As the rain beat down upon him, soaking through his clothes in a matter of seconds, Hal watched as the shining mote of fragile life swayed in the storm.
A Manaseed.
Up above the winds swirled, clouds gathered to block out all light making the tiny glow of the Manaseed all the more noticeable.
Hal strode toward it with purpose but each step was met with howling wind that suddenly shifted to blow him away. Just as he dug in his heels against the slick stone and lowered his head, the wind would shift.
It was a constant battle, one that sorely tempted his use of magic. Even with the tempest raging around him, it would have been child’s play with his Convergence enhanced strength.
Barring that, using his bone-limbs to secure a foothold would do just as well.
On that, the Shadow Sages had been explicit. No magic. No weapons. No armor. Any suggestion of aggression would likely spell his doom. There were many wards within Mordheim, Hal could feel them. The wards created a tingling sensation in the air, anticipating the slightest mistake.
He wasn’t sure how long it took, for every three steps he took he was blown back two or fell to one knee with a painful jolt. But he continued, undaunted. His gaze never left the symbol of hope the Manaseed had become.
Hal stretched out his hand, using his other to brace himself against the low circling wall of starry material that enshrined the Manatree. The wind threatened to lift him up and blow him skyward even as his fingers curled around the glowing mote of life.
As soon as Hal closed his fist around the Manaseed, his grip on the slick glassy stone slipped and he was pulled into the storm raging all around. A bolt of lightning crashed into the Manatree, blasting it to flinders and igniting what remained into a fiercely burning pyre.
And then there was only darkness.
41
Consciousness flashed like bolts of lightning through Hal. He was tumbling ever skyward one second, then crashing hard against a bone-breaking stone the next, only to be swept away once more soon after. Without armor or magic, he had no choice, no hope but to curl protectively around the Manaseed and protect it with his very body.
Bones broke and skin tore as he was thrown around like a ragdoll. He passed out more times than he could count, awakening only when pain or a sudden shift jolted him awake.
A great ruined city spread out beneath him between the flashes of illuminating lightning. Peals of thunder shook the sky and the great city below him, splendid in its sweeping architecture, crumbled and fell into the dark waters that surrounded it.
Darkness fell upon him again but this time it was different. He was still awake. The storm seemed to lessen, and when he felt the next gust of wind, Hal braced for the coming pain.
But there was nothing.
He didn’t dare relax his guard. The Manaseed was safe in his grasp and he was curled in a ball around it as much to protect it as himself.
A moment later Hal was spat out of the archway he entered on, bowling over Durvin and three dwarves to lie in a tangled heap of flailing limbs and wagging beards.
A sturdy leg clocked Hal in the side of the head, followed by a fist to the gut that blasted the breath from his lungs and stopped his rolling momentum. None of the hits were intentional. If they were, he would have received a lot more than the bruises he knew he would be sporting the next morning.
Sturdy dwarven hands gripped Hal and lifted him to his feet. It always amazed him how strong the average dwarf was. But after Hal’s head stopped spinning and he noticed the bracing hand sporting a single mythril-and-gold ring, he understood it was no average dwarf that had picked him up.
Durvin’s signet ring was easily recognizable, bearing his clan’s symbol of a double-sided axe with a blazing torch set between the two blades.
“Up ye get, boy,” the dwarf chortled. “Not even gone an eyeblink and ye get tossed out on yer arse! Musta taken a wrong turn, eh?”
Durvin clapped Hal on the back after seeing that he was able to keep himself steady. The dwarf’s words rang in Hal’s head, rattling around for much longer than it should have to register. “How long was I gone?” Hal asked. Despite being soaked to the bone, his throat was dry from the hours of searching and exploring.
Only then did Durvin realize that Hal was damp when he was dry just a few moments ago, by the dwarf’s reckoning that is. “What’re yer fer?” he asked skeptically.
Hal’s ejection had taken him several yards down the bluff and just as the other dwarves he knocked over were grumbling and getting to their feet, the rest of their group came over.
Noth was the first to Hal, her golden eyes bright. “You found it.”
“What?” Angram asked, shaking his head. “He was barely gone a second- Oh.” It took the Ranger a moment to notice Hal’s state. Several scrapes and bruises were clear on his face and hands, his clothes were torn and tattered in places, and he was dripping wet.
The more serious wounds weren’t readily visible.
That last part was easier to miss in the dark of night, no matter the bright slash of bandlight coming from between the scudding clouds above nor the moons that slowly made their skyward passage.
The entire time, Hal kept both of his hands clenched to his stomach, afraid to let go for an instant. He felt the Manaseed pulsing like a living thing, its warm glow soothing the many injuries he had taken.
“He’s hurt,” Mira said, casting her gaze across him and settling on his stomach where she must have thought he was clutching a wound. She reached into her Inventory and pulled out a [Hi-Potion], offering it to him. “Show us the wound, Hal. This should take care of it.”
Halfway to Hal, Ashera’s hand shot out and clamped on Mira’s wrist. “He is only just now recovering from Toxication. It would be best if he waited a full day more before taking any alchemical solutions.”
Even in the dim light of the night, Mira’s cheeks flushed and she muttered a brief apology as she put the bottle away.
“It’s okay,” Hal said. “I can take care of it.” Hal glanced to the side at his stats, noticing that his HP was hovering around 120. Concentrating, Hal used Assimilation, swapping most of his MP and SP to recover his HP back to full.
Bones reknit, straightening out and resuming their proper shape. For a moment he wondered how horrible it would be if healing only repaired the damage but the bone would still need to be set.
Healing so much itched like Hell. Hal clenched his hands into fists, one hand still curled tightly around the Manaseed to stop from scratching at his skin. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway, where the itching sensation was worst was inside his ribs as the cracked bones were repaired.
That most useful of abilities once more healed the worst of his injuries and left him only tired and feeling drawn. There would be plenty of bruises in the morning, and more soreness than he would know what to do with. But for now, he could walk back to the caravan as he talked.
On the way, he told them what it was like within Mornheim. The strangeness of the place and the beautiful arches. It wasn’t until they were back at the caravan, gathered around the roaring fire at the center of the wagon circle, that Hal reached the Manatree in his story.
He never thought of himself as much of an orator. Storytelling was never a strong skill of his and writing was “not a viable career path,” as his parents used to tell him.
But he found that a large gathering had encircled the warming light of the campfire and dozens of people were leaning in to hear his every word about his –rather boring, in his opinion – adventure into Mornheim.
The very mention of the place sent a shiver of gasps through the group. But nobody dared to break the spell of his storytelling to give him a reason why.
So he continued with the story, explaining the Manatree’s sad state and the storm that ravaged the dark ruins around him. When he finally spoke of the Manaseed and grasping it, he held out his hand and for the first time uncurled his fingers.
The glowing aura of the tiny Manas
eed, a perfect sphere of white-gold light around the tiny mote, reflected in the eyes of every onlooker. The only sound that could be heard was the crackle of the campfire.
Hal put the Manaseed away into his Inventory and continued the story. It did not escape his notice that several people were shaking their heads as if coming out of a trance.
Once his story was told, dinner was declared ready. Hal stayed by the fire, warming himself and drying off, letting the hearty meal of meat and rice slathered in some sort of savory purple sauce settle pleasantly in his stomach.
Whether they were bored without a story to hear, or they had other things to attend to, the crowd that had gathered dispersed after the meal. Hal heard some excited retellings of the story in snippets here and there as people moved around in small groups discussing it amongst themselves.
“Smart move, boy,” Durvin said, clapping him on the shoulder and pulling up a stool to sit beside him. He took out a large polished pipe and began packing it with purple-tinged herbs. He raised his bushy bronzed brows and motioned to the pipe, silently asking if he wanted any.
When Hal shook his head, the dwarf shrugged and resumed packing.
“What do you mean?”
“Not that I expect ye know this, but storytellin’ is one o’ the dwarves' favorite things. Ain’t nothin’ we like more than swappin’ tales. An’ yerself got a mighty tale indeed, made all the better by showing that little bauble ye got to all that were lookin’. An’ that’s a lot o’ folk.”
It wasn’t a calculated effort, most of the story was boring. Though, he guessed that only those who came up to the archway heard the most boring part. Once he returned to the camp was when the story had launched into the more exciting aspects of him fighting against the storm and the appearance of the withered Manatree.
“I figured you might scold me for showing it openly,” Hal admitted with a chuckle. “Something about people getting big ideas in their heads.”
“Manaseeds don’t work like that, boy. Ye gotta give it over. Besides, oh hold on a tick.” Durvin began patting his pockets looking around for something before turning his bronze-eyed stare on Hal. “Ye got a light?”
“’Fraid not.”
With a shrug, Durvin leaned down and put a thick calloused thumb to the side of his broad nose, closing off one nostril. As much as Hal thought he knew what was about to happen, he couldn’t look away.
Why the dwarf was going to blow snot all over his pipe was another matter entirely. One that Hal didn’t have the voice to question as Durvin took a deep breath and then blew hard.
Instead of snot, a thin jet of flame erupted from his one open nostril and lit the pipeweed inside. A pleasantly sweet smell filled the immediate area and a thin blue smoke threaded up from the pipe’s bowl.
Durvin snorted a few more times after removing his thumb and made a series of strange noises as he smacked his lips. “Snaahhh, shalestone! I hate doin’ that! Tickles something fierce. Like a sneeze ye just can’t get out.” He turned to glare at Hal as if it was somehow his fault he shot fire out of his nose.
“Neat trick,” Hal said, watching the dwarf jam the mouthpiece of his pipe into the side of his mouth and continue his glare.
“What ye gonna do with it now?”
“I have to wait until we find a suitable location,” Hal said. That should have been obvious, shouldn’t it? Durvin knew the plan. They were going to the Shiverglades now with all haste to set up a Sanctum once and for all.
Puffing out great plumes of smoke from his nostrils, Durvin let out a throaty chuckle. “There’s lots ye can do with a Manaseed.”
“Like?” Hal prompted.
The surly dwarven leader leaned in and dropped his voice into a low rumble. “Ye can establish a Guild with it, fer starters.”
42
Hal started at that. “How do you create a Guild with a Manaseed? I don’t want to harm the Manaseed or make it impossible to plant it later.”
“It ain’t like that,” Durvin clarified, leaning back and puffing on his pipe contently. “Y’see, normally it’s the Founders that got them Manaseeds. They can gift ye a bit o’ it’s strength to found a Guild.”
“Like the Adventurer’s Guild?”
Durvin eyed him as if he wasn’t sure if Hal was serious or not. Once he decided he was, he let out a raucous, “Bwahahah!” Then slapped his knee for good measure. “Ye got big dreams, I’ll give ye that. Technically? Ye got the right o’ it. The Adventurer’s Guild is a Guild but its scope be so big lad….” He shook his head. “Might as well be something else entirely.”
Taking out the Manaseed, Hal rolled it around between his thumb and forefinger. It was the size of a large marble, the thin glowing sphere around the mote of light was as hard as glass and slightly warm.
It was alive. That was obvious enough even without his Manatree skill. But through the skill, he could sense more information. The seed was old. It was part of a line of Manatrees that had long-since gone extinct.
This was an entirely different breed of Manatree than anything Rinbast had access to. Whether that was good or bad though, he couldn’t tell.
The energy the Manaseed gave off was unlike anything he experienced in Murkmire.
For a while, he stared at the Manaseed while Durvin smoked in companionable quiet.
He could create a Guild. The power was within the Manaseed. Focusing on it, Hal could tell that to do so would hardly draw on the thing’s power. And it would allow him to create the beginnings of a settlement before ever planting the tree.
Creating a Guild would allow him to organize everything under a single banner. But he was already part of a Guild. The Adventurer’s Guild was so well-known across Fallmark that it was just referred to as The Guild.
Could he be a part of two Guilds at the same time?
“O’ course ye can, boy!” Durvin roared, startling Hal. He hadn’t realized he spoke his thoughts aloud. “It’s just, there ain’t that many Guilds, on account o’ the Founder dolin’ them out like fancy treasures. From what I hear, there was some fallin’ out atween the Founder and the Adventurer’s Guild. Nasty bit o’ business. Ain’t been a single new Guild since.”
“What about all the craftsmen in Murkmire?”
Durvin made a dismissive gesture. “Guild only in name, ain’t no real Guild like what ye could make. If’n ye get a chance, take a gander at their signs. Always spelled “g-u-i-l-d,” all lowercase. Not even them fancy muck-a-mucks would dare cross that line.”
Hal put away the Manaseed and thought about what Durvin said. “What else do you know about Guilds?”
“Not much,” he admitted freely, taking a long puff on his pipe. “Ye gotta remember, ain’t many Guilds been created in the last few decades. Always been rare business, an’ most o’ the sort get obliterated soon after. Normal people ain’t got a need for a Guild y’see. Largely combat-focused, and what Founder would want a growing – likely rivalrous – group like that hangin’ about? Ye’d be defying the Founder in more ways than one.”
“So, making a Guild would be seen as an aggressive act. And the Founder would be aware of it?”
Durvin could only shrug. “Me clan’s got a phrase fer what yer fixin’ to do, ‘spittin’ in a giant’s eye’ we say. Ain’t somethin’ no smart dwarf would do.” He clapped Hal on the back and let out another bellowing laugh. “Good thing for ye that I ain’t the shiniest ore in the pile!”
He noted that Durvin didn’t answer his other question but then the dwarf likely didn’t know the answer. If it was the same family as the Founder’s Manatree, Hal would have been wary.
But with such a stark difference between the lineages, he felt reasonably sure that Rinbast would have no idea another Guild was formed. Much less have any sway over its creation or knowledge about its location.
That last bit was especially important. The last thing Hal wanted to do was paint an even larger target on his back.
“Ye give it some thought, eh?” Durvin said, pushing t
o his feet with a groan and ambling off toward his wagon with a lazy wave of one hand.
“I’ll do that,” Hal muttered to himself.
Returning to his wagon, Hal found it full with every face turning to regard him. “Just the man we were looking for,” Angram said.
Hal shut the door behind him and went to his bunk, Noth scooted over and gave a welcoming smile. “What’s all this about?” Hal asked.
“We figured, as those closest to you we should have a discussion about what to do next,” Elora said.
“Komachi,” the pobul in the bunk above Hal’s head intoned solemnly. She stuck her furry face over the edge, her tiny paws gripping the bunk.
“Quite,” Mira said, as if Komachi had said something profound. “So, ya gonna make a Guild or what? What’re we gonna do bossman?”
Leaning forward, Hal placed his elbows on his knees and drew out the Manaseed. He held it aloft in his palm for everybody to see. “I don’t have a name for a Guild,” he admitted.
“That’s not necessary,” Ashera said, her gaze fastened to the way Hal rolled the Manaseed around in his palm. “Though you would likely want to name it eventually, Guilds don’t expressly need names to function. You can also make a private Guild, where nobody knows you’re part of it until it goes public.”
“That would seem best for now,” Hal admitted. “Not that I’m great with names anyway, but the more time I have to think of something – preferably with some help – the better.”
“What else can you tell me about Guilds?” Hal asked Ashera.
The lamora shrugged. “Not much more than that. I know a little bit from overhearing conversations. Guilds can be set to private or public. There are Guild Levels, though I do not know what that means or entails. And there are unique buffs and abilities you can trigger as the Guildmaster.
“Though, as I have said, I do not know the specifics of any of those. Most people only know about Guilds from the Adventurer’s Guild and even then that is not a typical Guild.”
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