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They eat lunch in the cave while talking with the people and establishing some rapport. Then the adventurers pile back in the buggies, and are headed South again just after 4:30. They carry on with the regular breaks, day rest, and so on, without further incident. Just at dawn on their fourth day of travel, they arrive near Hope’s End. They can’t actually see the castle from their position, and haven’t seen it at all on their journey - which is a good thing, because then someone in the castle could have seen them - but Phyr knows from his map that they are very close indeed.
They find their cave and get everything squared away, in accordance with the plan. They’re actually ahead of schedule, having planned in some time for things to go wrong, so the adventurers go to bed early so they can be fully rested. They’re all awake and alert just past three, and they part ways.
The going is hot and dry, the hottest part of the day having only just passed. The air hasn’t yet had time to cool, but the positive is that it will only get cooler from here, especially once they’re in the shade of the mesa below Hope’s End. As they near the foot, they see a narrow path winding up the North and Eastern faces. While it’s mostly not precarious for an individual, an army would have zero chance of making the ascent. Phyr is able to get by with some basic caution - three points of contact, all that - but with any considerable load, he would be all but doomed. Vector’s go-bag is of little encumbrance because, in the first place, it’s designed to be; but also because his half-giant limbs and weight mean that the bag does not significantly change his center of gravity. Here and there, they have to clamber up a steep slope, over a rock, or across a scree of small stones, but aside from those infrequent obstacles, the path is no more arduous than an equivalent staircase would be.
That would be one Hell of a staircase, though. Higher and higher, the dropoff grows closer and closer to vertical as they rise hundreds of feet into the air, the wind whipping at them with increasing fervor as they gain altitude. While taking a break, Phyr remarks, “Shouldn’t we press on? Our last break was only a few minutes ago.”
“First rule of a grueling hike,” Pannych answers, “Start slow, and slow down. If we’re dragging our feet or spacing out, we could easily lose our footing. All it takes is one stumble.”
Phyr considers this with a glance down the rock face. “Fair enough.”
“Besides,” Vector says, “We’re in no rush. Nightfall’s coming, and we want our final approach to be under cover of darkness.”
“No, that’s a good point,” Phyr says. “I just want this to be fuckin’ over with.” The others nod in agreement.
As the adventurers continue to rise, the temperature continues to fall, due both to the setting Sun and the increased altitude and wind speed. With every break, they see the shadows over the badlands grow longer and longer. As they do, the sunlit areas grow correspondingly darker and redder, and soon enough, the shadows melt into the fallen night.
At long last, they reach the plateau atop the mesa. They stand on open ground, but the full dark provides all the cover they need. Nevertheless, they resist the urge to whoop and holler in triumph. To the West, dwarfed by the very mountain it rises on, they see Hope’s End. “It looks like one of those little Mario castles or something,” Phyr says.
“That’s because it’s really far,” Vector says.
Phyr groans and staggers forward with a zombie-like gait. Then he flops down on his back and says, “I call another break.” The others join him on the ground, and they unpack and eat their dinner.
Vector takes out the speaking stone and says, “Hey, Warner?”
“I read ya.”
“We’ve reached the top of the mesa. We’ll be getting to Hope’s End shortly.”
“Copy that. Good luck, and godspeed.”
“Thanks. Over and out.” He stows the stone.
“So I know there’s still a few days before the tournament,” Pannych says, “But I thought we’d see someone on the way here. I mean, there’s gotta be early birds, right?”
“Well, if this world is based off your mind,” Phyr says, “Then everyone else could just be procrastinators, too.”
“Most of the others probably aren’t trying to sneak in early and cancel the whole thing, either,” Vector says.
“Fair,” Pannych replies with a shrug.
After eating, they take an hour’s rest in the cool night air, observing their surroundings. Near as they can tell, they’re the only people for dozens of miles; the castle is the only man-made structure in eyesight. Unless they speak, the only noise is the wind. Their muscles grow stiff during the rest, so they stretch to work out the kinks before resuming their trek.
The backdrop of the enormous mountain plays havoc with their depth perception, making it seem as though the castle is growing no closer as they approach. No matter how hard they try to look at it squarely, the towering mountain dominates their field of view and makes the castle appear tiny.
And then they are upon it: after an interminable approach, seeming to make no progress at all, they suddenly stand within a stone’s throw. Now that they can make out details, they see that Hope’s End has seen better days. The crenellated parapet is worn, the corners all rounded soft; seven staggered tiers rise along the mountainside behind, each more dilapidated than the last; one tower at a front corner is missing a roof, the other is completely collapsed.
“OK,” Phyr says, craning his neck to look up over the tiered floors rising away from him, “This is much bigger than a Mario castle.”
“Are you… gonna be all right,” Vector asks, turning to Pannych.
“I mean, yeah. Why?”
“Well,” Phyr says hesitantly, “We’re going up against the embodiment of your self-loathing. It just seems like, I dunno, you might wanna gird your loins or whatever.”
Pannych thinks this over, but rolls a 1 on her Savvy check. She smiles and says, “He may know how to hit me where it hurts, but I have a secret weapon: I know it all works out for me. I’m a great teacher, we’re still best friends, and my life is better. I just gotta keep all that in mind, and I’ll be able to handle whatever he throws at me!”
“If you say so,” Phyr says dubiously.
“Either of you getting a ‘trap’ vibe all of a sudden,” Vector asks.
“The guy we’re trying to kill invited us to his house,” Phyr says. “That’s not a ‘trap vibe,’ that’s a giant neon sign with fireworks and a band, with a social media campaign and SEO circle-jerk. You can’t say ‘trap’ louder than this.” He pulls out his trap detector, shining green in the night. “Except there are no traps. Not yet, anyway.”
“What if the trap itself is out of range, and it just gets us from a distance,” Pannych asks.
“Doesn’t work like that,” Phyr says, shaking his head. “I had a look at my gear during some downtime the other day. It detects trap triggers, so even if the trap is for an artillery shell to get you from a mile away, the trigger will still set it off on the spot it’s gonna fire on.”
Vector narrows his eyes and asks, “OK, but what if the trigger is also out of range?”
“Then how would you even set it off?”
“You have a twenty-yard range on that, right? So, like, what if there’s a ballista that’s twenty-five yards ahead of you, and a guy with a lever twenty-five yards to the side? That’s a trap your gadget wouldn’t detect, isn’t it?”
“This thing defines a ‘trap’ as a mechanism triggered by the victim to capture or harm them. If a person is lying in wait for you, then that’s an ambush.”
“OK, so what if we’re not walking into a trap, but we are walking into an ambush?”
“Then I guess we’re boned, ‘cuz I left my ambush detector up your other asshole.”
“Cute,” Pannych says. “Now if you two are done with your little spat, can we go have this boss fight?”
“Fine,” Vector says, “But if we die in the first room, I’m kicking your ass.”
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