Adventurer: A Fantasy LitRPG Adventure (The Druid's Sword Saga Book 1) by Nate Crotts

Author:Nate Crotts [Crotts, Nate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Warsword Press
Published: 2024-07-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter fourteen

Shrieking of the Storm

Once he reached the cave mouth, my father muttered something amounting to a question of concern for the spirits of the air in Aetaric. The wind almost seemed to sweep and turn differently than it had before in response to him, but something felt off in its tone. It was an unsettling feeling that I couldn’t understand beyond the subconscious level of knowing the reply to my father’s words was off-kilter somehow; I was beginning to grasp the language of the wind when spoken by a human mouth, but to understand it clearly from the elements themselves was still beyond me. Though dad had said this was normal and wouldn’t impede me once I met with the spirit atop the mountain, as long as I had the basics down—which I mostly did by now,.

“This isn’t right,” my dad said, reaching his hand out into the outside world proper. “Discordant mana is permeating the air.”

“There’s bad magic out there?” Bastion asked.

“Not just out there, but in the essence of the air,” my dad replied.

“What’s that mean?” Bastion replied. “Isn’t magic always in the air?”

“It moves around and through what you breathe, yes, but non-wind-attuned mana is never within the spirits that move the air itself,” my father countered. “When you cast a spell around a person, it isn’t in them; when you enchant a person, however, it is. Something has almost enchanted the wind as a being here.”

"Something, or do you mean someone?” Bastion asked.

“Perhaps, but to think I didn’t notice this before,” my father said. “I may very well be able to reach out to the stronger and more sapient spirits in the area to get a better understanding if I—”

Just as my father was saying this, a massive emotional surge of what I could only describe as fear and a plea rippled in from the storm.

Dad hit the ground first, and then I tumbled from the rock I was sitting upon.

It wasn’t so much the physical force of the wind that was rushing into the cavern that assailed us so strongly; yes, it was more than just a breeze, but it wasn’t a gale and was still nothing that I couldn’t usually stand against with some determination.

No, it was the mana and the raw life essence that intertwined themselves into the wind, the directed scream for aid that even I could understand with my basic Aetaric—and even more so with my druidry-honed mindset. It was a shouting cry for help, but more like a dozen words muttered in the space of a single word, and it was maddening to listen to.

But that wasn’t the worst of it; next came the maliciousness. The true madness. The hunger. The evil, off-putting permeation of power that filled my mouth like a veritable ooze, chasing the wind's scream in like it was stalking it as prey.

I think I might’ve shouted, but I didn’t think I had fainted; however, I found myself being propped up in my brother’s arms as he looked over to the mouth of the cave with concern and a certain violence burning in his eyes.

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