Beastborne- Mark of the Founder

by James T Callum

  Durvin poked his head out from the brightly lit barrow. “Come on, what’re ye waitin’ fer another gul’ durned invitation?” The dwarf stomped back inside.

  After a look at each of his party members, Hal followed him into the mound.

  The air was filled with the wondrous scents of roasted meat, smoked ham, savory stews, and freshly baked bread. Hal’s mouth watered the instant his nose picked up the familiar and delicious scents.

  There were several tables filled with a feast fit for three times the number of burly dwarves seated there. A quick count gave Hal roughly five dozen of the sturdy folk and many more were outside.

  Being the clan’s leader, Hal expected Durvin to seat himself at an elevated table or one that was better set than the rest. If anything, his table boasted more nicks and deep cut notches than the others.

  The bronze-bearded dwarf raised a hand to signal them over to the empty seats on either side of him.

  “Thanks,” Hal said, taking a seat and looking at the dozens of platters filled with food. None of it was fancy or dressed up. But that didn’t matter to Hal. The food was delicious and was one of the best things he tasted since arriving on Aldim.

  Even better than Ashera’s cooking, he realized. Not that he would ever tell her.

  It was the dwarven equivalent of a barbecue cookout. Roasted meats slathered in rich smoky sauces, paired with hearty root vegetables that were similar to potatoes, but had a crunch to them even though they were cooked and sliced.

  And of course, there was beer, or as Durvin put it, “dwarven holy water.” Which was mandatory to drink as a toast at the start of the meal and another at the end.

  The brew was foamy and rich, one whiff of it nearly burned Hal’s nose hairs down to the roots. The thought had crossed his mind that maybe they would poison him. But they had Hal outnumbered at least ten to one. There were easier ways to kill or subdue him if they wanted.

  Besides, Hal felt he had a good read on Durvin Bouldergut. The man didn’t seem like the sort to poison anybody. He was just as boisterous and loud as Hal hoped. The dwarf was remarkably blunt with his honesty.

  At first, Noth resisted the urge to eat. But even Hal could see the way she looked longingly at the slabs of ribs coated in a thick red sauce. She managed to abstain from eating all day even when offered some food as they marched but nobody could convince her to take a bite.

  When it came to risking offense to Clan Bouldergut or continuing her hunger strike, Noth broke down for the ‘good of the group’ she said. She took a tentative sip and then drained the metal tankard in one long draw.

  That, more than anything, made the rowdy dwarves cheer and hoot. They slapped the table in a raucous cheer. And before Noth knew it, she was getting food shoveled onto her plate.

  Her resistance crumbled. Perhaps it was the alcohol that hit her so fast on an empty stomach, or maybe it was the undoubtedly scrumptious food.

  In either case, she ate enough and with such vigor that even the dwarves stood up and took notice. Nobody mocked her lack of decorum. Nobody cared. Oddly enough, Noth seemed to fit in well among the dwarves.

  By the end of the meal and their second “holy water,” Noth’s face was flushed and she swayed where she sat as if listening to a haunting melody nobody else could.

  “Noth,” Hal said, trying to get her attention. It took him a few more tries before her drifting gaze found his. “It’s a little late but I should probably warn you about eating and particularly about drinking-”

  Ashera, seated beside the Reaper, raised a hand to forestall him. “I’ll take care of it, Hal. I do believe you and our esteemed host have matters to discuss.”

  With that, Ashera gently put her hands on Noth’s shoulders and guided her out of the dome with her thanks and compliments to the chefs. She began to whisper quietly into Noth’s ear as they left the mound.

  But Noth, quite drunk by that point, was not so subtle about her reply. “I’ll do what in a few hours?!”

  Hal watched as even Ashera’s calm features twisted into horror and she blushed fiercely, leading the Reaper even farther away.

  Durvin looked to Hal for an explanation but he could only shrug. “It’s a long story. You said we had a lot to talk about, what did you have in mind?”

  “Ye look a lot like a feller I used ter know,” Durvin said, eyeing Hal sharply. “Had grand plans fer Murkmire, he did.”

  The dwarf didn’t miss the glance Hal made toward Elora and Mira at the table. He picked up on it and slammed a thick palm onto the table, rattling the stoneware plates and metal tankards. “But what I want ter know is what ye got planned, boy. Yer a bit young to be leading don’t ye think?”

  Hal bowed his head, grateful for the change in subject. He didn’t miss the steely-eyed look that promised the two would have a private conversation later. “Would you prefer things stay the same way? What good dwarf skulks about at night and hides their beards behind dust mask bandanas?”

  That struck a nerve.

  Several nearby dwarves stopped cold and a hush rippled across the tables. Hal realized he had likely insulted the dwarves but he also didn’t think that Durvin would appreciate stepping around the issue.

  If he was serious about forming a Sanctum, he would need as many supporters as possible. And that meant offering Clan Bouldergut a place in his Sanctum, so long as they didn’t pose any threat to his vision.

  And he doubted they would.

  Durvin hooted and slapped the table again. Several dwarves saw this coming and had the foresight to lift full tankards of ale off the table beforehand. “The stones on this one! Ye talk like a dwarf boy!

  “That’s high praise. Ye marked us clearly enough. All this skulkin’ an’ stabbin’ ain’t fer a dwarf. But we gotta get our goods into the town one way or another! It’s our livelihood, boy! I ain’t seen another way without bendin’ a knee to them corrupt troll-kissing greedaloxes!”

  Hal’s brows shot up at the mention of a greedalox. He stuffed that away for later. How exactly a dwarf came to know a goblin – or was it koblin? – word for the height of greed, Hal could only guess. But he intended to ask later.

  “What if I could offer you a better way?”

  94

  “Big words, boy,” Durvin said. He took a long draw on his tankard then wiped the foam from his beard with the back of his hand. “Keep talkin’ though.”

  Hal looked around. He’d never seen a barrow personally but he read about them long ago. Several games featured them pretty heavily – as did many books – so he had a good idea how far the dwarves must have fallen to be using them as a camp.

  A lot of work was done to keep them relatively liveable. They were a far cry from a proper campsite or even a ramshackle town. No doubt they were more comfortable here than outside but how comfortable could you be sleeping atop the buried bones of the dead?

  “What do you do when the Manastorms come?” Hal asked.

  “We high tail it into the tunnels ‘neath Murkmire. Not far in is protected by the Manatree and we’re safe enough fer a time. Got a couple o’ rooms to serve as caches when a Manastorm comes on in a rush,” Durvin said.

  “Would they turn you away at the gates?” Elora asked, clearly disturbed by the thought.

  The dwarf shook his head. His long bronzed hair bounced with the motion. “I don’t think the dogs would do that, no. But the time it would take… we’re far from the gates.” He shrugged his large shoulders and then gave Elora a deeper look. “Ye got the look about ye lass. Ye seen a ‘storm or two I reckon.”

  Elora gave a nod.

  “Then ye be knowin’ it ain’t that easy. They come on in a flash sometimes, yer either quick or yer dead.”

  “So you stay out here?” Hal asked, trying to understand a little more.

  “Sometimes,” Durvin hedged. “We come down from the Anvil up north where we make the durned stuff we’re tryin’ to sell. Few months outta the year us lucky sods get to ferry the goods to Murkmire. Sell at a ste
ep discount to some shady little knives-” He spit to the side, showing how he felt about them. “-then haul our coin back home.

  “Ain’t no safe haven closer to us than Murkmire. So what ye got that can beat that, boy? I hear a lotto questions, but not much in the way of answerin’. So tell me plainly: What ye got for me and mine?”

  Hal nodded, that was fair. He wondered as much but he didn’t know for sure. The barrows didn’t quite have a lived-in look to them. They were dressed up as much as they could for comfort but they were a camouflage first and foremost.

  “It’s unlikely that the council of Murkmire or Rinbast for that matter would look too kindly on you perched right outside the door, sneaking in and selling contraband,” Hal ventured.

  He raised his hand to forestall the angry outburst he saw building in their dwarven host. “I am not threatening you, merely making an observation. You are, simply put, not welcome in Murkmire. At least not without debasing yourselves in a way unbecoming of a dwarf.”

  Several beards bounced as Hal spoked, many of the dwarves in the nearby tables had stopped talking and were nodding along with him. It was strangely effortless to grab their attention. And all the while he managed not to stick his foot into his mouth.

  Your Leadership has risen to Level 15(20).

  +1% Party damage (+20%).

  +2% Leadership efficacy (+40%).

  Your Persuasion has risen to Level 10.

  +1% Persuasion success (+10%).

  +0.5% Antagonistic persuasion success (+5.0%).

  +5% Reputation gain (+10%).

  -2% Reputation loss (-4%).

  You have 1 Persuasion Perk point awaiting assignment.

  Now most definitely was not the time, so Hal mentally dismissed the notification.

  “I would offer you something better,” Hal continued. “An offer that I extend to each of the clans back at your home.”

  Mira leaned in, a curious light in her violet eyes. “How do you survive without a Manatree? Up in the mountains I mean.”

  Durvin leaned back and crossed his thickset arms over his stout chest. His heavy boots thudded onto the table and his chair rocked back onto two legs. “Heh. Lass, ye ever seen a ‘storm ‘neath the mountain? There’s yer answer.” He turned to Hal. “Mighty big of ye to be offerin’ nothin’ but fancy words. Now I won’t be hearin’ another word until you tell me just what ye be offerin’.”

  Leaning forward onto his elbows, Hal hoped that the dwarves in this world were as hungry for a challenge and eager to create as those he read about. If not, his whole plan might backfire.

  He took a steadying breath and looked into those burnished bronze eyes. “How would you like to build a Sanctum from the ground up?”

  What little murmuring there was died down immediately. Durvin’s feet slipped off the table and the dwarf’s chair slammed back down with a bone-rattling shake.

  He gave Hal the most wide-eyed hungry stare the man had ever seen in his life. There it is.

  Relief washed over Hal. For a moment he thought he made a grave error. To anybody who didn’t live for the thrill of creation as dwarves seemed to, Hal’s question might have come off as incredibly arrogant. Downright insulting to some.

  But to the mind of a dwarf, he hoped that creating a brand new Sanctum was enough of a monumental task. Something that would stand as a testament to their stonework for ages, a task that they would gladly spend years toiling to make perfect.

  He knew it was manipulating them. Knew it and didn’t much care. Especially considering the effect the simple question had on them. Considering the good they would be doing and the gain the clan would get as one of the first citizens of the Sanctum.

  When he envisioned a Sanctum being built, he expected timber and thatch houses going up around a small sapling of a Manatree. Humble beginnings that would likely take longer than a lifetime to build into a proper city.

  But after meeting the dwarves he began to wonder if he was dreaming too small.

  What if, with the dwarves' help, he could build something truly wondrous? Something worthy of dwarven craftsmanship.

  He dared to hope.

  It took Durvin a long moment to collect himself and put on a proper face. But he knew he had let the mask slip. “Ye come here, into me own home, eat me food and sit at me table and then have the stones to offer work? Boy, give me one reason not to kill ye dead right where ye stand.”

  Hal saw through the bluster, the brave front that hid the hunger in the dwarf’s eyes. He grinned back at the dwarf and without missing a beat, said, “Because you’ll never get another opportunity to make your mark on the world like this.” He motioned vaguely to the north. “Your halls of stone deep within your mountains are no doubt glorious. But how many people see their splendor?

  “How long would such works last out in the wilds where the Manastorms wreak havoc? But a Sanctum is protected. It would stand as a monument to your skill… but if you’re telling me Clan Bouldergut isn’t up to the task then I can accept that.”

  He just couldn’t resist twisting the knife into their pride.

  “By Dagdamora boy!” Durvin bellowed, hopping to his feet and bouncing around spewing insults. “Ye cantankerous, anvil-dropping, thumb-bashing, lantern-lugging, milk-drinking, durned tool-snatching cave troll!” His face grew redder with each insult. The dwarf came around to Hal’s chair so fast that he didn’t even have time to react.

  Durvin yanked Hal from his seat and pulled him into a rib-cracking hug, then yanked the much taller man down to eye level and planted a wet kiss on his forehead. “Ye know how to press me buttons better than if’n ye were me own kin!”

  Once released, Hal fell back onto the seat of his pants and stared in disbelief at the dwarf. He only caught one out of every three of the insults but Hal got the gist of it. “So….” Hal began but as soon as he spoke up Durvin turned a bone-melting glare his way.

  “Ye got yerself a deal, boy! By Dagdamora yer a mad one! Ain’t nobody with less hairs on their chin than me ever spoke a word to me face like ye did.” He reached over and pulled Hal up onto his feet. “Ye got yerself a deal!”

  The bronze-haired dwarf leaped onto the table in a single bound – no small feat for such a compact frame – and bellowed to the room. “More holy water! We got ourselves a Quest lads and lasses!”

  Clan Bouldergut Reputation: +5,500 (Beardless Dwarf).

  In a very short period of time, you’ve managed to endear yourself to the patron and leader of the Bouldergut Clan. Provided you can back up your wild claims, you have made significant inroads with the dwarven clan. They will help and aid you where they can, though know they think of you as a child of their kind. That is no small feat as few outsiders are given such an honor.

  Dwarves rushed about filling tankards and handing them out. Large towering casks of “holy water” were brought in, tapped, and summarily drained throughout the night.

  Hal drank more than even his freshman year at college and after the third tankard found the foul brew to be quite pleasant with a clean citrusy finish. Mira was the first to retire. Which meant she fell face-first onto the table in the middle of a rousing retelling of how they fought the Shoggoth Spore.

  Each time she told it the thing got larger and larger. Hal’s brave feat of rescuing her and laying down his own life in the process became more flamboyant and heroic with each retelling.

  Elora drank as much, if not more than Hal but seemed to tolerate it better by far. She was quiet for most of the night until her fifth tankard. Then she became the most pleasant company anybody could ask for.

  She sang, quipped jokes, and generally was a joy to be around.

  The Ranger’s flushed cheeks and beet-red ears were a sight to see. Ashera returned later in the night but only to fetch Elora and take her away to get some sleep.

  Late into the night Hal and Durvin – and many of the other dwarves as well, names that Hal couldn’t keep straight by that point – talked and joked and took turns insulting each
other until finally, Hal hit his limit.

  He was still semi-conscious when his forehead smacked into the table.

  “Easy with the boy there lads,” Durvin’s voice floated in the dark. “Take ‘im to the lasses so he can rest his head. Mind that he don’t puke on ye!” The last thing Hal remembered was hearing Durvin’s deep rumbling laugh.

  95

  Hal awoke the next morning to the sound of hushed voices. He was resting on something soft, though quite scratchy. Pieces of straw poked through the bedding he was resting upon, ruining any chances of him being able to get back to sleep.

  Getting up, he realized where he was for the first time.

  Hanging cloth dividers created a rudimentary room where Hal was alone with his straw pallet and not much else. Pushing aside the curtain that served as a door, Hal found several more “rooms” set up in similar fashion encircling a common area in the center.

  Each member of his party was already gathered around the low-burning cookfire. It looked like breakfast was just getting started. Noth, having gotten over her fear of eating, was staring hungrily into the cast iron skillet of sizzling bacon.

  “He’s up,” Mira said. Her voice felt like a hammer taken to his skull.

  You suffer the effect of Hungover.

  -25% HP Regeneration.

  -25% MP Regeneration.

  +20% Damage Taken.

  -5 AGI | -5 DEX | -10 CHR.

  -7 Perception | -10 Leadership | -10 Persuasion.

  Sounds about right, he thought.

  “Not so loud,” he muttered, one hand pressed to his head. Even the light of the cookfire – dim though it was – hurt his eyes. “Too much holy water.”

  “No such thing, boy!” Durvin roared, coming into the smaller barrow that housed the group. If Mira’s voice was a hammer, Durvin’s was a jackhammer. “Ye got a long way to go afore ye go toe-to-toe with a dwarf in a drink-off! By the end o’ the night, I could hardly understand a word ye said. Now’s the time to be hearin’ more about this bright idea o’ yers.”