"Everyone, stay back," I ordered, imdiately recalling its luring nature from the description I'd read. "Do not approach the visions. It will try to pull you in with whatever you desire most."
The Harbinger moved slowly, its body pulsing with illusory promises of water and safety, just out of reach.
Although, because there was really no reason in our bio and environnt to need any of those hopeful visions, none of the bastioneers were really affected.
Verina concocted a dastardly dangerous spell into her musket before blasting it toward the Hawsrbinger's face from far away. Unfortunately, overwhelming firepower wasn't enough to ward off spirit-like entities.
However, because it could still be influenced by the attack, I ordered the bastioneers to attack it with their crossbows, sending a flurry of projectiles alongside my Fortcracker, and more of what Verina prepared in her arsenal.
Frustrated by the barrage of attack, the figure dissipated into a swirl of sand and mist, leaving only a trace of dried soil in its wake. The tension eased, and the bastion was safe once again.
We collected a small bag of dried sand from its remains that dropped in our piece of moving land, which I suspected might have so use in the future.
It wasn't after another hour where we stumbled upon the next Calamity Object. It seed like today would be another lazy day for the Ordeal.
Just as we settled back, a strange glimr caught my eye—small, jagged shards of crystal appeared scattered across the ground near the center of the bastion. I opened the interactive screen to confirm my suspicion.
—
[The Broken Crown]
[Description: A shattered, crystalline crown that floats just above the ground, surrounded by faint whispers in ancient, forgotten languages. Any who approach the Broken Crown feel an overwhelming need to pick up its pieces and put them together.
However, with each shard they lift, their sense of self erodes, as the Crown's original owner—an old, fallen monarch—attempts to rebuild themselves through the wearer. As the pieces are reassembled, the landscape begins to change, the world warping to resemble the lost kingdom of the Crown's past.
Anyone who completes the Crown fully becos a vessel for the ancient king's spirit, losing their identity completely]
[Hint: The Crown can only be safely discarded if the shards are returned to the place of the monarch's downfall, which often requires confronting their ghostly shade]
—
The shards faintly glowing and whispering in languages long dead.
"Keep away from the shards," I warned. "Do not pick them up, no matter how strong the urge."
Lupina, now securely strapped to Verina's waist, gazed at the shards warily. "Why would anyone feel like touching broken glass?" she muttered, though her eyes were fixed on them with unnerving intensity.
Despite my warning, the fragnts seed to call out, tempting the bastioneers to piece them together. Callista shifted nervously, shaking her head as if clearing a fog.
Kuzunoha, ever the pragmatist, extended a gloved hand and swept the shards with her proficient telekinesis, and onto her gloved hand. "All we need to do is just completely dispose of it," she said as she turned the shards into arcane dust and ignored its existence.
With the threat neutralized, we continued our survival for the Ordeal of the Dusk.
For the next three hours, we encountered the common Calamity Objects that we already t before, like the Bloodhounds, Sandstalker, Crawling Husks, Shardfiends, etc.
We even t a pack of Skinwalkers. Thankfully, Verina and Kuzunoha was quick to identify the fake and banish the imitator without any further damages done to the morales and in terms of casualties.
Though, so of us got wounded. They were all treated, not with my Valtherion blood, but with the available dicines.
My golden blood was still confidential, only known by my confidantes. I won't use it unless we run out of herbs and dicine, or if one of us suffers a critical condition.
It won't also be coming from my blood vessel either, but from Kuzunoha's storage. That way, we could just pretend that the golden potion was a precious Theotech relic that Kuzunoha looted from the past.
—
[The Lichen Queen]
[Description: A towering figure wrapped in robes of moss and lichen, her skin pale and cracked like ancient stone. The Queen moves slowly, her movents graceful yet unsettling, and her touch causes life to bloom uncontrollably—flowers sprouting from skin, moss covering armor, vines weaving through weapons.
She whispers promises of eternal life and beauty, but those who accept find themselves rooted to the spot, becoming part of her living garden. As they grow more entangled in the vines and flora, they lose their sense of individuality, their thoughts blending with the Queen's, until they beco little more than statues in her silent, green kingdom]
[Hint: The Queen can be kept at bay by reciting a personal mory aloud, as individual recollections weaken her hold on the mind, but she often tries to drown mories with her sweet, hypnotic promises]
—
Later into the night, the air grew damp, a strange greenish fog rolling in from the south, and with it ca the slow, deliberate footsteps of The Lichen Queen.
She moved like a spectral figure, her towering form wrapped in robes of thick moss and draping lichen, her touch leaving trails of blooming flora wherever it fell. Her cracked, pale skin seed to drink in the life around her, and a faint whisper filled the air, promising beauty and eternal life.
"I know that this is obvious, but do not let her touch you," I reminded the bastioneers. "She'll root you in place, and her garden will consu you."
I also took my ti to inform everyone of the gimmick that the Lichen Queen possessed, since it would be nice if we defeated it without laying a single ammunition or weapons.
As she drew closer, her whisper softened, becoming almost lodic. "Would you like to feel peace, at last?" Her voice was honeyed, each word sinking into the mind like warm soil, inviting rest, a return to nature.
Lupina, held securely to Verina's waist, was the first to chant and remind everyone, "Rember sothing personal, sothing only yours," she shouted to the others. "The mories keep her away!"
The bastioneers each began murmuring aloud, recounting monts from their lives—nas of family mbers, places they once called ho, sounds of laughter. I joined in, recalling the details of my life before Carcosa, albeit in a much more vague sense.
The Lichen Queen paused, her mossy robes rustling, unable to draw near as the mories dulled her allure from ever taking a grasp on our consciousness.
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