Chasm View - Population 45: Clinging to a high cliff face in the Skargill Mountains, this village is the residence of the royal family of Skevalli griffon riders. Other residents include the Skevalli royal court, councilors, and their families.
Vulture’s Rift - Population 523: Wedged tight into a deep chasm in the Skargills, this township is the main population center for the remnants of the Skevalli people.
Whoa. Nice. Devon hadn’t had a chance to talk to Fabio—er, Prince Kenjan rather—about his people and the help they might be able to offer. Actually, she’d been actively avoiding him due to the whole loincloth and growling issues. But a settlement large enough to qualify as a Township meant they already had more infrastructure than she’d managed to create in Stonehaven. Like it or not, she was going to have to meet with the guy.
Before closing out the settlement interface, she glanced back to the main page and saw both Stonehaven and Ishildar listed. Ishildar’s status caught her eye again. Ruined 94%. Okay, so she knew that already, but the fate of the player camp made her think. It was listed at 100% ruined with a note that it was now defunct and would soon vanish.
If the same fate could befall Ishildar, then unlike Stonehaven, the demons wouldn’t even need to capture and occupy the city’s structures. Destroy 6% more of the already-ruined city, and her new base would be toast.
“You look as if responsibilities are pressing heavily on you today.”
Devon jumped and brushed away the settlement interface at the sound of Hezbek’s voice. Despite the thump-shuffle the woman made as she crossed slate paving stones with the help of her walking stick, Devon hadn’t heard the woman approach.
“I guess it’s pretty hard to feel good about our chances right now.”
Hezbek patted Devon’s shoulder before planting her walking stick and grabbing it with both hands to help her settle onto the bench. Her breath came out in a puff when she touched down.
“I must admit, I’ve seen many battles in my time. Wars that raged back and forth like angry waves on a shore. I don’t recall a time when the odds were so uneven. But we’re still alive, aren’t we? As long as that’s true, we haven’t lost.”
Easing her legs straight, the medicine woman crossed them at the ankles. A faint grimace crinkled the area around her eyes when one of her knees cracked.
“Have you slept, Hezbek?” Devon asked as she swiveled to give the woman her full attention.
Hezbek had tipped her head back against the wall of the building which formed a backrest for the bench. Sun fell on her wrinkled face, etching the lines even deeper. She looked at Devon through the corner of her half-closed eyes. “I’m debating whether I should lie to you.”
“I asked Emmaree to make sure there is enough bedding set aside to make you comfortable.”
“And extra padding for those who were injured in the evacuation, too. Emmaree told me. There are more scrapes and bruises than I expected, to be honest. For those who aren’t losing health over time due to a severe wound, I’m apparently supposed to let their natural regeneration provide the healing. Only so many bandages to go around.”
“I’m glad she’s properly conveying my orders,” Devon said.
“Delivered as if they were commands from Veia herself, and Emmaree the chosen prophet.”
Devon laughed as she thought of the little halfling woman browbeating people into following her directions. Emmaree had already fled the demons once, making a desperate voyage across the Noble Sea with a ragged group of survivors—the last remaining population of her home continent. They’d arrived with fewer supplies than Stonehaven’s evacuees had brought to Ishildar, and somehow they’d managed to carve out a new home in the swamp surrounding the Fortress of Shadows. The woman’s survival expertise could be critical in the days ahead.
Loosely clasping the walking stick, Hezbek’s hands were pale beneath the scattering of age spots. Her mouth lay slack rather than curling into the faint smile she so often wore.
“I don’t suppose I could just order you to go rest,” Devon said.
“You’re smarter than you look.”
Devon sighed. “Well then, maybe I can get your advice on what you think our next steps should be.”
“Maybe you could. Though I don’t know whether I have any insights you haven’t already explored. The plan to keep Stonehaven’s status contested by making attack runs seems to be working. Or at least, delaying the change in control. There is an issue that concerns me. Two, actually.”
“Oh?”
“If we find ourselves in a position to fight for real, more than these quick attacks by your starborn friends that we expect to end in death anyway…Well, I hate to say it, but we’re critically low on potions. While evacuating Stonehaven, I used all but two of the Savanna Mana Potions, and I didn’t have bag space to bring any of the other varieties. Perhaps my contributions aren’t as dramatic as when I was a working sorceress, but I like to think my elixirs provide some edge to our combatants.”
“Are you kidding? They’re indispensable. Marmie told me recently that they’re the main reason her adventuring supplies shop stayed in business. And I heard some other starborn talking about them. Complaining, actually, because even though some of the starborn have the Alchemy - Potions skill, they can’t produce anything to compete with your concoctions.”
Hezbek’s lips twitched in a faint smile before she managed to contain it. “Well, I’m pleased to hear that I can still offer something to the cause. Except now, I have nothing but the empty jars and vials from the potions I used in the evacuation. If there were any way to gather more ingredients, though…”
Hezbek is offering you a quest: Component gathering, now with DANGER. (repeatable)
The ingredients for Hezbek’s potions are out there, in the savanna, under the hooves of hundreds of demons. Make your way out from the city to get her the good stuff.
Objective: Obtain 5 x Termite Mound Chunk, 3 x Acacia Sap, 5 x Pollinated Wild Rye Stalks, 1 x Wild Yam Tuber
Reward: Choose 2 x Savanna Health Potion - Major or 1 x Savanna Mana Potion - Mid
Accept? Y/N
Devon nodded and accepted the quest. Back in Stonehaven when she’d made notes about the defense of the area, one of her action items had been to get her army leveled up. Ingredient hunting might not be the most effective XP, especially since groups would probably wipe as often as they found quest components, but she’d still get the benefit of the two birds, one stone thing by sending parties out.
“You don’t mind if I share the quest with others, do you?”
Crow’s feet deepened in the corners of Hezbek’s eyes when she smiled. “Of course not, child.”
“So what was the other thing? You said two issues were bothering you.”
The woman’s smile immediately fell away. “I’ll be honest. You weren’t the first person I thought of when I considered asking for help getting the ingredients.”
Devon blinked, unsure how to take that comment. “Okay…”
“And not just because you’ve got a whole settlement’s worth of people to look after. I happen to know that your Stealth isn’t as high as one might hope for someone of your experience.”
“I did finally get it almost to Tier 2…”
Hezbek chuckled, but the laugh lacked joy. “I know you’ve tried. I’ve seen your…training. It’s somewhat reminiscent of a strange dance they perform in Rimeshore when the winds carry mind-altering spores from lichen growing on the northern glaciers.”
“Okay, maybe we can just move on. Who did you think would do a better job?”
“You know I’ve used Hazel to gather components quite often. She usually picks them up on her scouting ventures. It would certainly be easier to obtain this stuff if someone could move undetected among the demons rather than cutting their way across the savanna.”
“And?”
Hezbek’s brow furrowed. “And, well, the problem is I can’t find her.”
Dev
on sat straighter, eyes shooting toward the exit to the courtyard and the street leading to the Temple Square where her followers had set up their makeshift camp. “Nowhere?”
“I’ve asked around. Now, it’s entirely possible that she’s out in the city somewhere, maybe continuing the search for advantages. But I thought you should know.”
Devon thought back to the last time she’d seen the little scout. When Aijal had raised the alarm about the player camp, Hazel had dashed off, swung up astride her windsteed mount, and set off at a gallop across the savanna. In the chaos that followed, Devon didn’t think she’d glimpsed the woman anywhere.
She yanked open her settlement interface and paged over to the section listing Stonehaven’s Advanced NPCs. Her spine relaxed when she saw Hazel’s name still listed. If the woman had died in the demon attack, there would be some sort of status update near her name, right? Advanced NPCs could be resurrected, but it was kind of hard for the manager of a settlement to accomplish that if they didn’t know the NPC was dead.
Still, her experience losing followers was pretty limited. She’d never actually checked whether her assumption was true.
Hezbek’s hands dropped from her walking staff when she saw Devon’s reaction. Clearly, the woman had been hoping Devon had a ready answer about Hazel’s whereabouts.
“Well, I suppose we ought to formalize her absence as a problem as well,” the medicine woman said.
Hezbek is offering you a quest: Hazel’s Fate
Find out what has happened to Hazel. If she’s alive, bring her back. If not…well, better hope that the Shrine to Veia remains under your control or that the Veian Temple provides NPC resurrection.
Objective: Determine Hazel’s location.
Reward: 25000 Experience
Accept? Y/N
Devon accepted as soon as the quest text flashed onto her interface.
Chapter Fifteen
“HERE,” DEVON SAID as she thrust out a package. A leather cord neatly tied the stacked items together.
Fabio looked up from beneath lowered brows, holding her eyes in what she assumed was supposed to be a smoldering stare. Rolling one muscular shoulder and then the other, he pushed up from his totally-prostrate-on-the-ground bow, planting his tanned hands on the flagstones. Keeping his eyes locked with hers, he slid a foot forward so that he was crouched kind of like a runner on the starting blocks. Then he slowly rose until he towered over her, way, way, way too close.
She shoved the package forward again, jamming it into his actively flexing abs as she took a step back. Thank goodness she’d requested to meet him in the relative privacy of the courtyard where Hezbek had found her exploring her new settlement options. She’d never be able to have this conversation with Jeremy and Chen clowning in the background or just rolling on the floor laughing at her situation.
Of course, she hoped Prince Kenjan—he had a third nickname now, Prince Ken Doll—hadn’t gotten the wrong idea about the private location. She felt a horrified expression creeping onto her face and pushed it away.
With one of those low throat growls, the man accepted the package and tugged at the tie, the corded muscles rippling across his forearm as his fingers worked. Midway through untying the string, he paused and tossed his mane, the motion ending in another obnoxiously long stare.
As he shook out the items, a loose-fitting tunic and a pair of drawstring cloth pants, he stared in confusion, then turned a faintly hurt gaze on her.
Devon coughed up her prepared lines. “After assuming the position of Keeper, I consulted with my lawyer and historian on how I might best resurrect the ancient customs between Ishildar and her vassal societies. Greel was able to uncover information about ceremonial garb that was gifted by the Keeper to the Ishildar’s most esteemed vassals, something to mark them as favored whenever they visited the city.”
She forced herself to keep eye contact. It wasn’t even a complete lie; Greel had assured her he could find—or forge—a document with similar meaning. As long as—in his words—he didn’t have to have his vision burned out by the sight of so much oiled man-flesh whenever the ridiculous man brought his griffon in for a landing.
She flashed Prince Kenjan a hopeful smile.
The man seemed to be turning her words over in his head. Or maybe he was trying to figure out how one dealt with the concept of “clothing.”
“My queen,” he said at last. “You honor me beyond measure.” He started to fall prostrate again, but Devon snapped out a hand and caught his elbow. Kenjan froze, flexed his abs again, and stared at her hand as if it were some long-sought-after treasure. Devon covered her recoil by pretending to, just then, notice a thread on the tunic that she quickly plucked.
“So listen, I was hoping to talk to you about the resources your people can offer us.” She gestured in the direction of Temple Square. “We weren’t able to bring many supplies when we evacuated. Ishildar would be forever in your debt for any food you can spare. And I’d like to know more about the region where you live. Our forces need somewhere to train if we’re to gain the experience we need to stand against our enemies.”
He gave more throat rumbles as he considered, but he seemed distracted by the garments in his hands, a quizzical expression on his face.
“Do you need—I can help you get those on if you need.”
With apparent relief, he shoved the clothes toward her. “Thank you, my queen. I admit…I’ve never… Well, this is my first time.”
Devon stared at him for a moment.
“You’ve seriously never worn clothes? I mean… Seriously?”
He blinked as if it were a strange question. “Well, I should say it’s my first time as an adult—at least when it comes to real garb, not the royal bindings and togas the servants wrap us in for formal audiences. I wore swaddling garments as a baby, and all Skevalli youth wear rompers while at play. But it’s customary for fighting-age members of the royal family to leave our flesh exposed. As you might have noticed, our sacred nut oils increase in potency with every percentage point of skin left bare. Even when we aren’t actively defending our homes, royal fighters must constantly train, guiding our steeds through breakneck races in the chasms, crossing swords with the fearsome basilisks that threaten our commoners.” When he mentioned the basilisks, his eyes narrowed, and his cheek twitched in apparent anger.
So not a joke, then. Weird.
Devon shook the wrinkles from the trousers, shoved her hands inside the waistband, and held the pants open. The prince seemed momentarily perplexed, but then nodded and stepped a foot through the first leg hole. He planted a hand on her shoulder for balance as he switched feet, and Devon squeaked, cranking her head to the side to avoid getting a face full of loincloth. The moment he released his grip on her shoulder, she dropped the pants and scuttled back out of range of his…loins.
The man stood blinking with the pants around his knees, and with a nod of encouragement, she pantomimed pulling them up. Once his trousers were fastened, there was just the problem of the tunic. Devon looked up at his towering physique and then raised the shirt in her arms as if judging whether she could even slip it over his head. The math didn’t seem like it would work, so she decided to talk him through it instead.
“So this hole is for your head, and these are for your arms, and you sort of just stick all three through then scooch the shirt over your body. Got it?”
“I confess I’m just concerned that I’ll look like a fool in front of you, my liege.” Fabio took the garment and cocked his head. “It doesn’t matter which side ends up in the front?”
“Well, actually it usually does, but these particular ceremonial items are intended to fit either way.” Devon didn’t add that she had an unfortunate amount of experience in wearing her clothing backward, inside out, and once in the case of a hoody sweatshirt, upside down. Like an idiot, she’d managed to shrug it on too quickly, only to find out that later that the hood had been dangling over her butt for the
whole commuter bus ride out to Fort Kolob.
Prince Kenjan did as she said, accomplishing the task with more ease than she would expect given his confessed lack of practice. Maybe he was just nervous. Of course, despite getting the shirt over his head with relative competence, he took an inordinately long time to pull the cloth down over his abs. Which were still flexed, of course. Didn’t his muscles get tired?
Once he was safely covered, Devon gestured toward the bench where she’d sat with Hezbek.
“Care if we sit? I don’t want to gain extra Fatigue. I’m putting together a search party after this.”
He followed her to the bench without hesitation. Once seated, he turned to her with an expression of genuine concern. “A search party?”
She sighed and nodded. “Stonehaven’s scout is missing. I last saw her at the start of the demon attack.”
He raised his hand and seemed to be planning to lay it on her knee in a gesture of sympathy, but he reconsidered and clapped it against his own knee instead. “I’m so sorry to hear that. If it’s any help, I can take Proudheart up and search from above.”
Proudheart, huh? That wasn’t cliche at all…
“Thank you. That would be great, actually. All I know is that she took off into the savanna when we first saw the smoke from the demons’ hellfire. She was riding a windsteed mount, and if she’s still out there somewhere, she’ll have a war ostrich by her side.”
“Pardon? Did you say she was astride a windsteed?”
Devon’s eyes widened as she spun to face him. “What? Have you seen her?”
He shook his head quickly. “Sorry. I haven’t. But you are aware of the windsteeds’ special powers, right?”
Of course. Devon pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “The herd can sense one another. As long as Hazel and her mount are still together, another windsteed should be able to guide us right to her. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”
Prince Kenjan smiled, and it seemed more genuine than his smoldering looks. Needless to say, she preferred the newest expression.
Throne of the Ancients: A LitRPG Adventure (Stonehaven League Book 6) Page 10
