Beastborne

by James T Callum

  Noth looked over at him. “And can you not, with your Improvised Crafting trait, swap out the wood for the stone? If we do not need to build Lumberjack Huts, then we save on manpower and resources.”

  Hal shook his head. “If we were able to swap out the two tons of wood for stone, then we’d need three tons of stone. We only have forty-five tons of Rough Stone. Even if it didn’t cost more, we’d be shy thirty tons.”

  When Hal looked back at Noth, the woman was smiling with a glint in her eye that had nothing to do with the dancing fire beside them. “Have you ever tried using your Bonecrafting to make a block of bone?”

  76

  “Psshkoh, His Most Esteemed Boxiness would never false-lead kobbies!” Lurklox protested.

  Vorax watched impassively, as the koblins once more argued about their direction. At the mimic’s insistence, they journeyed northward toward the base of the mountain. There was something inside. Vorax could feel it.

  Whether due to his close relationship to Hal, that most curious of quasi-monsters, or because the koblins recognized a superior monster when they saw one, Vorax didn’t know. But they treated him with an incredibly high degree of respect befitting his station.

  “You having brain-fruit for His Magnificent Squariness?” Buffrix asked Lurklox, mittens on his tiny hips. “Havior - Kobbieglory to Hal -” he paused, giving the other koblins time to repeat the refrain in unison.

  Half a dozen “Kobbieglory to Hal,” echoed in the clearing. Vorax almost chose to form a pair of eyes, just to roll them.

  If Hal thought that the koblin’s worship of him was bad when he was around, it was many orders of magnitude worse when they didn’t think he could overhear.

  They knew he didn’t like it, and so they saved it for when he wasn’t around.

  Vorax tuned them out and began to bounce and hop away from the koblins, heading up the rocky sloping terrain that led out of the forest. Surprisingly, there had been few monsters in the forests.

  And the kinds that were there, were not the sort Hal would want to socialize with. Wipperghasts, Slingbats, Oozenozs, they were all beneath him. Little more than common riffraff.

  Even Quibbles, his pet slime, had more class than those ruffians. Feeling its master turn his thoughts toward it, Quibbles let out a happy little squeak and squeezed through the keyhole on Vorax’s front.

  Still squeaking like a chew toy, Vorax’s pet congealed atop his head like a little pink crown of gelatinous goo.

  He was so adorable. How Vorax cherished the little one.

  The koblins eventually stopped bickering and noticed Vorax was leading them away. One of them cried out, “Stopping silly-babble, His Many Right-Angledness is swift-fleeing, kobbie-guard assemble!”

  Vorax could have groaned.

  The things I do for love.

  Together, the group left the protective boughs of the forest behind and ventured out into the cold night air.

  Koblins, by their very nature as beastmen, were not full monsters. Contrary to what non-monsters might think. Of course, non-monsters have ever made enemies out of those they didn’t quite understand.

  And considering the vast mental inadequacies of non-monsters was as vast as the manasea, they made enemies out of everything.

  Seeing how readily the koblins followed Hal was a perfect example of the sort of cooperation that the non-monsters could have if they only looked past their differences.

  Then again, asking the monstrously-impaired to do that was like asking a proper monster to go out and construct a home instead of finding a suitable cave or niche. It went against their very nature.

  He could hold it against them - and he would, but that was beside the point - and gripe about it all day as some monsters did, or Vorax could continue to look forward to the day when the world held a little more tolerance.

  If Hal had his way, this new home of theirs - settled in a perfectly dangerous corner of the world - would be the first settlement that welcomed monsters and non-monsters alike.

  That was if Vorax could find any.

  Grumbling and gnashing his lid, the mimic bounced and hopped along the rocky trail that led to the mountain’s entrance. The koblins were quick behind, taking vantage points and searching for any threats.

  Threats, Vorax would have sensed long before the koblins did. But he let them have their fun.

  Vorax chastised himself for the thought as soon as it flitted through his mind. The koblins were respectable monsters, one and all. They were also more than capable in battle.

  It was Hal’s connection to the mimic that soured his mood. Something happened that put the man out of sorts. The mimic, ever perceptive to the emanations of his closest kin, hadn’t realized just how close they became.

  That, and the long trip in a swaying wagon tucked away from anything interesting had eventually grated on Vorax’s lid.

  While it was true mimics could stay comfortably still for long periods of time, that wasn’t the sort of life Vorax could tolerate for long. He tried to be accommodating. In truth, he wanted nothing more than to make Hal proud of him.

  In turn, he wanted to be proud of Hal. A feat the man already accomplished with his fledgling settlement. Planting a Manaseed was no small thing. Even the young mimic knew that. And he knew, as well, that Hal had previously imparted a request to the Manaseed using his… strange connection to the thing.

  By doing so, he made it so any monsters of friendly disposition would be allowed within the barrier. A barrier that, if Hal had been thoughtless like any other monstrously-challenged human, might have killed not only Vorax but the koblins and even dear Quibbles.

  Thankfully, that did not come to pass. And it only improved Vorax’s opinion of the man. After reuniting with his pet slime he thought lost, he would accept no hurt to come to his little friend.

  Now that they had a safe home, he might even help Quibbles to bud, so the little thing can grow its own family. Given the circumstances, and all that was on Hal’s mind lately, the man may have forgotten about the vast utility of monsters.

  Vorax would do his duty and remind him - subtly at first - about how useful certain monsters could be if properly motivated.

  An army of slimes, while not the most imposing or ferocious of monsters, was practically indestructible. They could bud from a single chunk of gelatinous flesh and didn’t know pain.

  In fact, the only things slimes could feel was hunger and varying degrees of pressure that ranged from petting to tickling. They were sentient, not sapient. A slime had feelings and emotions, but little in the way of complex thought or self-awareness.

  They also ate just about anything that they could fit into their bodies making them handy for… disposal purposes. As the large rent in the mountain before them welcomed them into the mountain, Vorax made a mental note to mention that to Hal.

  Slimes would make short work of a heap of trash, producing tasty crystallized items in their wake. Unless they were instructed otherwise. Instead of producing the nourishing, mana-rich crystals, they could instead increase their size and then bud into two slimes.

  Naturally, there was a maximum limit to the number of slimes in a given area. Even Vorax didn’t fully understand the mechanisms behind it but it had something to do with the local population of other slimes.

  In short, depending on the size of the area and the density of the population of slimes already there, new slimes may not be able to be budded.

  Vorax always dreamed of settling down and owning a slime farm… a slime ranch perhaps? With a hop that might be construed as a shrug, they entered into the mountain.

  A mimic could dream.

  As soon as they entered into the cave the temperature dropped several degrees. It hardly bothered the sturdy chest, and the koblins were dressed up in pliable leather suits. Only their ears were exposed and those were covered in soft, downy green fur.

  At first glance, an unintelligent non-monster might be forgiven for making the mistake that a goblin and a koblin were
alike. Not so, Vorax knew.

  Koblins were covered in a thin layer of soft green fur. Goblins, on the other hand, had leathery skin not unlike a human’s.

  “Psshkoh, go eye-peek,” Buffrix, the de-facto koblin leader ordered.

  Lurklox slipped off into the shadows and would have been utterly impossible to detect if she wasn’t singing that inane song beneath her breath. “Go-go kobbie-rangers! Fighty, snorphin’ kobbie-rangers!”

  Quibbles wobbled on Vorax’s head, telling the mimic that there was some serious magic in the air. The fact that Vorax couldn’t taste it told him a lot.

  Slimes, notoriously dim-witted but lovable things, were much more in tune to the world around them. Even heavily warded, mana still seeped out. While a rational creature such as Vorax could not detect the magic, a slime could.

  And Quibbles was vibrating at approximately 3.2 deciquibbles. That could only mean powerful shielding magic was employed here.

  One of Vorax’s many hearts - he was up to 12 now - stuttered at the spike of worry and fear that stabbed his mind. What if there was some ancient beast here? What if, the reason Hal was able to find such a secluded place was because it was filled with a monster more monstrous than most?

  Vorax would turn to kindling before he let anything harm Hal or his noble dream, but at the thought of another Shoggoth or worse, a Voideater, he nearly turned around.

  It was Lurklox’s voice that brought him back from his fear and reminded him of his duty. Non-monsters might have been tasked with securing the mountain, but none could delve its depths and understand the dangers within like another monster.

  Hal should have known better. The mimic chalked it up to the man’s increasing burdens weighing heavily on his mind.

  “Lurklox see-true, no sneak-harms but being strengthful hold-fasts this way. Come, come.”

  The koblin ventured forth, and Vorax hopped along deeper into the cavern. Now all together, the koblins began whispering their song over again. “Go-go kobbie-rangers, fighty snorphin’ kobbie-rangers….”

  Vorax hoped they would find a dragon or something and quick. If only to quiet the koblins and remind them of their mission.

  77

  Lurklox had spoken true enough. They came to a hold-fast, the koblin’s word for a door.

  In this case, it was a gate made out of metal bars. Vorax hopped up to it and licked the metal. His purple tongue came away with the telltale tingling flavor of mythril.

  That didn’t bode well. Mythril was notoriously hard to work with and rare besides. This was no average door and it would be several more Levels until Vorax might have the strength to eat away at the sturdy metal.

  The koblins were fussing with the gate. Lurklox, as the resident Thief was trying to “lock-trick” the gate open. After all, it did have a massive keyhole.

  “What did grape tongue-flap when getting crushed?” Lurlox asked the lock. “Nothing! It just leak-let out little wine.”

  To make it worse, the Thief did a little toe-tapping dance and spread her arms wide as if waiting for applause for the horrendous joke.

  Vorax was hardly surprised when the gate groaned and an internal mechanism inside clicked. The metal gate swung open and admitted them.

  For the uninitiated, koblins - and by extension, their goblin cousins - are ridiculous creatures. That wasn’t a complaint or dig on them. They were ridiculous by way of their very being.

  Their magic, kobbie-magic, worked specifically on their total willful ignorance of how things worked. The creatures often made such ludicrous items that should never have worked, but often did because the koblins believed it should.

  In that same vein, as an accomplished koblin Thief, Lurklox was able to use some of that kobbie-magic herself. Normally a Thief would use tools to open a lock, but that was too mundane for a skilled koblin.

  While Lurklox might have once used tools, she was beyond such petty instruments now. The koblin used jokes, and the worse the joke the better, to force open locks.

  The Thief must have Leveled Up quite a bit from attempting to “lock-trick” the various sealed chests and coffers that the caravan had with them. The biggest one of all, the heavy stone coffer that Elora found still eluded the best of them.

  That didn’t stop Lurklox from trying every day, just like the pobul. And it had clearly worked.

  Nothing short of magical artillery could have blasted open that door. A door, Vorax noted that those Hal sent to explore the cave didn’t seem to find.

  Bolstered by the knowledge that the mimic and koblin team was doing good work, Vorax urged them on. Koblins, being beastmen, couldn’t attune themselves perfectly to the mental emanations of sympathetic connection like most monsters.

  Instead, Vorax spoke to them. And as he wasn’t about to mimic koblin-speak, he spoke in his native tongue. Which was little more than a bunch of slapping and hissing noises with his oversized tongue.

  “Shahshsh ashhan, slolop,” he said solemnly. The koblins all paused to look at him. They nodded in agreement.

  In truth, it didn’t matter what Vorax said. He could have used words. But as monsters, the koblins were still able to pick up on his meaning even if he used words utterly alien to them.

  Mimics didn’t speak to each other with crude vocalizations. Pushing air around to communicate was beneath the noble breed.

  They pressed through tight spaces and narrow corridors, choosing those over the suspiciously large passages they kept weaving in and out of. Those places were large enough to host dozens of clans of the surly - but delightful - dwarves.

  Like Hal, or perhaps because of Hal, the dwarves accepted monster-kin. They were a very pragmatic people. Hal allowed them, and if they chose to follow Hal then they would have to allow monsters into their lives as well.

  Over time, the dwarves proved themselves valuable allies to both Hal and the monster-kin. They even went so far as to allow the koblins into their wagon that had small make-shift kilns and forges. Not enough to supply a settlement but enough to tinker and fool around with.

  That fact alone spoke volumes for the stocky, hairy peoples. They may not have any monster in them - a pity, truly and Vorax wept for their disability - but they understood how to partake from the land without despoiling it.

  Just like whoever built these tunnels and that gate they passed through. They paused just before entering into a hot and humid dark chamber. The koblins shuffled about on high alert, sensing something amiss ahead.

  Vorax pulled himself from his thoughts and sent out a questing pulse of mana. Dozens, hundreds of tiny blips returned to him, signaling that the long room ahead held many monsters.

  Not just any regular old monster though, Vorax realized with a toothy grin spreading across its lid. These were keinse, a few rungs on the monster hierarchy above slimes but still below most other monsters.

  They were, however, very sociable. Now that Vorax attuned himself to their sympathetic emanations, he could hear them talking.

  “Wonderfully dank in here today, boys,” said one.

  A chorusing of leather wing flaps - agreement - sounded in the chamber.

  “Any of youses thinkin’ about tasting some of that sweet gnatling out there on the Stoop?” one asked.

  “Ahh, you crazy! It’s too cold out there. Just stay in here, Glitterscales will be along with some food soon.”

  “You right, you right,” said another keinse.

  “I wish he’d hurry up with breakfast, my furry little belly’s getting all bent outta shape here boys.”

  “Maybe you should flap on up there and tell him yourself!”

  A chorus of bat-wing flaps echoed.

  “Eh! Maybe I will do just that! Watch me get first dibs on some juicy vile grubs!” With that, one of the bat-like creatures dropped from the ceiling and spread its wings wide to catch the warm air of the cavern.

  A few flaps of its mighty wings and the keinse was flying easily in the long chamber. He wheeled about and disappeared down a side passage
.

  “Wonderfully dank this morning!” called out another keinse.

  “And humid too!”

  Another chorus of wing flap agreement as the bat-like keinse descended into inane comments about the warmth and humidity of the air over and over again with a constant refrain of assent.

  Only that lone creature seemed to be different than the others.

  Vorax, knowing that he would prove the best spokesman mentally cleared his throat to alert them of his presence.

  The chorusing talk of dank caves and their many virtues died down immediately.

  “Whassis?” a keinse said.

  Vorax imparted his designs of friendship and cooperation. He explained - though he gave scant detail of Hal and the settlement to which they seemed unaware - about how they were looking for new friends.

  It was a common enough request in the monster kingdom.

  “Pack it in there box-boy! We ain’t lookin’ to get your lid all moldy and dank.”

  At the mere mention of dankness, a horde of keinse chorused their approval without really seeming to understand where the conversation was coming from.

  “Yes, yes, boys, I like it best when the weather is dank and dreary too! But we got a guest here and I wanna get it clear to him that we’re already spoken for.”

  Vorax imparted his questions back to that specific keinse.

  “We’re already spoken for, got a sweet gig here. We keep the caves free of pests, and do a few scoutin’ missions for the master and we get to spend all day in a warm dank cave. Ain’t this the life!”

  Hundreds of keinse voiced their agreement, reminding Vorax - not so subtly - that they were vastly outnumbered. And even though keinse weren’t very strong, their numbers would prove disastrous.

  Diplomacy was the name of the game here, Vorax understood.

  “So’s we ain’t about to mess it all up by accepting no friendship. Best be hopping and bopping about back to where you came!”

  Vorax imparted questions related to their master, careful not to probe. He wanted to set up a meeting, maybe if they talked to this master he could approve of their friendship.