Alden stands near the gate, arms crossed, watching as
Edrik assigns roles to John and Des without so much as a second glance in his direction. He’s used to it—being overlooked, underestimated. He doesn't wear heavy armor, nor does he carry a bow or blade that marks him as a warrior. Just a simple cloak, a few pouches, and a dagger that doesn’t quite scream "battle-mage." Still, it stings.
It’s not that Alden expects respect, but being outright dismissed grates on him. He had felt the storm’s magic before they even saw it coming. He knew the dangers before anyone had to explain them. And yet, when it comes to preparing for the fight, the guards see only soldiers, not spellcasters.
Fine.
Without a word, Alden follows John as he heads toward the square, trailing just far enough behind that it doesn't seem like he's following him—at least, not obviously. As John helps the townsfolk into basements, offering his smithing knowledge to sharpen blades and reinforce armor, Alden does what he can in the background.
He’s no blacksmith, but he understands
wards. While John barricades doors, Alden discreetly traces simple runes onto the wooden beams, barricades and stone thresholds with a piece of chalk. They aren’t powerful spells—he never mastered grand incantations—but these small sigils should help reinforce the wood, making it harder to break. A well-placed ward might turn a reckless charge into a stumble, buying precious seconds. He doesn’t explain what he’s doing. If Edrik or anyone else notices, they can ask.
As he finishes marking another doorway, Alden tightens his grip on his dagger. He may not have been given orders, but that doesn’t mean he won’t fight. When the creatures arrive, he’ll be ready—and he’ll prove he’s not just some forgettable scholar.
Last edited February 8, 2025 12:31 am
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