Recent content by Tristan Locke

Ensis considered the words of the Mourners, and looked to Ihaka at his side. Arlen, too, managed to get to his feet and rush to the old Spiritsmith. "You all have the right idea. The time for mending the ward's enchantment has gone. We will return another night, when it is safer. We have much...

Many would have missed it, Aeris' departure from the procession. Tristan did not. Even with his head bowed, he caught the sight of her slipping away in his peripherals. Perhaps being on high alert was a blessing offered to him by Fane...more likely it was the curse of paranoia granted to him by...

"No one can." To Tristan those words rang true. To Omen, it elicited a laugh. "No one?" he parroted in his cruel rasp, mocking Ihaka. "I suppose if you value your life, you would be right. And yet here I sit atop this Legion, teeming with Revenants, and my heart still beats within my chest."...

A wild glint shone in the stranger's eye. He held a hand aloft and made for an exaggerated bowing gesture as the boar-beast beneath him began to trot a circle. "Ohh, I am but a humble messenger, Phorasi. But if you must call me by a name, then I suppose 'Omen' will serve well enough," the man...

"Iruna!" Tristan shouted after her. She still lived, fortunate enough to have not been sundered like Ghiren, but looking much worse for wear. Each passing moment moved the situation from bad to worse. Aeris and Iruna arrived only for the most senior warrior among them to be promptly cast aside...

That was that, at least for the moment. Tristan barely heard Iruna's command over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. He turned his head towards her, panting, and nodded, nearly unable to register the words. The young warrior gathered his wits and sheathed his sword. "Ihaka,"...

The Revenant that emerged from within the owl had a form like billowing smoke, a pale blue light pouring from within its face and chest. The ward seemed to keep it from anything resembling coherency, both in a physical sense and in its ability to focus. Revenants were always chaotic creatures...

Targets all in mind, one for each Mourner, and Haka taking the lead. A solid plan, now all that was left was to execute. Tristan steeled himself as best he could, short sword in one hand, hand crossbow in the other. Breathe. Just...breathe. Easier thought than done. He could hear his own...

"A fight, then. Wonderful..." Tristan thought aloud, still hushed. He drew a sword, a leftover requiem weapon from another, long dead Mourner. "Well...if there really are Revenants inside these things, then destroying their bodies will give them no choice but to flee, right?" It was worth a...

Death was commonplace now. The only certainty that Phorasmos brought was that of the inevitable end, that one's body would one day be separated from the soul, and the soul cast either into the madness of the isle or the security of a vessel. The daily dangers of being a Mourner came with a high...

Ihaka...well, he didn't exude that air of quiet confidence that several of the others did, but the lad certainly did wonders for uplifting the average person's spirits. He didn't have that eerie dourness about him either, which always took Tristan aback given the environment they found...

A long silence followed the conclusion of Iruna's story, perhaps a sign of solemnity from some, and nerves from others. "Is...that true? Can Revenants truly wander so far from the Charnel City in such great numbers?" Arlen asked, the fear in his voice palpable. He looked to Ensis for an...

"Gods, how ghastly. Note to self: strengthen my will. However one does that." Arlen concluded at the end of Aeris' tale. Ensis chuckled. "Meditation and training, my boy. You will come to realize the method, in time," the old man answered. "Let us hope sooner rather than later," Tristan...

"I admit, I'm unfamiliar with this one..." Tristan chimed in. There was never any shortage of horrors on the isle, many of which he'd experienced for himself. Yet somehow Aeris still maintained a knack for making his skin crawl. He glanced around him to gauge the reactions of some of the others...

Getting a laugh out of a Mourner always felt like an accomplishment, especially one his senior. It also, perhaps strangely, put him a bit at ease. "Is it not for you? That is to say, 'yes.' Honestly I don't know how the smiths manage to sleep so soundly," he pondered his own statement a moment...