81st of Zi'da, Arc 718
...a Blink. Flickering in and out of reality, Alistair vanished from where he stood, and appeared elsewhere, the appearance of a watery explosion marking where he initially disappeared and reappeared. As he re-emerged from untethered space, the magister swung his spear horizontally, ripping through the center of the Ferahorn as both an explosive force and a mess of flames began to enkindle his form. The Ferahorn's body was effectively disintegrated, and not through the usage of any particular ethereal ability, but rather at the hands of a Transmuted weapon Alistair had produced. As per his expectations, the poorly crafted stone vestige quickly began to whittle down after a mere two strikes of explosive force, unable to withstand the violent kinetic backlash of its own strikes. The mage gripped the slowly crumbling spear firmly, and eyed its exterior appearance. It had, likely, one or two such strikes remaining.
"You need to Transmute Shadowsong," Daniel told him. "I know for a fact that Terrendyte could most certainly withstand the blast. There are few things it can't endure," he said. Alistair looked to him with a slight glimmer of agreement, though not enough to indulge. He couldn't risk his precious spear: though he could continue to reinforce the enchantment and renew its effects to stop it from crumbling, Shadowsong would most certainly begin to whittle with time, even if merely due to the effects of the kinetic bursts. And a Transmuted item could not truly be reforged -- they would only degrade, decay.
"No," he replied. "Soon enough, I'll be able to utilize Formula. I've already memorized the Quality of Terrendyte as a source of durability, so I can imbue it into other weapons. They'll be like Shadowsong - but more disposable." He could even Galvanize rocks to quickly Transmute explosions, in the forms of thrown grenades... there was much he would soon be capable of. The mage was quickly coming upon the point where Transmutation could act as one of Quacia's most effective weapons against the Creepborne. But he would not risk Shadowsong. It was too valuable to him - against men, against monsters. And as a memory.
They'd been outside, in the forest, for three breaks. Alistair was accompanied by some of his most elite minions: Phorcys, his Gaunt Adamantine Kingfisher, Devin Valskarr, his most powerful Revenant... and Banshee, his Haunt, who would linger within his shadow until she was necessary. She would - for the purpose of this mission - loom out to play a haunting tune, to empower his other minions with Bonesong. Besides Alistair and his three selected thralls, there was also Daniel Blackstone, his favored friend and a warrior with no true equal among the men he'd encountered in Quacia. Though the Gaunt had been surprised by the appearance of an Oaken Tree only a trial prior, the element of surprise no longer remained, and all the entities present were well aware of what danger they delved into. Each of them wielded a weapon enchanted with the effects of explosive flame and the durability of Terrendyte, as per Alistair's Transmutation, two qualities he understood intimately.
It would only require a hit or two from each of their weapons to slay most Ferahorns, and to at least take considerable sections off the bodies of the more hulking monstrosities, such as Trees.
They'd only come into contact with a small few Ferahorns since delving into the Creep. Mostly, the vines skittered awkwardly with small shifting movements, and the general area they walked upon seemed to rustle with trepidation. He theorized that the Creep was signaling information to itself; communicating through the vines, the withered trees, perhaps even other things. But without the ability to communicate with these things, he hadn't the faintest clue.
"What's your purpose for all this?" the Blackstone asked.
"To kill a Creepheart, and see what happens. I'm wondering how well we might fare in this war we've been embroiled in."
"But beyond that? Beyond this expedition?"
Alistair bit his lower lip. It was an odd proposition, but he'd been running it in his mind for some time. The possibilities before them, all of which predicated upon winning the war against the Creep. He knew the odds appeared grim. But the more simulations he ran, the more his thoughts revolved and tossed out poorer possibilities, he understood what needed to be done. Or so he could only imagine.
"I need to learn how the Creep operates. How it fights - what targets are a priority. How to reduce its influence upon an area of land. When I've learned these things, I can instill tactics into the mind of my thralls, so they may venture out into the wilds without me and cull the Creep from the realm. Marrows will be the Creep's ultimate enemy; bodies they cannot revert, with an unlimited stamina. They'll fight and fight until their bodies can no longer withstand the damage, and then they'll simply slink onto the ground as an amalgamation of cracked bones. What we have -- right now -- is a war for the control of life. By throwing un-life into the equation, mages can offer to the Creep an ultimate predator: one which hunts it night by day by night, which cannot be converted, and which wields numbers as infinite as there are corpses in this city. And there are many."
His intent was to embroil the forest in a war; a never-ending one, with no periods of rest, no battles of great interest. Merely the limitless scourge of parties of skeletal warriors who would seek to eliminate the presence of the Creep, learning slowly over time how to overcome their enemies in the most efficient manner. When the presence of Creep in a particular area had been reduced, he -- or other fighters -- could return to the wilds to slaughter the Creepheart, and with that reduce the being's dominion.
Quacians had been living with the Creep for so long that they had begun to view it as a symptom of life; of their existence. But it was not a natural part of life. It was an invader, and one that could be pushed back. He was sure of it. All things could die. Even the Originals had.
