Beastborne

by James T Callum

  Studying Vorax with too-intelligent black eyes, the little creature sat back on her butt and looked at Vorax squarely. It felt like this thing was staring into the depths of his monstrous soul.

  Every moment of Vorax’s past was stripped away, divided, and placed on scales of some cosmic justice. What gives you the right? Vorax imparted to the creature, clearly incensed.

  He only did what was necessary to survive in a brutal cavernous home that was more often than not plagued by vicious aberrations, the most hated enemies of arcana such as Vorax.

  Just checkin’, came the mental reply. Before the spell could wear off and Vorax could move once more the creature, a pobul as he came to understand, placed a webbed paw on his box and Vorax calmed immediately.

  It wasn’t a spell or compulsion –though she could have destroyed him with one easily enough – it was a touch of offered friendship and forgiveness for some of the darker things the mimic had to do to survive.

  The entire exchange lasted barely more than ninety seconds. From when Vorax first sensed the colossal power that was Komachi to the formation of peace between them.

  “Komachi forgot to turn her power level down,” the pobul muttered to Vorax, patting his lid affectionately.

  She focused a moment and just like that, she was barely distinguishable from any other creature. Komachi went from dwarfing his own respectable Level 34, to somewhere in the low single-digits. The aura of absolute power was gone, but if Vorax really focused he could sense it peeking out from her.

  Any other creature, even perceptive dragons were unlikely to notice the truth until it was too late.

  Why? That simple question was filled with imparted context that Komachi instantly understood. Vorax wanted to know why she was here, why was she bonded to the blonde one, why she was hiding her power, and many more questions besides.

  Komachi got lost, now on adventure!

  It was clear from her tone that there would be no forthcoming answers.

  “Komachi?” Elora called and the pobul perked up immediately. She began chirping in a sing-song fashion and gamboled over to the open rear door of the wagon. “There you are, why’d you run off?”

  “Komachi made a friend,” she said proudly and scrambled up into Elora’s arms.

  The blonde one looked at Vorax, all his appendages neatly tucked away. He had quickly resumed his normal treasure chest façade. One purple tendril – no teeth or spikes – slithered out and waved shyly at Elora.

  “Oh. Hi, Vorax,” Elora said, tucking Komachi into the crook of one arm while she waved back. She couldn’t understand Vorax at any level beyond the most basic signage but she was pleasant enough with the mimic.

  “What’s going on?” Hal asked, poking his head into the wagon.

  For a moment, Vorax was about to warn Hal of Komachi but thought better of it. The pobul was guilty of nothing but having a ridiculous amount of power.

  More importantly, she had shared her heart with Vorax and the mimic could see no darkness in her. She was incandescently pure and sweet. No, he would not warn Hal but he could keep a few eyes on the pobul just to be sure.

  At the very least, Komachi would be a welcome friend. One he could converse with at length in the monster way of empathetic communication.

  Elora hefted Komachi who warbled sweetly and chewed on her paw. “Komachi was making friends with Vorax,” she replied, heading to her bunk and setting Komachi on the pull-down cot.

  The stomping of the dwarven leader was evident even before his booming accented voice battered the wagon from outside. “Ye in there, boy? I seen ya went straight for yer wagon without even so much as a ‘how d’ya do!’

  “Ye done on yer fool Quest at least? Me and mine’s lookin’ to be as far from this copse o’ trees before night falls in full. Say the word and we’ll pull up stakes faster ‘n ye can say, ‘gallopin’ glutinous gorgons gargle gaily’!”

  Vorax liked that one. He was straightforward and simple. While he hadn’t been pleased to learn of Vorax’s existence, he was not prejudiced as Vorax had been led to believe about the other races.

  Hal turned around and grumbled under his breath before turning away and going out to answer the dwarf. While Vorax couldn’t hear Hal’s answer, he could feel his friend’s emotions through their bond.

  And they were a whirl of emotions Vorax was increasingly beginning to associate with Hal, excitement, eagerness, and an overwhelming drive to learn. There was something the monstrous man – a term that was among the greatest compliments Vorax (or any monster) could give – recently discovered and was keen to test out.

  Vorax settled into his space below Hal’s bunk, confident that they would be on the move again shortly and that Hal would have plenty to share with him.

  That one was always full of surprises.

  15

  “Florking shirt!” Hal cursed, lurching forward with the jolt to the wagon and scrambling about to steady the many delicate vials and tinctures arrayed on his impromptu desk.

  “You really shouldn’t be doing that while we’re going over rough terrain,” Angram remarked from up in his bunk, one leg dangling over the side.

  “Duly noted,” Hal replied. “But being cooped up in the wagon, this is my best chance to practice Alchemy. Considering I have the aid of a great teacher like Ashera, it would be criminal if I passed it up and instead read a book.”

  Angram lowered his book to his chest and rolled slightly to peek down from his bunk. “I’ll have you know that sharpening a warrior’s mind is just as important as any physical training.”

  Hal snorted. “And what’s the title of this ‘mind sharpening’ book you’re reading, oh wise warrior?” He shuffled the [Mana Tincture] and the [Remel Dissolution] so they could be closer at hand.

  The elf muttered something under his breath.

  “What was that?” Mira asked from her bunk across the way.

  “I said, ‘Tusklove: A Forbidden Romance.’”

  Mira’s chuckle was mirrored by Ashera sitting across from Hal. Ashera pointed at the [Remel Dissolution], urging Hal to add that next.

  It had only been three days since they left the Feltin Plains behind and the unnamed forest where Elora completed her Quest and had a Class Evolution from Ranger to Wildsmaster.

  As amazing and interesting as her new Class was, there still existed a dampened mood in the wagon despite the caravan’s newest (and now favorite) mascot, the pobul Komachi. To Hal, she looked like an Asian small-clawed otter. Though she was sweet to nearly everybody else, the otter, or pobul, or whatever she really was, was standoffish toward him.

  But that wasn’t the reason for the lowered spirits.

  It was Ashera’s unyielding demand to leave the party and stay with the caravan no matter what. They still had found no way to help her with her problem.

  Ashera wasn’t making matters any better by pointedly ignoring any attempts to help and continuing with her life as some sort of quartermaster for the caravan as a whole.

  A job that as much as Hal hated to admit it, she was startlingly good at.

  In just a few days she managed to take stock of all their supplies, rearrange the food stores to be best distributed to those that needed it and most of the meals she made were now in a huge cauldron that fed most of the caravan.

  No matter how good she was as a quartermaster, it was obvious that she was miserable. She put on a good face, but Hal had seen into her heart. He knew how much it really hurt her to have to stay back while they went out to fight.

  The first time a group of monsters attacked the caravan, a pack of large mutated felines with spines running down their backs, Hal could see the way she nearly picked up her new hammer and joined them.

  Nearly.

  Then the reality set in and for a moment she dropped the mask of the pleasant housekeeper. The look she gave Hal was one of abject misery.

  Unable to comfort her, or do much of anything for her, he went out with the others to meet the threat head-on. They w
ere getting good at working as a team. Even without Ashera – replaced by Buffrix’s Mender prowess – they were a force to be reckoned with.

  Since Ashera’s affliction, they racked up more than 17,000 EXP. A matter none of them were keen on voicing aloud. They all knew that each excursion, each fight to defend the caravan would only widen the gulf between Ashera and the rest.

  Hal had been holding off on committing the EXP to Beastborne in case he needed to use another mass Dominate. He did not want to incur another EXP debt. But since the last battle, he now had enough EXP that even with taking Beastborne to 17, he would have a buffer of around 10,000.

  A nice round number that, quite honestly, might not even be enough if he needed to use Dominate to its full extent.

  Placing the EXP, Hal felt the exhilaration of the Level Up experience and idly wondered how many people were addicted to it.

  Beastborne reaches Level 17.

  You have 5 unspent Attribute Points awaiting distribution.

  Your HP, SP, and MP are fully restored.

  He needed to catch his INT up. Now that he could draw on some of it to physically empower himself, it was worth even more. CHR seemed to increase the damage of his Beast Magic a little, but not nearly as much as INT.

  Even with the +35% CHR boost from Oathforger’s Regal Bearing, INT was still stronger point-for-point.

  Bringing up his truncated stats, he looked over them again. It was always such a pleasing thing to see his attributes rise.

  [Status]

  Hal Williams

  Level: 32

  Discordant Stone: 10,200 /55,000

  Strain: 0/50

  BP: 15/15

  Classes

  Beastborne: 17

  Novice: 10

  Oathforger: 5

  Resources

  HP: 450/450 (+75)

  SP: 385/385

  MP: 575/575 (+75)

  Attributes

  STR: 10 (+4)

  VIT: 20 (+5)

  DEX: 10 (+2)

  AGI: 10 (+2)

  INT: 42 (+7)

  MND: 45 (+5)

  CHR: 30 (+16)

  Regeneration

  HP/hr: 64.8

  SP/hr: 57.8

  MP/hr: 154.6

  The dwarves were held back strictly out of deference to Hal. Only a few times had they come out in force when there were simply too many creatures assaulting them. The Feltin Plains weren’t nearly as peaceful as they looked.

  Now that they were traveling northward into the Mirrorlands, a strange reddish-purple hued land of crystallized grass and plant-life, they were heading to the place the Shadow Sages told Hal of with all speed.

  Nobody wanted to stay in the Mirrorlands longer than was necessary. Hal had to resist the urge to split the caravan and send the others south toward the Shiverglades.

  Even now, the desire to spare most of the caravan whatever troubles lay ahead rattled around in his head. “Are you sure we shouldn’t at least send most of the caravan to the edge of the Mirrorlands?” Hal asked, speaking to the room at large.

  “We already went over this with Durvin,” Elora said, stroking a sleeping Komachi resting on Vorax’s lid.

  Ever since those two met they were nearly inseparable. Through his bond with the mimic, Hal could feel Vorax’s protective attitude toward the frail pobul. He’d never let any harm come to her. Mixed in those empathetic messages was something else that Hal struggled to sort out. Almost as if Vorax knew Komachi didn’t need protection.

  “You really want to deprive a dwarf of Shardite?” Angram said with a chuckle. “I mean you’re the boss, so it’s your call. But have you heard the songs from their wagons? They’re singing ‘yer praises boy’ as Durvin would put it. The eager little muscle-bound miners are just itching to get their hands on that rare stuff. If you tell them no, after already agreeing to lead them in….”

  Hal blew out a long, exasperated breath. “Yeah, I know. It feels reckless though.”

  “As if this whole endeavor isn’t?” Mira chimed in. She pulled out a [Strip of Jerky] and began to chew on it while she wandered over to peer at what Hal was doing. “We all knew the risks, the dwarves probably more than most. Would you deprive them of adventure? Of the riches that adventure might bring?”

  Ashera caught the wince that Hal tried to hide. She reached a pale-skinned hand across the table and, mindful of the various delicate bottles, patted his hand sympathetically.

  The reminder of adventure was like a needle to his heart. His last adventure had nearly gotten them all killed. It did kill Giel. He still couldn’t quite forgive himself for that. He wasn’t even present at the man’s death.

  With a nod of his head as thanks, Hal squared his shoulders and turned to regard the rest of the group.

  The inside of the wagon was quite nice. There were pull-down tables that were held in place by cunning hinges on the underside and a fold-out leg. Folding chairs came out from slim storage compartments in the walls. Their beds could all be folded up flat so they could sit around if they chose.

  Those like Angram preferred to climb up into the highest bunk were still out of everybody else’s way. And most of all, it was surprisingly spacious. Hal suspected a bit of magic at work.

  There were enough bunks to sleep 8 comfortably and there was rolled up bedding that they could use to double that to 16 if they needed. Not counting Komachi or Vorax, there were 12 people in Hal’s wagon.

  Of course, his party stayed with him. Even though Ashera had refused to join them again she did at least stay with them in the wagon when she wasn’t attending to the caravan as a whole. A difficult thing to do while riding.

  The trio of koblins were, naturally, staying with Hal as well as Luda and two of her closest attendants. The strange girl rarely spoke except when spoken to directly and seemed at peace to ride up front with the driver.

  The driver’s seat could comfortably fit 2 people at once, or 3 koblins. Lurklox had formed a surprisingly strong bond with their karak. So much so that the feathered beast would patiently wait until Lurklox came out to begin hauling the wagon. Pointedly ignoring any other’s attempt to spur the proud creature on.

  If Lurklox was late – which she rarely was – then the karak would slip its harness and go looking for the little koblin.

  Buffrix and Jabkix typically stayed up front. They loved the sights and sounds of places they never knew existed until a short while ago.

  The stowaways, including Rondo, tended to drift from wagon to wagon. There was always a new group to meet, a new sight to see.

  Koblins, it seemed, were remarkably shy of the wide world normally.

  They didn’t roam very far from their birthplace. As far as koblins went, Buffrix, Jabkix, and Lurlox were trailblazer explorers of a new world.

  It didn’t hurt that the three koblins preferred to sleep under Mira’s bunk, opposite Hal’s on the bottom. That first night they had argued about sleeping beneath Hal’s bunk. But Vorax had long-since beat them to the claim and would not relent his right.

  Something passed between the four, it was too complex for Hal to grasp, but they came to an understanding at least and there was no further fighting. In fact, the reactions to Vorax came as much of a surprise to Hal.

  Even the monster-hating dwarves warmed up to the mimic in a surprisingly short time. More than once Hal found a stray dwarf or two feeding Vorax a golden goblet or some such treasure as if he were a favored pet being slipped table scraps.

  Noth, in her new mortal shell, went among the different wagons. Hal was more than a little worried for her but she seemed to take something from each visit. The dwarves, already warmed to her by her drinking prowess, were very accepting and accomodating of the Reaper-turned-mortal.

  She was searching for something, Hal knew. But he didn’t think she’d find it by wandering about. Purpose wasn’t something you found in another. It was something found within.

  So much change in so little time, Hal mused.

  Ashera snapped h
er fingers in front of Hal’s face. “Are you going to sit there all day staring off into space or are you ready to actually learn?”

  “I miss when you were nice,” Hal muttered with a small grin playing on his lips.

  Ashera rolled her sea-glass green eyes. “I miss when you took this seriously.”

  Hal patted the air between them. “Fair enough. Tell me again the difference between an Aerosol and a Vapor. I’m still fuzzy on the distinction.”

  16

  Their first few days into the Mirrorlands were largely unremarkable. A few monster attacks, strange aberrant creatures with crystalline growths, that were quickly put down. But the worst among them all was the constant dreary downpour.

  It forced everybody inside the wagons at all times. Whenever it let up, the caravan would slow to let people walk and stretch their legs. Even the sturdy dwarves were growing a little restless. They liked their mines and subterranean homes as much as anybody could but they did not do well with being cooped up in the wagons.

  Even when they were able to walk outside, it didn’t help being in an alien landscape. The trees were hardened, faceted crystalline things. Light refracted off their surfaces weirdly. It often made it seem as if something was moving out of the corner of your eye.

  So even when the opportunity arose to walk alongside the wagons, few took the chance the deeper they went into the Mirrorlands.

  They discovered the Mirrorlands were aptly named when, during the day, the flat planes of the trees, plant-life, and jagged crystalline outcroppings, reflected an army of wagons rolling across the muddied and purple-grassed land.

  At least it afforded Hal the opportunity to learn and practice Alchemy.

  With Ashera swearing off fighting for the time being – though Hal feared it would persist despite what Elora had said – she was keen on passing down what she knew of her alchemical knowledge.