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

by Tom Hansen

  The mention of talents sparked something inside Scarhoof’s mind. For the past few levels he’d seen the messages accumulating that he was gaining talent points, but they weren’t available to be used until level ten. He asked Hillbender about this.

  “Ahh yes, talents. You are picking up on these spells so easily I forget you are only level six. Talent points are ways to augment abilities, like increased range, damage, or duration, but they usually come at a cost, or tradeoff.

  “Talents allow you to specialize into certain strengths or use abilities that you might not otherwise use if they hadn’t been modified. For instance, you remember me heating the tea earlier? That is because I have augmented my Spirit abilities to have Fire talents. Fire talents are inefficient for a Shaman because they use so much mana, but I can now use certain Fire abilities despite our race’s innate Spirit affinity.”

  Scarhoof took it all in. This was all so new, and the memories of first being introduced to these concepts stuck in his mind. It had been but a few days, and already he felt like he was a completely different person.

  He thought back to the one day when everything changed for him, the Battle of Shiprock. He remembered everything about that battle until he lost consciousness. Every scream, every sensation. The crunch of his leg bones, the acid eating into his skin, the screaming Nagos that he now knew to be Grath’gar.

  He cleared his mind. There would be a time and a place to delve into past problems. He would have questions, and demand answers.

  “Everything okay?”

  Scarhoof nodded. “Yes, just something Spiritmother told me at the last bonfire.”

  The trainer nodded, a wistful look in his eyes. “I don’t get out much lately, so I held my own bonfire here, up on top of the house.”

  Tau’raj rarely spoke of their talks with Her, and even bringing it up brought an uncomfortableness to the room.

  Hillbender must have sensed this and slapped his hands together. “Scarhoof, I have one more task for you to complete.”

  “What is that?”

  “Since you’re so good at retrieving water for me, I have a quest that I think may help shed light on your path. Normally, rituals such as this are reserved for level eight or above, but I have a feeling this may be a good thing for you. I see it in your eyes, and not just the milky glow, I see the haunted look you carry. I see the way you look around, taking in everything, like it is the first time you have ever seen it.”

  Scarhoof looked askance. “But it is.”

  “Is it?”

  The reply raised the hair on his mane.

  What was Hillbender getting on about?

  “I’m sorry, guru, but what do you mean by your question? Is it the first time I’ve seen this room, or are you talking about something else?” He couldn’t explain it, but the question terrified him, and previous memories that he had just shoved away threatened to flood back.

  Hillbender smiled wryly. “You look around my home like it is the first time you have ever been here, but I remember you coming here decades ago, back when you were but a lad. Your father created this floor, and you and he spent days carefully laying the wooden planks. He even gave me that fancy door that you knocked on.”

  Scarhoof searched through his memories, coming up blank. The tightness in his stomach spread, and he got a sour taste in his mouth as his body reacted to the conundrum.

  “I … I don’t remember that, but something tells me I should.”

  Hillbender stood. “I know, and that is why I think now is the time for you to go on a journey in order to understand more about yourself.” He walked closer, grabbing Scarhoof around the shoulders. “Again, I see the confusion in your eyes. The fear can be overwhelming, but once you know more about your future and your past, I hope to reconcile these fears. Sometimes it is just the threat of the unknown, or the unplanned. Either way, we need to get past this.”

  Quest Available! Mudder’s Milk:

  In order to learn more about the Shaman class, Helu Hillbender has asked you to retrieve the Mother’s Milk from the end of the Horned Crag.

  Chapter 24

  The Shaman trainer handed him a waterskin and patted him on the back. “Don’t stay down there too long. There might be a monsoon coming soon and you don’t want to be caught unawares at the bottom of a crag when the floods come.”

  Scarhoof nodded, still reeling from the quest he was just given. He glanced up at the darkening clouds collecting to the north around the tips of the Tau’moor. He would need to hurry.

  Before him was the largest fissure in the ground he had ever seen. Three to four times larger than the entrance to Sunset Cove, it was called The Horned Crag, and it was famous in Tau’raj lore.

  Legend held that thousands of years ago, when the Spiritmother first ventured from the heart of the world, she found the Plains so pleasant that she sat down to enjoy the warm breeze and boundless beauty. She enjoyed it so much that she laid down to take a nap. When she awoke, the ground was so fertile that she was now pregnant.

  Having found herself pregnant, she decided to stay here so that she could birth her infants in the most beautiful spot she had ever seen. Months went by and she eventually bore ten calves. They took to the Plains like it was custom made for them. She taught them to dance and sing and they would entertain her for hours on end.

  One day, her eldest tripped on one of the rocks. He fell horns first, causing a massive gash to rend through the ground as he skidded to a stop. The distraught Spiritmother cried over her lost infant’s body as he slowly decayed into the crag. She tried everything to revive him, but nothing worked. In her grief, her milk caused a small spring at the base of the crag to excrete Mother’s Milk.

  Venturing deep into the crag and obtaining Mother’s Milk was said to be a rite of passage for Shamans, something he had never thought would affect him. But life has a way of changing your priorities at the worst possible times.

  Scarhoof swallowed. Each step grew cooler and cooler as the walls rose up to protect him from the harsh rays of the sun.

  There was no easy way down into the crag and after a short decline into the shade, there was only sheer drop-offs. A rickety rope ladder hung into the void at the lowest part of the slope. He doubted it would support his weight.

  After a concerned look at Hillbender, who returned with a curiously calm nod, Scarhoof took a long breath to calm his nerves, grabbed onto the ladder, and hoisted himself out and over the precarious edge.

  Before he knew it, he was completely enveloped in darkness as the temperature of the air immediately plummeted to tolerable levels.

  The air smelled musty and a little sickly sweet. He wrinkled his nose and wished he’d thought to pack a scarf to wrap around his snout. He would have to endure the climb down before he could do something about it.

  The first few rungs seemed sturdy enough, but soon they became slick with slimy lichen. His arms burned as he held onto the rope so tight that it drained all the blood from his hands.

  Slowly and carefully, he lowered himself down further into the darkness, taking no chances as he neared the bottom.

  Sunset Cove’s entrance crag was much more dry than this one, probably due to the lack of constant mountain runoff and groundwater that continued to seep in through the walls all around him. Other than the creak of the rope ladder and the huff of his breath, it was nearly silent down here. The absence of sound made the smallest movement or drop of water seem loud.

  When he finally reached the bottom, his hands trembled so bad, and his muscles were so tense that he sat next to the ladder for a few minutes to calm down. The cold seeped into his body while he waited for the shaking to subside.

  Finally, he managed to stand on wobbly legs and slowly observed his surroundings. High above him, at ground level, the tiny fissure in the blackness shone brilliantly with the brightness of the sun, but alas, almost none of it made it this far down. Perhaps if the sun were directly overhead it would be enough to illuminate but now it would be of
no assistance to him.

  He pulled a gloworb from his pack and vigorously rubbed the outside until a soft red light emanated from its core. Holding it up in front of him he was finally able to see his surroundings.

  Down here, the crag was surprisingly roomy, able to fit two to three full-grown bulls shoulder to shoulder with room to spare. The ground was soft and sandy from the constantly eroding walls. He wondered how thick the sand layer was and how far down the true bottom of the crag went.

  The walls weren’t as coated in lichen down here as they had been closer to the top. Maybe because of the lack of light. This deep it was snails, lizards, and the occasional fungus or mushroom growing out of the walls.

  The ground was a different matter, though, and the sight instantly gave him chills. Littering the sand was hundreds of white bones of various animals, some were small humanoids, others were fowl or small mammals, but still others were definitely Tau’raj.

  He took a tense solemn moment to mourn the loss of his brethren, wondering how they had befallen their fate.

  Further down the crag, the sand sloped downward, and he began to walk down the sloping sand as he peered at every nook and shadow.

  As he ventured further in, the bones continued to accumulate. Some had shattered legs or arms, still others seemed fully intact, but all of them had one thing in common.

  None of them had flesh. Nor were any of the humanoid shapes wearing clothes or weapons. A chill ran up his spine as he realized something down here was possibly eating the flesh and removing the trinkets and baubles.

  Every corner was a trap, and every shadow a looming predator as the fur on his arms and legs stood on edge along with his nerves.

  He removed his bo from its holster and quickly bound the gloworb to his leather helmet with some lashings. He realized now that the desire to cover his mouth with a cloth had long-been forgotten, nerves and the ability to breathe easier suddenly became more important to him than reducing the smell.

  Besides, now that the lichen was nonexistent, the smell really wasn’t too bad.

  He continued onward spurred on by his Pace Yantra, while winding around the occasional stone pillar in the middle of the walkway, a piece of stone that hadn’t been carved away by the thousands of years of water erosion.

  Eventually, a new smell arose. It wasn’t sweet, nor was it a bad smell at all. It was stony.

  It reminded him of the overwhelming mineral taste of the liquid found in Misty Cave when he had been thrown into there by what seemed his mortal enemy that refused to leave him alone.

  Grath’gar. He hadn’t thought about that bastard in a while, and it was all he could do to fight back the overwhelming urge to punch one of the walls.

  He needed to keep going. Finish this quest, then head back and help decipher the secrets of the shards. He needed to get back to Whistling Pass.

  The smell continued to grow stronger, to the point that he could taste it in the air now. The air had grown thick and heavy as he continued on his quest, sticking to his fur and coating his leather skirt.

  The sun above had long-since disappeared, the guiding sliver of light that was his only connection to the hot desert above.

  He wished he was back up there and not down here in the soupy miasma of whatever smelled like rotted leather and dissolved stone.

  Despite the thickness in the air, it was actually getting easier to see and Scarhoof suddenly realized that it wasn’t due to the gloworb on his head or hand, but it was because a soft white light emanated around the corner of the next stone outcropping.

  He stopped and looked back from where he came. The fog was so thick that he couldn’t see to the next corner, and the air was so heavy with moisture that he worried he wouldn’t be able to hear anything coming up behind him anyway.

  He took a deep breath, and turned the corner, bo in hand, raised in case he needed to defend himself.

  What he saw made him stop in his tracks.

  It was Helu Hillbender, seated on a small stool. His entire body glowed with a brilliant creme white light.

  At first, Scarhoof was taken aback by the sight of his Shaman trainer but the longer he looked, the more he realized that it wasn’t Hillbender. It was a ghost, or apparition. This version of the Shaman trainer was thinner and younger. Perhaps he was a remnant of a trip taken here long ago and the ghost had merely taken on his persona.

  Scarhoof had heard about these spirits that roamed the overworld, tending to converge on places of strong magical energy. The word he’d learned recently; ley lines, popped into his head and he wondered if this spot was, indeed, a point of powerful magic energy.

  Scarhoof pursed his lips, wondering if talking to a ghost was a good idea. The ghost stood up, hands on hips, and threw his head back as he let forth a raucous laugh.

  “Oh, there you are!” The ghost said, his eyes lighting up in recognition. Only he wasn’t looking at Scarhoof, his gaze was fixed to the side, where another ghostly figure floated directly out of a wall and into view. “I was beginning to wonder what was taking so long. I was about to go look for you.”

  The sound filled the narrow ravine, so loud that it shook dust from the walls that slowly fell through the air. Scarhoof brushed the dust off his shoulder and took a step back, in case the ghost was malignant, readying his weapon.

  The figure, a young cow with some familiar curves, glanced at the young Hillbender before walking past and into another wall. The Hillbender ghost turned and watched her walk away, clicking his tongue at her as her butt sashayed into the stone. Despite not seeing her face, Scarhoof had to admit she was pretty good looking.

  From the stoneface, the hem of a long skirt poked out. The female ghost finally spoke. “Helu, you worry too much. I will be fine, but I must leave.”

  Hillbender took a couple steps toward the wall and the hidden cow. “Leave? You just got here a few days ago, and I barely get to see you anymore. Last time it was nearly a year, how long are you going to be gone this time?”

  A slender ghostly hand poked out of the rock to cup his face. “I cannot say, my dear, but I do have good news. I’m pregnant.”

  Scarhoof stiffened at the words just as much as Hillbender seemed to. Something deep inside of him ached at the words, like he’d heard them before, but when had that been? His only romance had been early on in the army, but she had never visited him in the infirmary and he had never seen her again.

  He shook the memory out of his mind, but not forgetting the sheer terror that had struck him when he heard those words.

  Hillbender didn’t seem to be faring much better, as he reeled from the notion. She withdrew her hand and turned again judging by the back of her skirt spinning into view. “I will be with the Havren, they will be able to help me with the birth, so you need not worry. I will be back, and I promise I will stay after this. There are a handful of things that need to be ironed out with this new treaty. They insist that this cove to the west is one of their most sacred locations and need to investigate a possible foci nearby. I have to go there to scope the place out. I promise I’ll be back shortly after she is born.”

  She rushed out of the wall, pack in one hand, and pecked Hillbender on the cheek before rushing off.

  “Wait!” Hillbender finally seemed to come to his senses. “You said she?”

  The cow spun on her hoof, a great big grin on her face. “Yes, and I want to name her after your sister, if that’s okay.”

  Hillbender nodded, his mouth agape, and the cow blew him a kiss before turning back and walking into the wall from which she came.

  Scarhoof, who found himself hiding behind a large outcropping of stone, took a long slow breath, something mirrored by the ghostly apparition before him.

  Finally, Hillbender spoke. “Nitene is a good name.”

  Scarhoof still couldn’t get over it. Hillbender was Nitene’s father? That must have meant that the buttocks of the cow he was just checking out would have been Eldermother! Scarhoof felt a little dirty for the thought
, but she had been quite the heifer in her day.

  Hillbender had disappeared into a wall shortly after Eldermother had left and Scarhoof continued onward down the crag, mulling over the exchange as he forged further into the abyss.

  The sand continued to slope down, eventually leveling off to a flat stony floor.

  It wasn’t too long until he started smelling the moisture in the air.

  Shortly after the smell of water, he came upon a larger room in the rock. It was so perfectly circular that he couldn’t imagine this had been carved by a horn. This was made by someone.

  The whole maze he’d traversed to get to this point gave him pause as he looked back at where he’d come. How many generations of Tau’raj had plumbed the depths of this ravine until one of them had decided it was time to make a room?

  It was large, at least thirty meters across, and half that tall. Despite its size, it was well-lit by the large pool of milky white liquid in the center.

  Looking at the pool reminded him of his eyes when he’d looked in the mirror. The same ghostly shapes floated round just under the surface.

  He stepped carefully into the room, taking in his surroundings. The air was thick with moisture that clung to his fur, pooling and dripping as he took a cautious step forward. It was bone-chillingly cold, and combined with the water running down his hide, he had to work to keep his teeth from chattering.

  Above all he got the foreboding sense that he was not alone in here. Something watched him from the darkness, possibly more than one.

  The charged air made his fur stand on end as he walked carefully toward the pool. He pulled the container from his satchel and began uncorking. Vibrant blue sparks leapt between his fingers in small painful arcs. The effect reminded him of the Vajra Nitene had wielded a couple evenings ago.

  The emptiness and chill of the room grated on his nerves since there was nothing else to explore, he decided to grab the liquid and get out. He yearned for the oppressive heat of the Plains.