Eloria's Beginning: A LitRPG/GameLit Epic (Enter The louVRe Book 1)

by Tom Hansen

  Scarhoof thought he knew where the bull was headed in this conversation. “So, what you’re telling me…” he picked up the shard from the table again, tossing it into the air a couple times, “…is that this is a stalactite? Why is it so clear then?”

  Haliin looked at him, then back at the bouncing shard. “Oh, because they aren’t stone, I think you misunderstood. You see, while stalactites are dissolved stone that has accreted over millennia, these are magic.”

  “You mean this is dissolved magic?” Scarhoof leaned back and let out a whooping laugh. “How can magic be dissolved and come out like stone?”

  Haliin looked stricken and turned for his groove. Scarhoof jumped up, putting a hand on the bull’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend, I’m just trying to wrap my head around this whole thing.”

  Haliin stopped, then turned slowly back to his guest. “It’s okay, I just get nervous around others and I think better while pacing.”

  Scarhoof glanced to the groove in the carpet. “I see that. Have you thought about replacing the rug from time to time so that you don’t wear through it? Or maybe a better idea is to turn it around.”

  Haliin glanced at the rug, then back at Scarhoof. “That’s a great idea!”

  “Well, tell you what, we finish talking about the shards, and I’ll help you rearrange furniture in this room, so we can move the rug. But once we are done here, I need to head out to meet my trainer, and we can talk more when I get back. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  Wandering the Eternal Plains in the middle of the summertime, with the sun directly overhead, Scarhoof began to remember just how unbearable his homeland could be. He’d had spent so long in Sunset Cove that he forgot about the insane heat that came from being so far away from the ocean.

  He scouted the north east area, looking for a small hut, hoping he wasn’t lost.

  Everything as far as he could see was trees, rocks, and more dirt. The occasional rodent or small bird darted from shade to shade in the hunt for better protection from the relentless heat. What have we done to deserve this torture? The cracked red clay seemed to go on forever and was starting to give him a headache.

  “Where are you?”

  He pulled up his quest log again, to consult as to where he was supposed to go.

  “North east, past the large tree.” He looked around. “They’re all large trees!”

  The bulbous baobab trees were more prevalent on the northern side of the Plains, taking over for the more scraggly acacias to the south. Being this close to the mountains may have been the reason for it, but no matter what the geologic reasons, Scarhoof had preferred being in the south, despite it being closer to the swamp.

  Then he saw it. In the distance, maybe a mile or two, was something distinct to the landscape. It was a large chasm cut into the earth, a fixture of the Eternal Plains, particularly to the north where floods occasionally surged over the foothills. Over time they cut into the earth. The constant heat cycles dried up the water, cracking the earth, and leaving large fissures. It was one of these fissures, or crags, that hid the entrance to Sunset Cove.

  He hoofed it in that direction and was finally able to see what he’d been wandering for two hours to find.

  South of the Tau’moor were a series of rolling foothills. Most of these were covered in green grass from the runoff, but because of the small hills and valleys, the water rarely made it past and into the Eternal Plains unless there was a particularly heavy snowfall the previous winter. Set into one of these small hills was a window, a round door, and a small porch made from assorted clay tiles.

  No wonder it had been hard to find, it wasn’t a house, it was an actual hill that had the face sheared off to make room for a door.

  Reaching it, he knocked. The dense grain was darker than acacia, with a tight and unique grain. It wasn’t a wood he was familiar with, but he seemed to have seen this particular variety before.

  Rusty hinges squeaked as an elderly male Tau’raj opened the door. Light from the Plains poured into the space under the hill, illuminating the old bull, who squinted from the intrusive sunlight.

  His hide was a patchwork of browns and yellows, and his fur was completely white with age. He sported the longest beard Scarhoof had ever seen on a Tau’raj, possibly rivaling that of the Dwarves across the sea. It was braided and adorned with wooden beads and small metal figurines.

  “Eh? What you want?”

  Scarhoof saluted the old bull. “Yanasi, Tau’rol, I seek the Shaman Trainer.”

  Chapter 23

  “Sit.” The old bull pointed at a lone stool in the sparse domicile.

  Despite being buried into a hill, the home was rather quaint, featuring plaster walls and high arching wooden pillars to keep the dirt at bay.

  After coming in from the sweltering heat of the Plains, the air was practically frigid. Scarhoof suddenly felt very underdressed in this room, and sweating as he was, didn’t want to mess anything up.

  He stood politely to the side as the old bull rummaged around inside a cabinet, finally producing a teapot.

  “Fill this.” His voice was stern but not unkind. He had a surety about him, despite his snappy way of speaking. He shoved the pot at Scarhoof then indicated a doorway set in the back wall.

  Scarhoof passed through the doorway, the temperature plummeting with each step as he progressed further into the hillside. He walked down a short hallway, passing a couple of doors. At the end was an arch leading to a dark and ominous room.

  Inside was a pool of water housed in a large wooden tub. The ceiling looked different in here. Small drops of water fell about every 10 seconds into the pool. He dipped the pot in, filling it about two-thirds and headed back to the front room.

  “Here.”

  The old bull grabbed two teacups off a shelf and handed one to Scarhoof, then pointed at the stool. “Sit.”

  Scarhoof finally sat, the cool air having removed most of his built-up body heat. He was actually hoping for some of the cool water to quench his thirst but the old Tau’raj waved his hands over the pot with a practiced manner. The old bull’s fingertips glowed a deep crimson and the pot instantly began to sing and steam.

  Yeow!

  Scarhoof shifted his hands to the handle now that the entire pot of water was boiling, his palm still irritated at the sudden temperature increase.

  Scarhoof stared dumbly at the pot. If the Tau’raj was a Shaman trainer, then how was he able to command fire magic? Was he even the correct trainer? Maybe this was the wrong location?

  “Well, you going to pour?” The old bull frowned, looking at his empty teacup with a petulant glare.

  Scarhoof got his wits about him and poured them both some hot water.

  The old bull scrutinized him, his yellowed eyes darting back and forth as he took in all the details of Scarhoof’s face.

  “You are old.”

  A snarky reply danced on the tip of Scarhoof’s tongue, begging to be released. It wasn’t like the guy didn’t have him beat. Double if not more.

  “I am. But I have to ask if I have the correct location? Are you the Shaman trainer?”

  The old bull clucked his tongue. “So many questions for one seeking the assistance of a stranger.” He tipped his head back and drank down the entire cup of steaming water, then poured himself another glass. “Drink, it will hydrate you.”

  Scarhoof picked up the slightly cooled glass and took a sip.

  “Warm water better for your body.” The old bull pounded his aged chest with a fist. “More like the temperature of the body, absorbed faster. If you want to combat dehydration, drink hot; faster than cold.”

  Scarhoof remembered hearing something about this decades ago, but he’d lived in Sunset Cove for so long he’d forgotten.

  “Now, yes, I am the Shaman trainer. My name is Helu Hillbender.”

  Scarhoof smiled. “Fitting name.”

  The old bull returned a sly smile. “Ditto to you, Scarhoof.”

 
“You know my name?”

  The old bull grinned. “I know many things about many things.”

  Scarhoof politely smiled at the response.

  “So, you want to follow the Way?”

  Scarhoof nodded. “Yes, Sir. I recently leveled up and would like to learn about my new skill, Yantra.”

  The old bull nodded his head. “Ahh, Yantra. Good basic spells with so many uses, but I’m more interested in your eyes and the fact that I feel Spirit raining off your body. Why are you really here?”

  Scarhoof shrugged. “I’ve come to learn. How to cast Yantras, and anything else you can teach. I’ve not really seen much combat and would like to learn.”

  The old bull cocked an eye at him. “Combat?”

  Scarhoof nodded, confused as to whether or not he should elaborate, but before he could do so, Hillbender kept talking.

  “The fact that you automatically think of combat as the only means of interacting with your innate Shaman powers tells me a lot about you. You are a soldier?”

  Affirming the question, Scarhoof replied. “I am, but I’ve been guarding—”

  The old bull put up a hand to stop him. “Once a soldier, always a soldier. So much bloodshed. So much violence, and too many people thinking they know the right way to resolve problems.”

  His eyes widened, staring so intently that it made Scarhoof nervous.

  “If I’m going to teach you, you have to understand that violence is only sometimes the answer. I’m not a pacifist, but I think too often we’re swayed by carnal desires like greed, envy, revenge, and lust. Combating these and balancing them with peace, tranquility, and harmony is important. Too much of our world is spent in these pursuits, we need more heroes who will help bring balance, give back and fill up, rather than tear down.”

  Scarhoof nodded. He’d heard stuff like this before, mostly from Nitene. As a soldier, it was kill or be killed but she had helped open his mind to a third method, an alternate path. Spiritmother also seemed to reward him with additional buffs for finding those alternate paths. Though he still wasn’t sure what +1 Spirit meant.

  It occurred to him that each time he’d sought out training for his class, it usually started with a lecture. Hopefully this time he could just get down to learning the spells and be on his way. He wanted to get back to Whistling Pass and start working on researching the shards.

  “Good. Well, come below with me, and we can begin. The old bull turned toward the side exit which had a set of stairs leading further down into the ground.

  Scarhoof watched him begin to descend the stairs, realizing that despite his old age, Hillbender seemed more spry than he was with his lame leg.

  Pushing back jealousy and irritation, Scarhoof followed behind.

  “Oh, and Scarhoof,” the old bull turned to eye him, a single bushy white eyebrow cocked to the side. “In case you were wondering how I know your name, I received a letter this morning from Nitene, telling me to train you up in the Way.” He tapped his head with a single index finger. “You would have never figured that one out if I hadn’t told you, huh?”

  After a few steps down, the stairs began to curve, into the spacious area below. The room in which they descended turned out to be a large cylindrical basement that Scarhoof surmised was built entirely for the purposes of training.

  The air was a little bit cooler down here, which he supposed was a good thing if you were down here to train. The floor was a type of fibrous wood that had a lot of give and bounce to it.

  Along the back wall opposite from the stairs were a couple practice dummies, something he was beginning to think that all the trainers had.

  “Now, let’s see what you have in you.”

  The whistle of the bull’s attack didn’t register until it was too late.

  Something hard and long struck the back of his knees, sweeping his legs out from under him and sending him sprawling to the ground.

  He was glad the wooden floor had some give. This was going to be painful.

  “Get up soldier boy, we’re going again!”

  Hours later, Scarhoof leaned, panting against the stairs, trying to recover from all the abuse. Hillbender had hit him with a regeneration spell that not only restored his stamina, but was also gave him a tiny bit of feeling back in his leg.

  He scratched at his leg slowly, feeling a sensation that he hadn’t in two decades. It was faint, but so unusual that he couldn’t focus on anything else.

  The bruises on his arms and legs slowly faded and the large one on his stomach quickly turned a sickly green before fading away over the course of a couple minutes.

  “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Hillbender was indeed quite spry for his age, beating Scarhoof soundly for the first dozen matches. Eventually, patterns began to develop that Scarhoof was able to exploit, and the last three matches had been his to win. Three must have been the magic number because Hillbender called an end to the spar and ran upstairs to bring down tea.

  He handed a steaming cup to Scarhoof, who took it willingly, savoring the hot liquid cascading down the back of his scratchy throat.

  “Is this how all training matches are going to be?”

  Hillbender snorted. “What else would they be? Wave a wand and magic particles envelop you and poof, you know new skills?”

  He winked then sipped his tea. “Poppycock! Hard work, effort, perseverance, and especially discomfort are what garner improvements. If you go through life in constant comfort, you come out the other end exactly what you were, a pillow, and a stinky useless one at that. No. A real trainer makes you train. Pain is the only way to improve.”

  Scarhoof pondered the bull’s admonishments. They would get along well. Still, he needed to remember this for next time, beat the fur out of each other first, then get on to the magic.

  As-if reading his thoughts, Hillbender put down his cup and snapped his fingers. “Now, on to Yantras.”

  Scarhoof finished off his tea and stood opposite his new trainer.

  “Yantras are, at their core, spells. But they are different than the verbalizations that we use to cast most spells. They are physical definitions of power, etched in Spirit, attached to a specific location.”

  “To protect it?”

  Hillbender scrunched his face at Scarhoof for a second before nodding. “Among other things. There are many Yantras, but the basic ones I can teach you at this stage are only attached to you, the Shaman. As you gain in skill and power, you will eventually be able to perform them on other objects, but for right now, let me show you the two basic Yantras. Pay attention.”

  Hillbender put both hands out, interlocking his fingers and began speaking.

  Just like before, the different syllables were immediately noticeable to Scarhoof, but he ignored the desire to dissect the language and tried to pay attention to the spell.

  With a burst of power that surged through the trainer, the ground beneath Hillbender glowed. Lines twisted and looped creating a mosaic of glowing white geometric shapes on the dark wooden floor. Around the edges and through the middle were dozens of symbols in a language he couldn’t decipher.

  Hillbender took a few steps and the lines followed him. “See how it is attached to me?” He continued walking around the room while the Yantra line faded, eventually disappearing entirely.

  “Does it not last long?”

  Hillbender kept walking. “No, the effect is still there. Do you notice it?”

  Scarhoof tried looking around Hillbender to see if he noticed anything different. “Sorry, I don’t see anything.”

  “You’re not supposed to, dirthorn, it’s an effect, centered on me. Do you see anything different about me?”

  Scarhoof studied the bull’s gate. Something was different about him, like his walking motions were somehow modified.

  “You’re walking faster?”

  Hillbender stopped, snapped his fingers and grinned. “Exactly. The first Yantra is an area of effect for speed. It will affect anyone in its radius that is in
your party as well.”

  Scarhoof received an invitation to party with Hillbender, which he accepted without hesitation. Suddenly a buff appeared in his view.

  Effect Status: Pace Yantra:

  Increases all movement speed by 10%. Range: 5 Meters.

  “Does it work while in Fourhoof?”

  Hillbender nodded. “Of course. Ready to try it yourself?”

  It only took him two tries to learn the proper hand positions and he didn’t flub the verbal part at all, garnering a nod from Hillbender.

  As the Yantra took effect, the spell cascaded through his body starting from the top of his head and surged out his hooves and onto the floor. The magic spread out almost instantly to create the Yantra.

  The sensation of this spell was quite different from the ocean-like effects of Mending Force, or the surging of Spirit Shock. It was somewhere between Spirit Shock and Tendrils. It had an intense burst of power that started and stopped almost immediately, not lingering. It was also much more intellectual. It was like the feeling of using a very highbrow word instead of one common folks used. It was powerful, but not in a muscular way.

  The Pace Yantra left his skin tense and jumpy, but the effect soon faded to the background. Getting around 10% faster was an advantage no matter how you viewed it, and the mana cost to maintain it was so negligible that he would only ever need to worry about turning it off unless he was in extended combat.

  “Now, on to the other.”

  The next one, a defensive spell called Mitigation Yantra that reduced all incoming physical damage by 10%, made Scarhoof’s hide tingle all over. The skin on his arms and chest took on a different, thicker feel, like the pads on his hands.

  “The important thing to remember is that in order for this Yantra to effect the members of your party, they must remain inside of the Yantra’s boundaries, which move with you. One day, depending on talents, you may gain the ability to lock the Yantra onto a physical location, like a totem, or another member of your party, and anything inside that aura will maintain that effect, but for now, it’s attached to you.”