Vesperwind: Portal problems

The jungle heat presses down on us as Ember steps away from the group, finding a clearing wide enough for her work. She rolls her shoulders, shakes out her hands, and begins to weave the arcane patterns in the air. Golden light spirals from her fingertips, drawing the complex geometry of a portal spell.

"Silvermoon," she murmurs, her voice taking on the resonant quality of channeling. "The Royal Exchange. Clear and open."

Jalid stands nearby, ready to assist, his own hands glowing with auxiliary energy. The portal frame shimmers into existence-a vertical oval of swirling gold and crimson, the colors of Quel'thalas.

Then it flickers.

Ember's brow furrows. She pours more power into the weave, her teeth gritting with effort. The portal steadies for a heartbeat, then spasms. The arcane geometry collapses in on itself with a sound like breaking glass, dissolving into sparks that fizzle against the damp jungle floor.

A scroll appears in the air where the portal stood, dropping unceremoniously onto the dirt with a soft thump.

Ember stares at it, breathing hard. She bends to retrieve it, breaking the magical seal with a flick of her wrist. Her eyes scan the elegant script, and her expression shifts from confusion to dawning comprehension to something like embarrassed resignation.

"The arcane security of Silvermoon," she reads aloud, "cannot permit unregistered draconic entities to enter via unauthorized portal magic. Please register your companion at the appropriate municipal office and try again."

She looks up. Looks over at where a small red whelp-no larger than a house cat-hovers in the air, blinking innocent golden eyes.

"Charmastraz," Ember sighs. "That’s gonna be a problem."

The whelp chirps.

“Oh, well, I’m sure we can find another way,” I say to Ember, optimism shaken somewhat.

The mood in the clearing shifts. The easy solution has evaporated, and now we're back to the same problem I've been wrestling with for days: distance, time, and the impossible slowness of overland travel with a yak who stubbornly stops every five minutes.

"How long would it take to walk?" Tillie asks, her ears flattening slightly.

"Weeks," I say. "Maybe longer. The guards said the northern road is contested, and-"

"And we can't exactly take the zeppelin with him," Savadra finishes, nodding toward Yak, who is, predictably, grazing on a patch of ferns ten feet away.

“No, I tried! He wouldn’t fit up the stairway to the landing at the top of the air tower,” I explain.

It's Aeon who speaks up. The sin'dorei mage has been quiet since we arrived, content to observe from beside Savadra, their hands occasionally brushing in that unconscious way of couples who've been together long enough to share personal space without thought.

"Karazhan," he says.

We all turn to look at him.

"The leylines there are... potent," Aeon continues, his voice measured and precise. "Even damaged as the tower is, the confluence of power beneath it could sustain a portal large enough for all of you. Including," he adds, with a glance at Charmastraz, "any passengers who might otherwise trigger Silvermoon's security wards."

"Karazhan is north," Jalid says, considering. "Through Stranglethorn, into Duskwood."

"Duskwood is dangerous," a voice says suddenly.

Fulmist, a kaldorei, who had been leaning against a nearby tree, sporting a flashy violet hat and a socialite aesthetic steps forward.

"Very dangerous."

"Everything is dangerous," Savadra says briskly. "Karazhan sounds like the best option right now. If Miko is… determined to bring her yak."

"I’m not leaving him behind," I confirm.

"Then we move."

The decision settles over the group like a shared breath. We gather our things-my noodle cart gets collapsed and strapped to Yak's broad back, my remaining supplies distributed among friends who have more carrying capacity than I do. Ember and Jalid consult in low voices about the route, about leyline harmonics, about what they'll need to prepare for the casting at Karazhan.

We set off north through Stranglethorn Vale, following ancient roads that cut through jungle older than any of our civilizations. The travel is slow-not because of Yak this time, though he does his share of grazing, but because we're a large group moving through hostile territory. Raptors watch from the canopy. Trolls track us from the shadows. We stick to the roads where we can, and when we must leave them, Savadra and Aeon take point, their combined martial and arcane prowess enough to discourage most predators.

By late afternoon, we reach the northern edge of the vale. The jungle thins, giving way to rocky hills and the first hints of pine. And beyond that, visible as a dark smudge against the horizon, lies Duskwood.

Even from here, something feels wrong about that forest. The light doesn't penetrate it properly. The shadows within seem to move independently of the sun.

"We regroup here," Savadra says, calling a halt at a clearing just shy of the border. "Duskwood isn't something we walk into blind."

We gather in a loose circle-my friends, my unexpected rescue party, my unlikely caravan. Tillie produces dried meat and hardtack from her pack. Jalid conjures fresh water, his magic simple and practical. Emberlite sits apart, Charmastraz curled in her lap now, the small dragon radiating warmth like a living furnace.

Fulmist points to a section on a map that Savadra and Aeon were looking at against a tree nearby. Fazzilwitz, a goblin toymaker with a shark-like grin, was showing off the latest model of the FUNHAMMER to Reikilotus, a Pandaren monk who just started laughing.

A hand touches my shoulder, and I look to see Artivee coming up from out of the forest. “Miko, we need to move.”

Beyond our circle, Duskwood waits. Dark, dangerous, and unavoidable.

(Continued in Vesperwind: Duskwood)