed to be wandering the Material Plane, which raises a whole bunch of questions."
 
The Dianios, upon regaining consciousness, immediately launched into a synchronized routine of thrashing, snarling, and attempting to gnaw through their bonds with surprising enthusiasm. Liliana, ever the diplomat (or maybe just the one with a handy sword), silenced them with a cold glare and a blade held suggestively close to a particularly agitated creature's throat.
 
"Perhaps you would like to explain why you attacked us?" she suggested, her voice laced with a dangerous edge.
 
Through gritted teeth, the Dianios (via Liliana's impromptu translation service) accused us of trespassing on their territory. We, in turn, tried to explain that this was a bit of a geographical misunderstanding and we were just traveling through the Lorewoord. The Dianios, however, seemed more confused than a badger at a dance party.
 
Just as Liliana was about to resort to more… persuasive methods of interrogation, the Dianios' eyes widened in unison. A low, guttural howl echoed through the mist, sending shivers down my spine. The Dianios, their bravado momentarily forgotten, started babbling about "Yeth" and "hunting hounds."
 
"They say these are… hunting hounds, coming for them," Liliana translated, her brow furrowed in concern. "They beg us to release them so they can escape."
 
The mist churned once more, spewing forth a creature straight out of a nightmare. This was no goat-demon – this was a monstrous hound, the size of a horse, with rippling muscles and faces that were an unsettling blend of canine and human. A low growl rumbled from their throats, sending shivers cascading down my spine.
 
Gael urged everyone to stay calm and avoid any sudden movements. He cautiously approached the Yeth, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hand. "We mean you no harm," he declared.
 
The Yeth let out a bone-chilling howl, a sound that echoed through the mist and was answered by a distant counterpart. Then, in a split second, the beast switched from tense observation to a full-blown attack. A bark ripped through the air, so raw and primal that it seemed to shake the very ground we stood on.
 
My heart hammered against my ribs as the Yeth lunged, its powerful muscles propelling it forward like a furry battering ram. Liliana reacted first, her blade flashing as she attempted to intercept the beast. But the Yeth was too quick, twisting with unnatural agility to avoid the blow.
 
Chaos erupted. Robert the cowardly bard, bolted into the mist like a startled rabbit. His terrified form vanished into the swirling grayness, leaving me with a fresh wave of panic. Hayley swore a string of curses that would make a sailor blush, momentarily distracting the Yeth and causing it to flinch mid-lunge.
 
Alistan then met the beast head-on, his shield a solid wall against the Yeth's ferocious attack. Dadroz charged in, his rapier aimed for a vital point, but it met only with a sickening thunk as it bounced harmlessly off the Yeth's hide.
 
I squeezed my eyes shut, fear turning my limbs to lead. But fear wouldn't help. Focusing all my will, I unleashed a torrent of magic missiles, the tips glowing a faint blue. They flew from my outstretched hand, propelled by a surge of desperate energy. They found their target, punching small holes in the Yeth's thick hide.
 
The Yeth howled in pain, thrashing against Alistan's grip. Ileas, his face ashen, stood trembling in the distance, his rapier useless against such a foe. Thorin, whom I'd so recently saved, then suddenly broke free of his restraints and took off in flight. Ungrateful beast! Here I had risked magical exhaustion to save his hide, and he was off gallivanting into the forest during our time of need!
 
The distraction did give Hayley a precious opening. She brandished the dagger she'd gotten from Terrin, the runes glowing with an eerie light. With a cry of defiance, she plunged the blade into the Yeth's side. The effect was immediate – a deep gash opened up, and the creature roared in pain.
 
The situation was desperate. The Dianios started to break free from their bonds, scattering into the mist like a scattering of particularly grumpy green pebbles. Our fearless caravan leader, Onvyr then charged towards the back of the Yeth, hoping to draw its attention.
 
Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, a new figure emerged from the mist – an elf, his skin an unnatural shade of blue, and a single black eye patch obscuring one side of his face. He moved with a predatory grace, and in his hand, he held a wickedly curved bow. Without a word, he loosened an arrow, the fletching singing through the air.
 
The target wasn't the Yeth, but Onvyr. The arrow found its mark, burying itself deep into Onvyr's shoulder. But instead of a scream of pain, a horrifying transformation began. Fragments of stone erupted from the wound, rapidly spreading across Onvyr's body. His skin, once a healthy tan, began to turn a sickly shade of gray, hardening with each passing second. A look of pure terror contorted Onvyr's face as the petrification raced up his arm, threatening to consume him whole. We watched in stunned silence, the weight of this new nightmare settling upon us like a shroud.