Beastborne- Mark of the Founder

by James T Callum

  A small pink slime exited from the wall nearby and began to happily return to Vorax, its master.

  Slimes, by the large, were stupid (but lovable) things. More animal than monster, they didn’t have brains in the traditional sense but were not mindless. Though they were undeniably adorable, they had a tendency to eat and devour everything they came into contact with.

  This was a particular issue with treasuregorger mimics as slimes would sometimes eat their food. And you never wanted food that was in a slime.

  In his youth, Vorax had befriended a small pink runty slime. This slime, in particular, was smarter than most. It took well to commands and thoughts imparted to it.

  It was a joyous reunion. Vorax had plenty of metal and items it didn’t want, items that a slime would gleefully digest for him. If more mimics were smart, they too would have a slime for a pet.

  Vorax thought the little bugger lost when the great schism sent his old home tumbling into the dark depths. The slime bounced all around the mimic and then was invited inside.

  To the casual observer, it may have looked like the mimic ate the slime. Not so. The slime preferred to live inside Vorax’s extensive network of extradimensional pockets it referred to as its stomach.

  Just in time too. A second later a powerful welling of mana burst out in an azure wave. Vorax instinctively knew this would kill him, or at least harm him in some way but he had no defenses against it.

  He was surprised when the azure wave of energy washed over him without so much as a tickle. Strange.

  All of the many monsters it could detect in the distance were, however, suddenly gone. The mimic understood that it had been spared, likely as a result of Hal. That most curious of humans.

  Seeing this as a golden opportunity to devour more loot, the humble mimic hurried off down the tunnel and veered left.

  Vorax gained another Level from the loot he picked up along that barren stretch of tunnel. When he returned to the vault, he watched with much joy as Hal stepped out of the door like it was no more a barrier to him than air.

  His eyes fell upon Vorax and the mimic excitedly hopped over to his most favorite person in all the realms.

  “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Hal said to the mimic.

  Vorax imparted his pleasure at seeing Hal and pressed his polished wooden body into the man. His steel bandings were replaced with silver now and though most wouldn’t have noticed, Hal did.

  “You got stronger I see,” he said with a laugh.

  At that moment, the Dark One that followed Hal around emerged from the vault and all of Vorax’s extended family seemed to wake from their stasis. The Dark One, Hal referred to as Noth, looked around with red-rimmed eyes.

  Vorax could smell the change in the woman though he didn’t fully understand the particulars, nor did he care to. All Vorax knew was that his family had grown by two members that day.

  92

  Even without any monsters to fight and nothing else blocking their way, it took them just over half the day to exit the winding tunnels that coiled upon themselves within the mountain stronghold.

  Hal had his suspicions that Vorax had already scouted ahead and cleared the way a bit. The mimic was entirely too pleased with itself. And it was more than a couple of Levels higher than he remembered.

  There were a few tense moments when Hal and Noth first came out of the Vault. For the rest of his party time had seemingly stopped. So when Noth and Hal emerged, they immediately thought she was an enemy.

  Some quick talking on Hal’s part diffused the situation, and Noth was added to the party shortly thereafter. Between Ashera, Elora, and Mira they managed to find serviceable clothing for the erstwhile Reaper.

  While they wandered the tunnels, Hal and Noth told of the battle within the Vault and all the relevant parts that transpired. The delicate nature of what Thirty-seven and Hal were, not to mention their relationship to Rinbast was kept secret.

  This made for some… creative storytelling as Hal was vehemently opposed to omitting Thirty-seven’s sacrifice and all the good he did. Instead, Hal gave him the name of Alquist and merely glossed over the true nature of the man and where he came from.

  To Hal, that didn’t matter. What did matter was what Alquist did with his life and the immense good he tried to enact.

  He felt more than a little guilty when he got Level in Persuasion, and he felt a lot worse when he gained several Levels in an entirely new skill: Deception.

  Your Persuasion has risen to Level 8.

  +1% Persuasion success (+8%).

  +0.5% Antagonistic persuasion success (+4.0%).

  You have unlocked Deception (Level 0).

  The favorite skill of dark elves and conniving merchants alike, Deception affords you the ability to weave your own truth. The dark elves have a saying, “when all around you is a web of lies, the truth is what you choose to make.” Those skilled in Deception are able to make their own realities and furthermore, convince others of their veracity.

  Your Deception has risen to Level 1.

  …

  Your Deception has risen to Level 4.

  +1% Deception success (+4%).

  +0.5% Deception awareness (+2.0%).

  -0.5% Reputation loss (-2.0%).

  They came to yet another Founder’s door.

  “What do you think is beyond the door?” Ashera asked.

  Hal looked over his shoulder at them. “Either there’s going to be a dozen guards trying to break down the door and kill us, or we’ll be smack in the middle of a - hopefully empty now that the Manatree is working - horrific monster’s nest.”

  With those pleasant thoughts, Hal pressed his palm to the insignia and opened the door.

  They all stepped into the lightless interior. Hal swept the room with his eyes, just as surprised as the rest of his party when he discovered nothing. No threats. No guards or monsters or some horrible abomination waiting to get the jump on them now that their grueling journey was almost at an end.

  Nothing. It was an empty room, a little worse for wear. Roots dangled all over the ceiling and the walls had large cracks in them but it had the feeling of old damage, so they didn’t fear a sudden collapse.

  One by one, they filtered out into the room and squeezed past the roots clogging the doorway to the hallway beyond. It didn’t take them long to realize they were not in the Coffin District anymore. Old tunnels crisscrossed ahead of them like some sort of prohibition-era smuggling network.

  They were so eager to quit the dark confines of the mountain that they skipped making camp again and pressed for many more hours. It wasn’t much of a surprise to any of them when they finally emerged from the oppressive lightless tunnels to see stars in the sky.

  Each of them took deep lungfuls of fresh air, reveling in the chill breeze and the openness before them. They were partway up the northern foothills leading to the low rounded mountain that was Murkmire.

  Hal gasped, seeing the open sky for the first time without any obscuring clouds. A deep gleaming orange-red blade of light arced high above and cut the sky into two neat sections.

  “Beautiful, is it not?” Ashera said, following his eyes. “The bandlight is very pretty this time of year. In the winter it turns blue-silver.”

  A distant purple moon hung in the night sky and near it a closer pale red that orbited it. A third moon hung in the sky, large as a harvest moon and just as familiar as the one back on Earth. For some reason seeing that comforted him.

  He knew it wasn’t Earth’s moon. That was impossible. But seeing the similarity felt like a little piece of home.

  Unfortunately, they were all so happy to finally be out of the dark tunnels that they entirely forgot about where they were. And in the few moments they took for themselves, they were surrounded by a band of individuals that clearly did not take well to their smuggler tunnels being used.

  A young man approached wearing dark ruffled clothes, a dark cloth pulled up over his nose and mouth like an old western
bandit. A bandolier gleamed with half a dozen throwing daggers across his chest. “What’ve we here?” he asked in a strong rolling accent.

  With his Shadesight lighting the scene, Hal could see over a dozen similarly black-clad folk coming around the low lying hills around them. What stood out most to him, however, was how short they all were.

  Elora began to step forward but Hal barred her with an outstretched arm and took her place. He was tired, weary, and absolutely done with people protecting him or fighting his battles for him.

  “These your tunnels?” he asked the man that spoke.

  “Might’n be,” he hedged.

  Hal shook his head. “Get your leader then,” he snapped. “I don’t have time to deal with underlings.”

  If they had to fight, they would fight, but he was so tired of there being yet another obstacle that his patience was worn thin.

  The man’s blue eyes shot open and he began to say something but another similarly clad individual walked out of the group and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  This man was older with a darker complexion and the most striking pair of burnished bronze eyes Hal had ever seen.

  He chuckled good-naturedly. “Ye seem to have us at a bit of a… shall we say, disadvantage. We ain’t a group of knives ready to stab an’ poke each of ye as some might be doin’. But yer not fer knowin’ that when ye came outta that tunnel. And friend, I’m mighty particular about who shares me tunnels.”

  Hal nodded. This was the man he wanted to talk to.

  He looked at the man and realized a few things. What he took to be a trick of perspective from looking down on the group was, in fact, no trick at all. The broad-chested man was somewhere between four and five feet tall. His stout frame and thick accent made Hal realize what he was.

  As much as Hal wanted to act like a diplomat and leader, he blurted out, “You’re a dwarf.”

  That appeared to be the wrong thing to say. Several weapons were drawn by the men and women forming a half-circle at the base of the hillside. The fiery bandlight gleamed across their finely crafted weapons.

  “Careful, friend,” said the bronze-eyed man. “If ye know what’s good fer ye.”

  Hal raised a hand. “I mean no disrespect. Where I come from dwarves are renowned for their skill with hammer, chisel, pick, and anvil. Expert miners, impeccable smiths of the finest weaponry, armor, and jewelry known across the realms.” Hal paused for added effect and looked over each of them in turn. “Are you ashamed of your heritage then?”

  Where did that come from? Elora and even Ashera turned to look at Hal like he was somebody else. He rarely had such a way with words. He returned their looks with a shrug, assuming Oathforger had something to do with it.

  That brought a great many grumbling voices, thick and bassy as if the mountain itself was offended.

  “Things ain’t quite the way as yer home ‘round ‘ere,” said their leader. He shrugged and pulled off the dust mask, revealing a close shaved bronze beard.

  Impressive all the same but nothing like the long-bearded dwarves he expected. The man tilted his chin up and dared Hal to make fun of his beard.

  Hal knew better.

  “That’s a shame,” Hal said. He was sincere too. Not that it hurt to win them over a little. “As you can probably tell, I’m fairly new to the area. And lost. Why aren’t you taking up residence in Murkmire? I’m sure they accept dwarves readily enough.”

  Hal’s memory felt sharper than ever. He recalled small guild symbols in each of the shops and smithies they passed. While there were dwarves in the city, he couldn’t directly recall many of them being craftsmen.

  The dwarf bristled and crossed his thick arms over his chest. “I’m hearin’ a lot o’ talk and not a lot ‘o explainin’ why yer folk were in me tunnels.”

  He thought he had the measure of them well enough. These were either dwarven merchants or craftsmen and they were using the tunnels – which must lead into Murkmire somewhere in that maze – to smuggle in their goods.

  The problem was evident. Hal and his group were either rivals that wanted to use the same tunnels, or they were citizens that had seen too much and would report them the instant they could.

  In either case, they were quickly headed toward conflict. And Hal wasn’t keen on fighting a dozen or more sturdy dwarves. Not to mention it seemed like such a waste.

  They would need a show of faith. Something that would clearly mark Hal as an outlaw like them. Even then, this was likely to devolve into a battle.

  If he showed them his mark, either they would take him seriously or they would kill him. In either event, the outcome wasn’t much worse than their current odds.

  Hal took a few steps forward and held up his left arm. He pulled back the sleeve and angled his forearm so everybody could clearly see the glowing gold and moonlit mark on it. He stopped about five paces from the leader and lowered his arm so he could inspect it closer. “I think we may have more in common than you think,” Hal said.

  “By the stones,” the dwarf muttered, peering a little too intently at the mark. He licked a thick finger and pressed it - none too gently - against Hal’s forearm, smearing damp soot all over the mark. “Ye weren’t foolin’.” His bronze eyes looked up at Hal, then drifted back to Hal’s friends. “Ye found this one here, did ye?”

  Elora nodded, coming up alongside Hal. “He’s real.”

  That seemed good enough for the dwarf.

  He put two fingers to his mouth, blew a shrill whistle and the rest of the dwarves that had been sneaking up on them under cover of shifting color-blending cloaks revealed themselves. What Hal had first thought as a dozen opponents quickly swelled to three times that many.

  They lowered their weapons, holstering them and going about their business over the crest of the hills to either side. “Ye got some heavy stones to go flashin’ that mark around like that ye know?” The dwarf leader stepped up and clapped Hal on the back, guiding him down to a small campsite along the base of a hill. “Name’s Durvin Bouldergut, and this here’s me Clan. Ye got a name boy?”

  “Hal.”

  Your Leadership has risen to Level 14(19).

  +1% Party damage (+19%).

  +2% Leadership efficacy (+38%).

  Your Persuasion has risen to Level 9.

  +1% Persuasion success (+9%).

  +0.5% Antagonistic persuasion success (+4.5%).

  Durvin thumped him on the chest, “We got ourselves a lot to talk about. Stay the night, rest up. Ye’ll be safe with Clan Bouldergut watchin’ yer back or I’m a bearded gnome!”

  93

  Noth had taken it upon herself to act as Hal’s bodyguard. All the way back to Clan Bouldergut’s camp she stayed close to Hal, like a second shadow.

  The camp was unlike anything Hal expected.

  North of Murkmire, many of the hills were more than half as large as the old mountain the Sanctuary rested upon. Rather than a ramshackle camp with a fire going and tents, Hal found several large grassy humps tightly clustered halfway up a large hill.

  Or a small mountain. It was hard to tell.

  From the distance, it looked like a necklace of browning grass. As Hal came closer he realized what they were: Barrows. Their entrances faced inward so that as Hal climbed the hillside, he couldn’t see any campsite at first.

  Only once they passed through one of the narrow gaps between the barrows did Hal see the large gathering of dwarves. Many low fires burned inside the squat round barrows and several of the dwarves were geared in more typical attire. Heavy mail shirts, thick plate armor, and many axes.

  Durvin slapped Hal on the back, nearly toppling him to the ground in front of the entire Bouldergut Clan. “Welcome to me Clan’s home away from home.” He pointed to a mound of grass with a stone-cut doorway and several figures inside the brightly lit chamber. “Have a seat at me table, yer all guests o’ mine tonight!”

  The boisterous dwarf struck off to go explain the strange newcomers to some of the onlookers, le
aving Hal alone with his party.

  “Are you sure that was wise?” Noth asked before any of the others could get close enough to hear.

  “It was the only choice I had. From what Alquist showed me… there’s a lot more hate for the Founder and the people he put in power than would meet the eye. It’s all there, simmering under the surface. They’re all looking for somebody to make things right.”

  The Reaper looked him up and down. “And are you the one to do that?”

  Hal opened his mouth to answer but shut it as the others arrived. He later realized that he didn’t have an answer.

  “Ballsy move,” Mira said, slapping Hal on the shoulder. “Never thought I’d be sharing a table with a dwarf, let alone be invited to one.”

  “Racism?” Hal asked.

  The elf crumpled her brow in confusion. “What? No! They’re just super insular and rarely leave the mountains. There’s a few in Murkmire but they’re an entirely different breed. The sort that go out and sell the wares of their clan but don’t ‘belong’ to the clan itself. If that makes sense.”

  “No,” Hal said. “Not really.”

  “You’ll see what I mean.” Mira patted him on the shoulder again and left to go talk to a pair of dwarves that barely came up to her navel.

  Hal turned his questioning gaze to Elora.

  She looked around the camp, her keen eyes marking their number and how many guards they had posted. Elora gave a curt nod of respect. “Let’s go see what they want. If they didn’t kill us because you’re a Founder, maybe we’ve found some allies.”

  For once the Ranger had a hint of a smile on her usually dour features. It looked good on her.

  Each of them looked worse for wear. They all sported severe damage to their armor and much of their clothing was burned, ripped, torn, or otherwise soiled.