by Dante King
“Quiet,” Ralph warned.
“It’s disgusting,” the demon muttered. “Horrendous. A crime against Lilith.”
“That is the point of other realms. Letting the gods express their power, apart from each other, to maintain harmony in the heavens.”
“If I wanted a theological lecture from a shit-shoveling stablehand, I’d ask for one. As it is, I want to leave this place as fast as Lilith will allow. Master gave you instructions. Follow them.”
“He said to follow you,” Ralph countered, already feeling his irritation beginning to build.
“Of course, he did. He has the sense to appoint the most intelligent to lead his expeditions. Let us proceed.”
A travel stone glittered in the ferns behind Ralph. Deep black, it shimmered with essence while leafy, green veins swirled beneath the surface. The avatar of Zagorath hadn’t been lying; this was the Nature Realm.
Ralph drew his new greatsword quickly from its sheath and started slicing through the ferns that surrounded the glowing travel stone.
Inevitably, Puck had something to say about it. “A blade of Zagorath is ill-equipped for gardening, boy. Are you sure you shouldn’t have brought a pair of shears?”
Ralph grunted and cut down the last of the ferns. The blade was light, fast, and every inch of the edge was razor-sharp. Its sigils shone in the soft, afternoon light and cut through the leaves above, but he was careful not to be too enthusiastic. He had a limited amount of Infernal Essence, even now boiling, simmering, simply waiting for release. This wasn’t Shadow Crag, so he had no way of regaining the energy.
“We’ll need to find our way back here,” Ralph pointed out. “And unless you have powers far beyond spewing out shadows and acidic sarcasm, you’re as likely to get lost in this forest as I am.” He sheathed the longsword and enjoyed the comfortable weight bouncing against his hip. “Have you managed to find the entrance to a dungeon yet? Or are you too busy watching a stableboy scythe away weeds?”
The demon grinned, baring bone-white fangs that seemed to glitter in their thirst for blood and death. “Oh, I’m more than capable of doing both, Ralph Kraus. My power for razor wit and simultaneous observation of village idiots is unmatched, I assure you.”
Despite the blow against his pride, Ralph smiled. He’d never met such a prideful, sarcastic creature in his life. Even those who’d tormented him within Cothslar didn’t quite have the cutting words of Puck the Shade.
“So, point me in the direction of the dungeon,” he said.
“No,” Puck said as he took to the air. His eyes combed the shifting masses of trees and plants. “But I’m almost certain it’s behind one of those trees. Or behind another tree somewhere in this accursed realm.”
Ralph couldn’t help but chuckle. “Lead the way, oh Winged Scholar of Zagorath.”
“Pick up your feet, Stumpy Stableboy of Cothslar.”
Ralph was accustomed to scorched wastelands, and this carpet of rich trees, fern, and flowers was far more challenging to trek through. The hanging vines, fallen logs, and small ravines made what should have been a simple walk through the woods far more precarious. Puck became a cloud of shadows that flew on ahead, unhindered by most obstacles and only pausing occasionally to offer a sarcastic quip that Ralph mostly ignored. Large, colorful birds took flight at their approach before swirling through the leaves and into the sky beyond.
Rustling explosions of movement in the brush heralded the sudden escape of deer, rabbits, and other small mammals. None bore the demonic taint of Lilith. In fact, the woodland beasts were almost beautiful and majestic. Still, Ralph couldn’t shake his Infernal instincts, and the thought of what one would taste like after a roasting quickly came to mind. His stomach growled as they fled. He had eaten little more than carrion beasts while on Shadow Crag, and although the Infernal Essence took the edge off the hunger, it didn’t suppress it entirely.
Every five trees or so, he made sure to pause and slice a small piece of bark from a tree. He knew his markings would make it far more difficult to lose their way once their quest was finished. Puck continued with his quips until the sunlight leaking through the forest canopy grew dimmer.
Night approached.
Puck called a halt, and Ralph took the opportunity to sit on a fallen log and rest. Small leaves clung to his armor, and as he yanked a twig free of his belt, the shadow-demon loomed over him.
“I believe I’ve found our first candidate,” the Shade said.
Ralph looked up, feeling excitement surge through his veins and wash over the fatigue. “A dungeon?” he asked.
“It’d appear so, yes.” Puck pointed ahead to a curving archway of branches. “Unless I’m much mistaken, that’s not the work of the Nature goddess, or of any simple forest-dwelling creature.”
The archway was set into an enormous corpse of a tree, almost the size of a house. In the dying light, small flower buds glowed with a soft, golden aura, illuminating the archway and indicating the entrance to a dungeon. From Ralph’s seat on the log, it was difficult to see what laid beyond, but it seemed to lead down into darkness. He stood and drew his sword, careful to keep the hiss of steel against leather as quiet as he could in the rapidly-darkening woods.
“Let’s go,” he whispered. He stepped over the fallen log, keeping his footfalls quiet.
“I see that your penchant for stumbling blindly into absurd dangers is still thriving,” Puck muttered, but he took off from the fallen log and led the way through the trees.
If the dungeon functioned anything like Zagorath, trigger points to the traps would be pressure-sensitive. Ralph had no intention of walking blindly into a space purely designed to kill adventurers and siphon essence to feed itself. As he followed Puck, he picked up large pieces of bark and snapped twigs before tucking them into a pouch on his belt.
The archway seemed to grow wider and taller at their approach, the branches and leaves widening, stretching, inviting them in deeper. Ralph kept his sword close to his side as Puck latched onto the entrance and hung upside down while he peered into the darkness beyond. Despite his current small stature, Ralph recalled a distant memory of Puck being much larger and more fierce, but he couldn’t pin it. The Shade was capable of growing in size and might; that much Ralph knew, and the only thing that mattered was that the demon’s powers would help them fulfil Zagorath’s quest.
“Scout ahead,” Ralph ordered.
“Are you giving commands now, eh?”
“You’re vision is better than my own. I could use my essence to sharpen my eyes, but it’s too precious.”
Puck snorted but didn’t object. The intelligent option was to wait and move slowly. Ralph couldn’t afford to get seriously injured since Zagorath hadn’t provided him with elixirs or healing potions. The lack of such things was probably another test, and he was determined to pass it with flying colors.
Ralph kept a few twigs held between the fingers of his free hand before he took a deep breath and stepped into his first Nature Dungeon. He made sure to check each wooden step and every bark-like wall for any traps or triggers. He scoured the curling design of veins that shined with the same glowing buds as the entrance outside.
The familiar sweetness of adrenaline rippled through Ralph’s blood, and he made sure to keep his breathing even. At the base of the stairs, he paused and peered out into the gloom. The floor was grassy, making the detection of traps far more difficult. Tossed bark pieces were unlikely to set off any pressure-sensitive triggers, but he still threw a scrap of bark every dozen feet while Puck hovered above. The Shade’s scarlet eyes pierced the gloom as they performed their own search for death-traps.
“As much as I hate to admit it, Shade, I’m glad you’re here,” Ralph muttered.
“Is that so? Well, I can’t say the same about you.”
“What do you see?” Ralph said through gritted teeth.
“Nothing’s ahead of you.”
“No minions?”
“I believe that would come u
nder the definition of ‘nothing,’ yes.”
Ralph’s gaze went instinctively to the walls, ceiling, and grassy floor as he continued. Mushrooms and flowers mixed in with the grass, colorful things that emanated both sweet and sour aromas. Roots parted on the left and right walls, almost like corridor entrances. Puck caught hold of a root dangling from the ceiling, suspended himself from it, and scanned the corridor of the left passage intently.
“I don’t think we’re alone,” he murmured.
“The dungeon’s watching us; of course, we’re not—”
“Shut your mouth and listen, you thundering idiot,” he hissed, and Ralph fell silent.
After a moment, clear voices in serious discussion joined a gruff tone that seemed to be arguing with the former.
“Nature Champions?” Ralph whispered to himself, too soft for the Shade to hear.
The voices were getting louder, and they appeared to be coming from the left corridor. Another possibility entered Ralph’s mind as he wondered whether the voices belonged to adventurers. If that was the case, then they were likely returning to the surface, full of essence and carrying treasures from the depths of the dungeon. He couldn’t use the essence without a Nature tattoo, and he couldn’t activate the runes on their items, either, but the equipment would still be useful for his master.
More importantly, these adventurers would have knowledge of how this dungeon operated. They would know how powerful it was, what it was capable of, where the traps were located, and what kinds of minions populated it.
Nature Champions would likely prove difficult opponents, but adventurers would mean vital information for Zagorath.
“We’re leaving.” Puck released his grip on the ceiling and flew toward the exit of the Nature Dungeon.
Ralph had to admit that it was the best tactic. If these creatures were the dungeon’s champions, then it was pointless slaying them when he didn’t have the ability to absorb their essence. If they were adventurers, then sneaking outside the dungeon and following them back to the guild house was also more useful for his quest. There, at the guild house, Ralph could convince—either willingly or unwillingly—a rune artist to provide him with a Nature tattoo.
The voices sounded like they were only about 20 feet into the corridor now, and Ralph followed the small pieces of bark that he’d scattered as he raced after Puck.
Outside the Nature Dungeon, they vanished into the foliage.
“Wait,” Puck said, and Ralph was only too happy to oblige.
He peered around a giant tree’s gnarled trunk to see five adventures stepping out from the dungeon’s softly glowing entrance. Their torches radiated a bright ring and made it easy to make out their faces and equipment. Three elves glided over the ground, dressed in flowing, green cloaks and golden mail. Their faces shone in the torchlight, pale and regal and inhumanly beautiful. Theirs were the high, musical voices. They were accompanied by a human dressed in similar green and gold attire to the others, and a dwarf barely taller than four feet, wearing a heavy suit of plate armor.
Ralph heard a soft sound of leather against bone and felt Puck land on his shoulder. He had reduced his size to little more than a rodent, but his scarlet eyes still sparkled with deadly intent.
“Don’t. Make. A single. Blasted. Sound. We’re going to follow them, but those are elves. If the legends are true, they can hear and see the stars themselves. I like this even less than you do, meatbag, but it’ll help us both survive.”
A black mist suddenly flooded from the Shade’s body and covered them. Ralph looked down at his hand and his sword in horrified fascination as the shadowy substance wrapped itself around them both. In moments, his whole body seemed to be clad in absolute shadow, completely obscuring his form from sight in the long shadows cast by the trees.
“They won’t hear you, either.” Puck shifted slightly, and his tail skipped off Ralph’s lower back. “Like this, we can follow them. At a distance.”
His small, angular face rested on Ralph’s shoulder-guard while his scarlet eyes targeted the adventurers as they walked through the forest. Ralph slowly sheathed his sword and marveled at how the adventurers could walk so close to them, and yet they couldn’t see him. He’d daydreamed about invisibility as a child, yes, but to actually be hidden from the eyes of even an elf? It was unnerving.
As the elves, dwarf, and human passed, they didn’t speak. Whatever argument they’d had inside the dungeon was either resolved or firmly simmering beneath the surface.
The adventurers continued to move through the woods while Ralph moved closer to them, staying just out of the range of the flickering, orange torchlight. Even with Puck’s illusory spell, it was difficult not wince at each muffled snap of a branch or piece of bark underfoot in the forest.
The group of adventurers moved onward, without hurry. They obviously knew the path back and forth from the dungeon to their abode. As Ralph drew closer, the murmur of their voices became clearer.
“... all I’m saying, lad, is that things will change,” the dwarf said, his thick accent burred and somewhat garbled by his mighty beard of mahogany brown. “All we need is a few more weeks, more essence, and better weapons. Then, we’ll finally delve further than the third floor.”
“You really think so?” the human asked doubtfully. “It’s powerful, Bolnir. Far more virulent and poisonous than the others we’ve encountered. What gives you such confidence?”
“Nothing does,” an elf said. “Don’t heed the dwarf, young Quinn.”
“I speak the truth, lad,” the dwarf—Bolnir—told the young human. “Elohin may not look it, but he’s a damned cynic about dungeons.”
“I simply like my flesh in its proper shape,” Elohin replied before chuckling with a magical, almost ringing tone. “The most expedient method of gaining essence, young one, is to take what you can without incurring too great a risk. It is the way of the Deadeye Guild, the way of balance. The dungeons benefit from our presence by testing and learning from us. We benefit by keeping our lives, taking the essence from its minions, and partaking of the treasures within.”
“Typical fucking elf,” Bolnir muttered. “See an opportunity for a lecture, and they take it.” The dwarf thrust a torch toward a female elf. “Here, hold this.”
She accepted the burning brand without complaint and simply smiled enigmatically.
The pace of the adventurers wasn’t too fast, but it was getting more difficult to keep up with them and stay out of sight. There were five in total, three of them with names now known to Ralph: Bolnir the dwarf, Quinn the human, and Elohin the elf.
“They haven’t managed to scrape past the dungeon’s third floor,” Puck murmured. “It can’t be any deeper than four.”
“Is it ideal for our purposes?” Ralph asked.
“Perfect,” Puck replied. “It will likely be filled with minions. Master will want us to retrieve essence there, but first, we’ll need the means of storing it. These adventurers might just lead us to what we need.”
“Torch,” Bolnir ordered, and the elf handed it back to him without a word.
While the elf had been holding the torch, the dwarf had armed himself with a well-crafted pipe. Bolnir squinted in the light and heat of the torch while touching the edge of it to the packed leaves inside his pipe. A moment later, a thick plume of blue-gray wafted free of his lips, and he took a deep breath of appreciation.
“Now, where was I?”
“Educating our youngest recruit in your stone-headed ways,” Elohin reminded him.
“Thank you,” the dwarf said with a snort. “Yes. We’ll make it past the third floor. It’s a tough fight, but dungeons, as a rule, aren’t all that intelligent. They might change slightly, but they use all of the same tricks, the same beasts to destroy us.”
“If it’s so easy,” Quinn asked, “why haven’t we beaten it yet?”
Elohin laughed, and, once again, Bolnir glared up at him.
“I’d like to blame these skinny, air-headed bastar
ds beside us, but if I’m honest, it’s just the Sap Lords, lad. They’re not interested in giving the Deadeye Guild access to anything that’ll keep us growing in power, and us lowly members of the guild are given the worst of it. The old Sage back in Elderwood House is in league with the lords. I would give my right testicle to see him dead. ”
Elohin shifted, as if uncomfortable with the dwarf’s words. “You speak of betrayal. We need the Sage. Our numbers dwindle by the day, and he’s the only one who can forge new Nature Sigils.”
Ralph gasped and quickly regained his composure. This sage had what they were looking for. The ability to craft Nature Sigils into prospective adventurers.
“We need to find this sage,” Puck said.
Ralph returned his attention to the trio.
“...the last time the Sage gave my sigil a sprucing up, he cut me really bad,” Quinn said as they continued through the forest.
“That eyeglass of his ain’t helping with his eyesight; that’s for sure,” Bolnir agreed.
“Maybe we should kill him.” The human adventurer nodded. “That would strike at the heart of the Sap Lords. Our numbers may be few, but we’re still a formidable guild. We can always find someone else to give us sigils.”
“I actually have someone who could help us,” Bolnir said with a conspiratorial smile.
“This is not the kind of scheming I wish to be involved in,” Elohin said suddenly, halting on the forest path. “Our role is to play the part ordained by the gods. We are not to ask questions. The Sap Lords advise the Deadeye Guild, and we obey.”
“And there’s another elf-answer for you,” Bolnir said as he pushed past the elf to take the lead. “Later, Quinn, I’ll tell you the real truth. Preferably over a tankard of ale. It’s been a long day, and I’m thirstier than a whore in a desert.”
Lights appeared ahead of the party, and a large clearing that had been carved out of the forest came into view. In the center was a giant tree, as large as a mountain, with golden leaves speckling its lengthy branches. More impressive, however, were the wooden structures built along the tree’s branches or carved into its trunk.