by James Hunter
Kaz hooked a stray lock of hair behind Mai’s ear. “Mai will never lose Kaz. Not even a little bit of him. No matter what happens, Kaz will always be here for her.”
Mai sniffed softly. “But you won’t look like you anymore.”
“Does Mai only love Kaz for his beautiful face?” the Mighty Gourmet teased her. “If the Transmutation works, there will just be more of him to love.”
Mai let out a reluctant chuckle and hurried to wipe away a tear from her eye.
“Fine,” she whispered. “Do what you will, you silly fool.”
Kaz swept her into a huge hug and kissed her noisily on the forehead, then set her down and turned to Roark.
“Kaz is ready.”
Roark swallowed his own protests and put on a brave face to avoid frightening Mai any further. He would use the Greater Hellstrike Jackal’s Core, and if it was any less than 95% Compatibility and a ten-level increase, he would back out immediately and tell Kaz they needed to find a better hybrid for him.
With a thought, he opened his grimoire to Kaz’s page. The Mighty Gourmet hadn’t died in ages, and he’d made it to just over level 33 with the Lost Recipe quest. The Greater Hellstrike Jackal had been level 62 when they killed it. Kaz’s new level should have been close to 48, according to the notices Roark had received so far. But when he selected Preview and the Flawless Greater Hellstrike Transmutation Core, something strange happened.
[Compatibility: EXTREME HARMONY DETECTED!
You have found a pair of chimera who transmute exceedingly well with one another.
+2 Bonus to all Harmonic Statistics (Strength, Constitution, Two-handed Attacks, and Magical Resistance)
+2 to Hybrid character level and Respawn Threshold]
Kaz’s new level would come to 50, and his new respawn cap would be 52. All of the Strength-based stats that Kaz and the Greater Hellstrike Jackal both favored would shoot up as well, and he had three new abilities in the slots beneath his Thursr Knight abilities. One was the Anti-Tank Airstrike Roark had seen while doing his own Preview, but the others were completely new.
Boneshaking Rage: When Health drops below 50%, Feral Hellstrike Knight can let loose a boneshaking roar to light a fire in the bellies of his allies and turn the bowels of his enemies to water for 45 seconds. Beings with a relationship of Friendly or better gain +.25n to Constitution, where n is the Constitution of the Feral Hellstrike Knight, and beings with a relationship of Neutral and worse suffer -.25n to Constitution, where n is Constitution of the Feral Hellstrike Knight.
Hardening Lava: Once per day, Feral Hellstrike Knight can multiply the density of his form like cooling lava. When hardened, Natural Armor Rating increases by 50%, Weight is multiplied by 2, and all unarmed attacks deal 50% more damage.
Vastly impressive. Roark felt the fear that he would fail his best friend slide away, replaced once more by the giddy feeling of success. Keeping Mai’s fears in mind, he quickly made some tweaks to the appearance to keep the Knight-Jackal hybrid as Kaz-like as possible. Horns, tusks, and all. No matter what of the avatar Roark changed, however, the stats never decreased. It seemed that the Extreme Harmony kept Kaz from suffering any negative effects at all from the transmutation.
“What do you think, Kaz?” Roark asked, showing the Troll his advanced character sheet.
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THE MIGHTY GOURMET glanced over his new avatar, eyes alight with equal parts wonder and curiosity.
“One change, if Kaz may,” he said, adding a tall white Gourmet’s hat to the top of his head. He nodded in satisfaction. “Perfect.”
Roark glanced down at the creation option.
[Compatibility: 100%+, Extreme Harmony
Would you like to transmute Thursr Knight and Greater Hellstrike Jackal to form Mega Evolution: Level 50 Feral Hellstrike Knight? Yes/No]
Before he could get cold feet, Roark selected Yes.
Amber light flashed through the room.
When the smoke had cleared, the new Kaz stood before them. Though he was still the same height, Kaz was easily twice as wide as he had been, with boulders of muscle like millstones grinding together beneath short, coarse blue-black fur. His horns poked through the white Gourmet’s toque he’d added, while a ruff of slightly longer bristling black fur stuck up and ran down Kaz’s tree-trunk thick neck like the scruff on a hyena. His legs had become backward-angled canine legs, and his feet claw-tipped paws. His hands hung close to his knees, wicked black talons glinting at the ends of fingers the size of falcatas.
When no one spoke immediately, Kaz turned to Mai, brows raised and canine ears perked up.
“Does Mai still approve of Kaz?” he asked in a small, fearful voice that belied his brutal new appearance.
Mai let out a rush of breath. “How can I not? I’ve even more of him to love now than I did before.”
Kaz threw his head back and let out a joyful howl that rattled Flavortown to its foundations, then swept the blushing widow up and swung her around the room in an impromptu jig.
As the rest of them tried not to get crushed by the enormous couple, Roark glanced over at Zyra. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew he’d caught her eye when she grabbed her stomach and pretended to double over vomiting at Kaz and Mai’s display.
Roark laughed. He was feeling high enough from these successes to grab Zyra and swing her around himself, though he’d rather they be alone when he did.
Later definitely. For now, his mind was racing too fast to think of anything but finding more cores to transmute the members of the Troll Nation. The Jackals were excellent complements to the Trolls who’d chosen the Thursr Evolutionary Path, but for Reavers and Jotnars, they were hardly compatible. And the more powerful he could find, the better, especially for his floor overseers and Greater Vassals. Kaz was the perfect testament to that.
He would have to spend some time searching the WikiLore for the most powerful monsters in Hearthworld, and perhaps he could ask Randy and PwnrBwner as well. They were bound to have seen and killed a good deal of desirable chimeras in their time as heroes. He decided he should message them both, asking them to meet at the Citadel as soon as they could.
On top of that, watching the raucous celebration had started a thought niggling in the back of Roark’s mind. A possible elegant solution to at least one of the problems that kept coming back to cause trouble around the Troll Nation. He would have to talk to Kaz and Mai, however, and they seemed far too busy at the moment.
A puff of inky black smoke curled up over his shoulder, and the scent of deadly coquelicot blossoms filled his nose.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Zyra’s dusky voice whispered in his ear, her warmth pressing against his back. “Find somewhere private to”—she traced a poisoned claw along his right wing, making a shiver run down Roark’s back—“celebrate lethal new possibilities?”
“It’s as if you read my mind.” Roark hooked an arm around the hooded Reaver’s waist and led her toward the door.
Solving Dungeon Lord problems could wait until later just this once.
Musical Solutions
A GOOD DEAL LATER, Roark finally sent off the messages to Randy and PwnrBwner, asking that they meet at the Citadel at their earliest convenience.
Randy’s reply appeared promptly a few minutes after the message was sent: I’ve got to work today from 8 to 5, which is about two days in Hearthworld. Sorry. But I’ll come as soon as I get home. Is it another quest?
No, Roark sent back. I have some questions about Infernal Hearthworld creatures; which are the most powerful, intelligent, deadly, high-level, and where do they spawn?
Happily, the Arboreal Herald’s next reply contained quite a bit of useful information, along with maps, directions, and cross-references to the WikiLore page. Roark spent several minutes poring over it. As he’d suspected, being right hand to the devs of Hearthworld, Randy had loads of valuable insight into the Infernal mobs that populated this dimension.
Pw
nrBwner’s response was typically contrary: Oh sure I’ll just run right over there IF I EVER MAKE IT TWO FUCKING STEPS FROM MY FUCKING SPAWN POINT!!!
Then before Roark could respond, the High Combat Cleric sent a second message: Get me some epic gear ready, and I’ll be there.
And a third: If you see a hot dark elf chick all gothed out in black and skulls and Undead shit, tag GothicTerror, shoot her in the fucking face from me.
Roark shook his head. He shouldn’t have expected anything more than incomprehensible gibberish from the Cleric. Although PwnrBwner’s mention of a hero who used Undead energies was intriguing. Roark had tried a few Undead spells himself after he’d learned about the Primal Creation dyads, but couldn’t seem to get the hang of the casts no matter how he inscribed them. In the end, he’d had to settle for adding the Undead spells to Curse Chains on the weapons and armor. But if the Troll Nation could make allies who utilized Undead energies, perhaps that would give them another leg up over Lowen’s Divine troops.
It was certainly something to look into. He would have to discuss it further with PwnrBwner when he made it to the Citadel. Roark didn’t want to attempt a long-form conversation with the incoherent Cleric through messages. Instead, he dashed off a reply letting PwnrBwner know that the Troll Nation armor and weapons vault was open to him whenever he did manage to arrive.
With that sorted, Roark closed his grimoire. Zyra was already up and moving around the Keep’s alchemy lab. The equipment there was far less advanced than what could be found in Zyra’s alchemy shop in the marketplace, and there were fewer shelves of rare ingredients, but because the Reaver hardly used this lab anymore, no one ever thought to look for them there. That made it the perfect hideaway.
Roark watched her work for a few minutes, white ringlets spilling down her back, brilliant against her recurved onyx horns and sparkling midnight blue skin. Being somewhere she knew no one would accidentally see her without her hood and lose all fear of her had the added benefit of letting him stare at the face she kept hidden from the rest of Hearthworld. Zyra wasn’t just beautiful, she was cute, and that infuriated her to no end. With her heart-shaped face, pixie-like chin and nose, and those full lips and mismatched green and purple eyes, she could have ruled a softer world with nothing but dark glances and sultry smiles. But Hearthworld, like Roark’s home dimension, was a place of war and brutality. Fear and intimidation were the only weapons Zyra thought she had.
She turned to grab a calcinator from the table behind her, then stopped suddenly when she realized he was staring at her.
“What is it?” she growled.
Dense as he might be with her at times, Roark was smart enough not to answer that question honestly. He nodded at the mixing flask in her hand.
“Brewing something nasty?”
“Maybe,” she said, flipping open the calcinator and scraping a bit of rust-colored powder into her flask. “That Flesh-Eating Poison I tested on you gave me the idea. The Heralds’ flesh is hard, some type of gold alloy, yes? That’s why the arrows wouldn’t hold in our first battle in the bailey?”
Roark frowned, considering this. He hadn’t taken much time to study Viago’s remains, but the winged creatures’ blood was molten gold, that much he’d seen. It made sense, then, that their flesh was at least partially gold. And to achieve the hardness required to stop cabled arrows from penetrating deeply enough for the barbs to anchor them in place, the gold would have to have been alloyed with something much stronger.
“It must be,” he said, having reasoned through the process himself.
“Well, if I can create some sort of poison that specifically degrades the alloy, then perhaps the archers’ first volley could be used to envenomate them and soften their flesh. Then secondary volleys could anchor the grounding cables more solidly, and we could pull them down without the arrows popping free.” She held the flask up to the light and swirled the concoction. “And I’m sure the Health damage will be worth a little something, too.”
Roark crossed the room and kissed her on one bare shoulder.
“You’re brilliant.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Griefer,” she said. “Getting the poison right will take time and require a certain amount of trial and error with the troops upstairs. Unless you can net me enough Herald flesh to analyze what their skin is made of.”
“I’ll see what I can do about it. In the meantime, did you check the WikiLore page?”
She snorted. “Heroes don’t care what Herald flesh is made of. They just want to know what sort of loot the nasty little moths drop.”
“Is that a yes, I checked or an I didn’t bother?” Roark asked.
“Yes, I checked,” she said, rolling her purple and green eyes.
He grinned at her tone and kissed her again. “Then I’ll see what I can do about getting you part of one to experiment on.”
“Unless you think our friend Randy might be made of the same basic components...” she suggested, glancing over her shoulder at Roark.
“I don’t know whether to be impressed that you actually referred to someone as your friend or horrified that you want to experiment on him.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Or jealous that you want to test your poisons on someone else.”
“Be jealous,” she said, smirking. “I have a feeling that green is a lovely color on you.”
Roark bumped his horns jokingly against hers, then grabbed his Leathers and equipped them.
“I’ll ask Randy what he’s made of, but I doubt it’s the same as Lowen’s ilk. Arboreal Heralds seem to run more toward the woodsy side of nature, whereas the Malaika Heralds—and their Vault—have so far been metallic.”
Zyra nodded. “Then I’ll expect you to deliver a decent chunk of one to the alchemy shop.”
“I’ll do what I can,” he promised. “First, I have a separate bit of Dungeon Lord business to take care of. I think I may have solved Griff’s admirer problem.”
“I told him I could fix that,” Zyra said, shaking her head. “Regular applications of Potent Contact Poison to the rails around the pit and, poof, problem solved. He didn’t think the situation had come to that yet.”
Roark chuckled. “If it does, you’ll be the first to know.”
He left the laboratory and turned down the winding halls of the Keep, coming out into the ever-present glow of the towering bioluminescent mushrooms that lit the fifth floor. Having a plan for at least one of the smaller problems plaguing the Troll Nation made everything look a touch brighter, made the soft chiming of the grass as he disturbed it less irritating and more pleasant.
Of course, parting on good terms with Zyra always helped that, too.
Though it was technically the wee hours of the morning in Hearthworld, Roark found Kaz in the kitchen of Portal to Flavortown. Mobs never slept, so Kaz often used the slow overnight shifts to train new cooks and servers. Being an NPC, Mai had slipped off to catch a bit of sleep, but when Roark outlined his plan for the Mighty Gourmet, Kaz was certain that the young widow would approve.
“Mai will do anything if it helps Griff,” Kaz insisted. “She worries over him so. He is no spring Selkie, she says. Kaz isn’t sure what a Selkie matters in the grand scheme of things, but he is very happy indeed that Roark’s plan will make her feel better.”
“If it works, Kaz,” Roark said. “I haven’t even talked to everyone involved yet.”
Solieau, like every musician worth their salt Roark had ever known in Traisbin, was at the Flavortown bar in spite of the late hour, entertaining a trio of beautiful creatures.
“May I have a private word with you, Solieau?” Roark asked the young man.
The ladies turned on him with vicious scowls, and Roark had time to reflect that Sirens, Enchantresses, and Banshees were terrifying creatures when caught in the wrong light before they realized they were hissing at the Dungeon Lord of the Troll Nation.
“It’s all right, ladies,” the musician said, shooting them each a winning smile. “I’ll ca
tch up to you later on.”
When the three of them had reluctantly torn themselves away from his side, Solieau turned to Roark.
“What’s the problem, Dungeon Lord? Am I in trouble?” He raised his hands in defense. “I swear I would never go near that hooded lady of Shadows you’re courting.”
“I doubt you have the healing potions to survive it if you did,” Roark replied with a grin. “As to whether you’re in trouble, that depends.” Roark took the seat the Siren had vacated and folded his leathery wings behind his back. “Have you done anything that would cause trouble since arriving in the Troll Nation?”
“Fair question,” Solieau admitted with a shrug. “No, I haven’t stirred up anything lately. I suppose I’m just used to being hassled from time to time by the local authorities.”
“And the local cuckolds?”
The young musician chuckled. “They’re a sight harder to avoid than city guards.”
Roark caught the sleepy eye of the little Changeling tending the bar, indicating a mead for himself and a refill for Solieau. She scampered off and returned with two heady flagons.
“Bit of a criminal past, then?” he asked the bard.
“I’ve fallen in and out of a few bad crowds.” Solieau took a sip of his mead and wiped the foam from his upper lip with the back of one hand. “Be assured it won’t happen while I’m here, though, Dungeon Lord. Kaz and Mai gave me a second chance and a safe place to stay, and I intend to live up to their trust.”
Roark felt a corner of his mouth turn up.
“They’re a good sort,” he agreed, twisting his flagon a little on the bar top. What felt like ages ago, Griff had said something to the effect that no matter how hard you tried to keep people at arm’s length, sooner or later someone like Kaz or Mai would come along and nettle their way into your heart. No one stood a chance against the two of them combined. “And that’s good to hear, because I wouldn’t want to have to put an Eternal Curse on you, mate. It takes time I don’t really have to spare, and it’s bloody messy. For you especially.”