by Bill Ricardi
What this meant for us was a long walk into town. Or so we thought.
A sharp whistle interrupted our hillside sightseeing. Sitting in the back of a straw-lined cart was a young, well muscled man. He was dressed casually at the moment, but I remember him being fitted for the scale mail once worn by a certain undead warchief. His black hair had been hidden under a helmet at the time, but his distinctive nose and ready smile were enough identification in my book.
As we approached the hay cart I said, “Benno, this is Bruce. Bruce, my son Benno.”
The warrior offered a tanned hand for my son to shake, and when the greeting was done, used the same grip to easily haul the young orc into the back. “Hey there Benno, good to meet ya. Get comfortable, we’re headed to the far side o’ town. Hia Ames, good ta see you again.” The were-cat received a similar boost into the straw-lined cart.
Bruce’s smile broadened when he took my hand. He said, “Well look at that, we’re both still alive.” This handshake was more firm and enthusiastic, probably because he knew that my adult orcish build could handle more raw power.
I laughed as I was catapulted into the cart with the rest of my family. I replied, “We are, at least for the moment. Thank you for coming to get us, that would have been a long trek.”
Bruce shrugged. “Ain’t hardly nothin’. Cid and the ladies are doing most of the work. We’re headed to my dad’s cabin, our druid friend is already there.” He raised his voice and shouted, “We’re ready Cid!”
I noticed the peace-knotted tulwar on the warrior’s hip when he adjusted the lay of it before sitting down in the hay. “New sword?” I asked. I seemed to recall that when last I saw him, the young man was fighting with an old broadsword of questionable pedigree.
The human laughed a little. He said, “New everything. I’ll catch ya up. Oh, I’d let you handle the sword but it’s meteorite steel. Anti magic. Dun want any accidents, since yer a mage-type.”
I eyed the slightly curved military sabre with a healthy amount of respect now. “It sounds like you’ve been doing a lot more than caravan trips there, Bruce.”
“And how.” he said in agreement.
Bruce explained that he finished out the year with Advanced Scouting and Commerce before joining up with Anderson’s Light Brigade, a mounted mercenary company operating in the northlands. He said, “I wasn’t makin’ use of my full potential. I can ride good, I can fight from horseback. I’m tough. The fancy new armor wasn’t perfect fer riding, but it did th’ job.”
During his stint as a mercenary, the young human saw action all over the North and Northeast of Panos. He served with distinction during the undead uprising, and was credited with saving several men during a night raid. He did his year and a half tour with Anderson’s Light Brigade and was discharged with high honors.
Bruce said, “I woulda stayed with ‘em too, they’re a bunch of good folks. My commanding officer was… uhhh… she was great. Very hands on.” He cleared his throat, and then continued. “But my dad told me ‘bout more and more incidents happening close ta home. So I joined up with the Adventurer’s Guild, an’ here we are.”
As the trip was going to take the better part of an hour, I caught Bruce up on my progress. He heard about the more public events, but seemed genuinely interested in the rest of the story.
When I finished, the black haired human said, “Oh I had heard about the salt mine thing. Congrats on finally opening up shop by the way. Bunch o’ the farmers ‘round here have stake in the first shipment.”
I blinked at Bruce. “Excuse me?”
He said again, “The salt company. They just recently started ta offer bulk shipments. Good prices too. More local sources are scramblin’ to compete.”
Ames said, “There has to be some kind of mix up. Provenance on the mine was so murky, they said it would be years before we got a reply.”
Bruce snorted. He said, “It’s called ‘Sorch’s Salt Company’, I dun think it could be noone else. Them nice minotaurs came ‘round a few months back and started gettin’ contracts signed.”
The rest of us traded glances. Toby and Tara had been holding out on us.
The human started laughing. “What kind of life must y’all lead to not know somethin’ like that was happening? Crazy. But anyway, congrats on that.”
Benno assured the man, “My parents are, indeed, crazy.”
We skirted the eastern edge of the suburbs before arriving at a long, single story log cabin. It was adjacent to a huge wheat field, which seemed healthy enough considering recent climate issues. There was light coming from one of the windows, indicating an occupant.
At Bruce’s urging, we stepped inside. Hierophant Petrinoth was there, already hard at work. The short, blonde elf was arranging a series of parchments, the purpose of which was unclear at a glance.
The elf was pleased to see us, and particularly pleased to see Ames. “My dear.” was his greeting, before kissing the were-cat with an amount of ardour that I wasn’t necessarily comfortable with. I had to remind myself that Petrinoth was one of Ames’ oldest ‘clients’, and they enjoyed that level of familiarity on a semi-regular basis. I schooled my emotions when it became my turn to be greeted by the druid, offering a handshake and a tight smile.
After Benno was introduced to the elf, we all took seats around the table.
Petrinoth had been designated as the Culinary Guild’s chief representative, and thus the party leader. After we were all comfortable, the elf launched into an explanation of the circumstances. The druid said, “There is a zone of decay that is causing crops of all sorts to wither and die on the vine. Last we checked from the air, it was of a vaguely circular shape, butting up against the eastern foothills.”
Benno asked, “How did you check from the air, sir?”
Petrinoth chuckled and said, “I became a bird. And you can call me Peter, young man.”
The younger orc blinked. “Oh.”
Peter continued, “In fact, the grass in the lower foothills was also being withered. So we can be fairly sure that this is not a targeted attack, or if it is, badly so. These parchments represent the flow of water under the ground. I was trying to find some kind of pattern that would explain this, you see. But none of these tributaries or groundwater flows match up with the impacted area. So I’m at a loss, really.”
Bruce added, “If it keeps spreading, it’ll be devastating. Farms ‘round here are already getting screwed by the weather and heat. This could be the nail in the coffin fer a bunch of farmers if it continues. Local food scarcity will go crazy. Poor will starve, businesses will go down, people will lose their jobs and homes. Disaster.”
I said, “We can go through some of the possible causes, if it will help us prepare.”
Fresh parchment was grabbed and the table cleared. After discussing and eliminating several possibilities, the group ended up with a short list: A new virulent plant based disease. Sabotage carried out under the cloak of night. Mystical or divine rituals.
Hierophant Petrinoth considered. “If it’s the first, then the Guild’s continued examination and experimentation will eventually discover it. If it is either of the latter two reasons, we should be able to physically observe it. Assuming we go out there under, as you say, the cloak of night. True?”
We all agreed with that assessment. Thus, we had our course of action.
Bruce offered to pick up some supplies from town. After getting a list from Peter and myself, the human mentioned that he would light a signal fire to summon Cid. As I had seen Cid’s face and knew his name, I offered to let him know that he should stop by via Max’s Message. When I contacted the farmhand, the return message was ‘Gods above and below! Uhh, okay, I’m on the way.’ Bruce laughed when I related Cid’s startled reply.
The bedrolls provided were warm and well padded. Probably elven make, courtesy of our druid friend. Everyone got some rest so as to refresh their arcane and divine favour. Ames slept as well, mostly because the day started quite early f
or the feline. And cats aren’t exactly known for refusing naps.
We prepared spells that would help us if we were correct about the sabotage, namely things that would allow us to combat, chase, or disrupt the perpetrators. In our discussions about synergy, Petrinoth promised to bring some interesting tools to bear, but urged us to avoid heat or fire based magic.
Peter reminded us, “The area has been suffering from drought. Not every field would be susceptible, but a spark in the wrong place could start a wildfire that would bring devastation. In fact, if we’re dealing with saboteurs, that could be their back up plan. So please be aware.”
Just after sundown, Bruce returned with the supplies and material components that we requested. He was now wearing that stunning set of coppery scale mail armor. It had been enchanted centuries ago, thus its longevity. But it wasn’t until our people started to repair the armor that they discovered the details. The scales were tougher than normal, and they also made the wearer completely immune to electricity. Between the young warrior’s anti-magic blade and his anti-lightning armor, he would be difficult for many mages to deal with. Including myself. I was glad that Bruce was on our side.
After double checking our kit, the five of us left the cabin. Cid and his wagon were waiting for us. Benno added a Light spell to the end of the lantern-pole, greatly increasing Cid’s visibility. Then the party piled into the back. The plan was to ride the horse drawn cart until we reached a reasonable parallel with the blighted area, and walk the rest of the way.
The human talked about what he knew, and we let him go on because it was an amusing way to pass the time. First we learned about the names of the horses drawing our cart. Then the breeds. Then their sires and dams. We listened politely as Bruce espoused the positive attributes of various horse breeds. Peter, of course, commented now and again. The druid’s experience was mainly with cold and mountainous creatures, but he knew his way around an equine.
The young warrior glanced over at us, realizing how quiet we had been for most of the trip. “Not much for horses, are you?”
I said, “Oh they’re fine. We just prefer riding giant wolves.”
Ames and Benno nodded agreement.
Bruce looked at us incredulously. He turned to Hierophant Petrinoth for confirmation.
Petrinoth said, “Hmm? Oh yes, I prefer giant wolves as well.”
The human started to shake his head. He said, “Crazy. The lot of you, certifiable.”
We related our dealings with the southern elves over the last few years, and how for a long stretch, wolf riding was the fastest way to get to my homeland. Bruce listened with rapt attention. Ultimately the story led to a request to arrange a wolf ride for the human, and we said we’d see what we could do.
Soon after that conversation Cid stopped the horses and called back, “Here. No closer.”
Our driver pointed us in the right direction, making sure that we noted the relative position of two big hills to the East. Once we were oriented, Cid took the wagon home. I thought that he might be more interested in the horses’ safety than our own, but then again, that was his job.
Peter murmured, “I’d like to use an alternative to your Light spells if I could. My way will give us more of an element of surprise. If we find ourselves being blinded by a large source of fire, I’ll cancel the enhancement and we can rely on your Light. Is everyone alright with that?”
We each murmured our agreement. Hierophant Petrinoth was in charge after all, and he was quite an accomplished channeler of divine power.
The druid called us all together, and we gathered in a tight circle. His incantation didn’t take very long, only a bit longer than a Blessing from Shaman. But the effect was immediate. And amazing.
The Heat Vision prayer enhanced my night vision in a manner that I never would have thought possible. I could see the outline of everyone in crystal clarity. As we exhaled, our hot breath faded from red, to fragmented orange wisps, until it finally dissipated in a light blue mist. I could even see the passage of cool night air through the tall corn stalks. This in no way interfered with my natural orcish affinity for darkness. I could only imagine how much of an enhancement Ames’ keen eyes were experiencing.
Bruce summed it up best when he said, “Wow.”
Peter chuckled softly. “I’m glad you like it. Let’s get a move on.”
Navigation under the effects of Heat Vision was trivial. It might as well have been broad daylight instead of slightly overcast moonlight. The enchantment also made it plainly obvious that the crops were thinning as we approached our destination.
Ames held up a paw, clenched into a tight fist. My mate sniffed the air, then hissed, “Something rotten ahead. Not just plants.”
Peter wasn’t ready for that report. The elf whispered, “What is it, undead?”
Ames’ reply was terse. “Unknown.”
Swords slid from sheaths, and our druid drew his sickle from where it hung upon his hip. Benno lined up behind Bruce, and I behind Ames. We crept forward, using caution.
What we discovered was out of the ordinary, to say the least. Peter could take comfort in the fact that we weren't wrong about any of our three theories, not really. But nobody could have predicted this.
Standing at the edge of a diseased clearing of their own making were abominations that seemed to be part man, part mushroom. I would later be told that the proper name for these beings was ‘fungus walkers’. They were taller than any of us, though none of them reached the height of a grown minotaur. The ‘body’ types of these deformed men ranged from thick and rugged, to thin and wiry. Growths of fungus distorted their features so as to leave their faces indiscernible under layers of moldy material.
The half dozen creatures had formed a circle and were moaning, creating a low harmonic that shook the ground slightly. Spores were shaken from their skin, drifting like embers on the night wind. Their ritual seemed to be aimed at increasing the spread of this stuff, and thus making the area of devastation grow. I watched as the unholy yeast blanketed the plants in front of me, immediately causing them to droop and decay.
“Stop!”
The horrified command fell from Hierophant Petrinoth’s lips. When he moved forward into the clearing, the rest of us quickly followed suit.
The six creatures did, indeed, stop. They raised their heads towards Peter, each of them slowly orientating the front of their bodies in our general direction. The druid launched into a brief, but exasperated plea in Elvish.
What really surprised me was my son, translating for us as Petrinoth spoke. “Brothers. You are children of Del-Nekbenth. You normally live in peace under the earth. How… why do you attack us, or attack our things.”
Ames hissed, “When did you learn Elvish?”
Benno murmured, “Hemitath. Still learning.”
The reply was guttural, tone low enough to make my guts feel queasy.
Benno struggled with this strange dialect. “You attacked. Attacked the ground. Del-Nekbenth did not help. Forced it up, or forced us up. We came but… it comes. We prepare for it. Prepare. Plant ourselves in your meat?”
As a unit, the fungus walkers started to shamble forward.
I grunted and said, “Close enough, kiddo.”
Ames and Bruce backpedaled a little bit, which was understandable. Not only were these creatures large, but their method of attack was unorthodox to say the least. As they closed on our front line, they started to windmill their arms, almost chaotically. There was a method to their madness however, as hardened minerals lined the outer edge of the fungus walkers’ ‘hands’, giving them an improvised bludgeoning surface to utilize.
I picked on the smallest of the creatures, knocking it out of line with a quick Force Bolt. I wasn’t sure how much damage I had done, but at least our front line would be less swamped. Benno had a similar notion, his Web entangling the two creatures to our far right. As the fungus walkers attempted to get free of one another I saw Benno grit his teeth and narrow his eyes against th
e drain. By contrast, I hardly felt the curse’s effect given how minor my spell was in comparison to the rest of my repertoire.
Peter took a less cautious approach than the rest of us. He charged at the closest foe with a cry of rage. Clearly he felt betrayed by these creatures of nature purposely destroying crops. The small elf rolled under the flailing arms of the ponderous fungus walker, and mercilessly hacked away at its hip and side with that keen sickle. The druid scored three deep blows, hobbling the creature before he was forced to back out.
Ames fared better once the were-cat understood the creature’s attack pattern. The rogue went right for the ankles, dipping low for a quick stab, and then weaving back out before one of those massive arms could do more than dig a furrough into the ground. It was a tiring method, but safer than what the human was attempting.
Bruce was using his armor to full effect. Despite the stinging and the bruising, the warrior realized that he needed to step in to land telling blows. He took several glancing shots across his armored arms and chest, none of which penetrated the armor, but all of which caused pain. However, his return attacks were far more telling. The first slash opened up the fungus walker’s shoulder. The next stab took it through the gut, the tip of his tulwar briefly poking through the back of the creature. Though their registration of ‘pain’ was clearly different to ours, Bruce’s foe slowed, its attacks weakening by the second.
Seeing that the webbed walkers had broken free, I started to cast a more involved spell. Benno took the opposite route. He squeezed a small waterskin as he incanted, spraying both of his foes with a Fan of Frost. I was worried about how close my son was getting, but that was replaced by a different worry when the Force Bolt caught him square in the chest and knocked him back five paces, decimating a row of corn in the process. My Acid Bolts took form, the guts in my hand melting away. I launched them at one of the partially frozen creatures, burning through its deformed face. It fell without a sound. I felt the drain more keenly this time, but my adrenaline was flowing. I needed to check on Benno.