2 Chapter 2 - The Battle Of The Midgets (I)
Belthos woke with the first light of dawn, his eyes adjusting to the soft hues painted across the sky. A grumble escaped him, a testament to the discomfort of the night. The unfamiliar sounds of chirping crickets and the relentless hum of mosquitoes had proven to be an unwelcome lullaby. He couldn't help but ruefully compare this natural symphony to the serene quietude of his king-sized bed back in the opulence of Wister.
"This has to be one of the worst nights I've ever slept since I've arrived in this godforsaken realm" He mumbled in a low voice to himself. "Well, at least the stars were beautiful…"
The only thing he found solace last night was the stunning display of the celestial constructs that hovered high above. It was hard to get such a view in Wister, mostly due to the constant clouds and smoke that lingered in the air.
Stretching out the kinks from a restless slumber, he couldn't deny the stark difference between the comforts of his former lifestyle and the rigours of this newfound existence. The ground beneath him felt unforgiving compared to the lushness of his estate's carpets, and the lack of control over the elements irked him.
As the sun inched higher, casting its gentle warmth upon the land, Belthos reluctantly acknowledged that he'd have to adapt to these natural inconveniences. After all, survival in this world meant acclimatising to its quirks, regardless of how fondly he longed for the luxuries of home.
With a resigned sigh, he gathered his belongings, adjusting the straps of his travel pack, and began to start the preparations for today. The road ahead was uncertain, and while the thought of Wister's lavish comforts lingered in his mind, he steeled himself to face the challenges of this unfamiliar terrain.
Belthos focused his mind, the intricate patterns of the 1st-level spell 'Mage Armour' coming to him effortlessly. He closed his eyes as he held a piece of cured leather, muttering the incantation under his breath, feeling the surge of energy as the protective magical force enveloped him.
The sensation was familiar yet reassuring, a shimmering barrier that encased him from head to toe, amplifying his defences against potential threats.
"I should expect the enchantment to endure for a good eight hours. Afterwards, a couple of hours of respite should replenish the spent Spell Slot. That should grant me a substantial span for study, food, and ample time to accomplish the quest at hand…"
The expenditure of a spell slot was a calculated decision—one he made with practised ease. He understood the significance of this investment, trading a portion of his magical reserves for enhanced protection. Knowing that the mental energy required to regain this spell slot would return after a brief rest, Belthos weighed the benefits against the cost and found it a worthy exchange.
The next few hours would offer a dual opportunity—a chance to benefit from the magical shield while exploring the world, and a moment for recuperation and study. As he waited for his mental energy to restore, he planned to delve into his Spellbook, a repository of his arcane knowledge accumulated over the time he had become a wizard. It was an essential tool, a compendium that represented his ongoing journey through the intricate tapestry of magic.
His fingers delicately traced the intricate designs adorning the cover of the Spellbook as he thought over the wealth of information contained within the pages. The hours of study ahead were not mere routine; they were moments of progression, of honing his craft amidst the vast complexities of the arcane. Every page turned, every symbol deciphered, added to his mastery of the weave.
Belthos knew the importance of being in a perpetual state of learning. In a realm where survival often hinged upon one's prowess in the magical arts, stagnation meant vulnerability. Thus, with a meticulous eye and a thirst for knowledge, he aimed to absorb and improve every bit of wisdom his Spellbook offered, ensuring that his journey through this unfamiliar land would be guided by a continually evolving understanding of magic.
As Belthos delved into the mystic arts, moments swiftly slipped away, and before long, the time came to resume the quest at hand.
Belthos ensured his equipment was meticulously arranged and securely fastened before setting off on his journey. The weight of his arcane focus staff and the reassuring presence of his dagger at his side provided a sense of preparedness. His Spellbook, a repository of his arcane knowledge, rested snugly within his side pack, a constant companion on his quest for understanding and power.
With his belongings secured, Belthos ventured forth, his strides purposeful and confident. The map in his possession outlined the route to the marked area—a trek that, by his calculations, would span around four to five hours. The comfort of knowing the duration of his journey eased his mind, especially given the temporary shield of Mage Armor encasing him will last till the end.
As he traversed the unfamiliar terrain, his senses alert and attuned to the surroundings, Belthos absorbed the sights and sounds of this mystical realm. The landscape unfolded before him, a canvas of rolling hills and verdant forests, hinting at the untold mysteries that lay ahead.
He proceeded with caution, maintaining a steady pace while keeping a keen eye on the landmarks depicted on the map. The anticipation of what awaited at the designated area fuelled his determination, adding a spring to his step, despite the unknown dangers that might lurk in the shadows.
The rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath his boots echoed his resolute stride as he ventured deeper into this uncharted territory. With each passing moment, Belthos revelled in the thrill of exploration, his mind a mixture of calculated strategy and eagerness for discovery.
As he continued along the path, the sun painting shifting patterns of light and shadow around him, Belthos remained steadfast, unwavering in his quest. The marked destination beckoned, promising the potential for new encounters, challenges, and perhaps even a glimpse of the arcane wonders this realm held within its embrace.
As Belthos drew nearer to his destination, his mind became a wellspring of strategic planning, assessing the spells at his disposal and envisioning their potential applications in various scenarios. The anticipation of what lay ahead spurred his mental preparations, weaving spells into potential threads of defence, manipulation, and discovery.
Amidst the rustling leaves and the distant calls of unknown creatures, Belthos mulled over the spells he had diligently prepared for this venture. His Spellbook served as a reservoir of arcane possibilities, each incantation a tool waiting to be wielded with precision and foresight.
The cantrips he had at his disposal—Fire Bolt, Mending, and Mage Hand—were versatile assets in his repertoire. Fire Bolt offered a ranged attack, capable of dealing fire damage from a distance. Mending, though seemingly mundane, held utility for repairing objects, a potential solution for any unforeseen equipment damage. Mage Hand, a spectral hand under his control, allowed manipulation from afar, potentially aiding in uncovering hidden traps or manipulating objects out of reach.
His chosen 1st-level spells held a more profound impact on the scenarios he envisioned. Magic Missile, a reliable force that unerringly hit its targets, stood as a dependable offence. Mage Armor, already cast for protection, provided a safeguard against physical harm. Disguise Self, a spell of illusion, could prove invaluable for blending into the environment or concealing his true identity if the need arose.
The spell Find Familiar, although currently dormant due to his hesitation in selecting a familiar, lingered as a missed opportunity.
Belthos berated himself inwardly for his indecision. A companion could have offered both companionship and additional aid, a mistake he vowed to rectify once he resolved his uncertainty and was back at Wister.
As the landscape shifted around him, the final steps toward the designated area on the map prompted Belthos to reaffirm his mental readiness. He mentally rehearsed potential scenarios—combat encounters, obstacles requiring manipulation, or the need for disguises to navigate unfamiliar territories.
With each spell firmly etched in his mind, Belthos remained vigilant, aware that the success of his quest hinged upon his ability to adapt swiftly and leverage his magical arsenal effectively. As he approached the marked destination, his senses heightened, primed for whatever awaited within the boundaries of this enigmatic site.
Belthos halted in his tracks, his ears catching the telltale signs of disturbance amidst the otherwise serene surroundings. The distinct sound of snapping twigs hinted at an intruder nearby. Instinctively, he sought cover behind a nearby tree stump, utilising his inherent stealthiness as a halfling to obscure himself from view. Peering cautiously around the natural barrier, he confirmed his suspicions—a Goblin.
The creature was slightly taller than Belthos, a commonality for most forest creatures, and possessed a much bulkier frame, clad in tattered leather armour that seemed ill-fitted to its form. The sight of the rusted scimitar gripped in its hand and the makeshift wooden short bow slung over its shoulder spoke volumes about its crude yet menacing demeanour.
A bead of sweat trickled down Belthos's brow as he assessed the situation. Goblins were known for their mischievous and often hostile nature. This encounter signalled potential danger, and his strategic mind immediately began assessing the available options.
The Goblin, oblivious to Belthos's presence, seemed to be scouting the area or, worse yet, preparing for an ambush. With his Mage Armor still providing protection, Belthos contemplated his next move, his mind racing through the spells he had prepared, weighing their utility in this sudden situation.
His instincts urged him to be cautious yet decisive. Magic Missile could provide a quick and reliable offensive strike that could potentially deal with a Goblin in a single spell, while Disguise Self might offer an opportunity to avoid confrontation altogether by assuming a guise that would deceive the Goblin. However, the unpredictability of the situation left him momentarily torn between offence and subterfuge.
Belthos's hand instinctively hovered near his arcane focus staff, ready to channel the necessary magical energies at a moment's notice. He remained hidden, observing the Goblin's movements, his heart pounding with a mix of trepidation and determination. As the tension in the air thickened, he awaited the opportune moment to act—a calculated response that would tip the scales in his favour in this unexpected encounter with the Goblin.
'Odd… the Goblin's position doesn't align with the marked section on the map. And equipped like that, it's no mere scavenger.' Belthos's mind raced with suspicions, a gnawing sense of unease creeping in. 'This feels off, highly off.'
Despite the unsettling discrepancy between the Goblin's location and the designated area, Belthos recognized the opportunity presented—a chance to seize the initiative in this unforeseen encounter. With his mind made up, he silently began the incantation, focusing his intent on the spell he had chosen to cast.
As the arcane energies started to gather, a flurry of thoughts raced through Belthos's mind. 'This Goblin might be a distraction, or worse, a scout for something more ominous. But I can't afford hesitation now.' His grip on the arcane focus staff tightened, determination etched across his features. 'I need to act swiftly, decisively.'
The incantation flowed smoothly from his lips, the magical words resonating with the rhythms of the arcane. Belthos steadied himself, channelling the energies required for the impending spell. 'This could turn the tide in my favour, but the unknowns are unsettling. Focus, Belthos. Trust your instincts.'
As the scene hung in suspended animation, with the Goblin oblivious to the imminent magical assault, Belthos prepared to unleash the spell, his mind racing with calculated intent and a thread of apprehension. The outcome of this impromptu confrontation remained shrouded in uncertainty, the pending magical strike marking a pivotal moment in this unforeseen encounter.
