Beastborne- Mark of the Founder

by James T Callum

AGI: 5 (+6)

  INT: 22 (+1)

  MND: 20

  CHR: 5 (+3)

  Regeneration

  HP/hr: 21.7

  SP/hr: 34.9

  MP/hr: 54

  Resistances

  Fire: 0

  Ice: 0

  Wind: 0

  Earth: 0

  Lightning: 0

  Water: 0

  Light: 0

  Dark: 0

  Defensive Properties

  DEF: 31

  MDEF: 10

  Insulation: 23

  Monster Affinity

  Beastmen

  Goblin: 300%

  Arcana

  Shadow: 180%

  Doll: 95%

  Undead

  Aberration: 255%

  Class Affinity

  Oathforger: 97%

  Thief: 68%

  Warrior: 54%

  Survival Skills

  Stealth: 5

  Darkvision: 3

  Survival: 0

  Perception: 11

  Investigation: 7

  Manatree: 0

  Combat Skills

  Improvised Weaponry: 4

  Sword: 6

  Parry: 2

  Magic Skills

  Enfeebling: 6

  Beast Magic: 6

  Crafting Skills

  Social Skills

  Leadership: 11

  Persuasion: 3

  He nearly faltered on his way down, that was so much EXP.

  He noticed his Burden didn’t increase from switching to Beastborne. That was going to be a problem eventually.

  Knowing that aberrations were classified under undead made his skin crawl, even as he utilized their powers for his own gain. It didn’t sit right with him that he was so heavily aligned with something he hated so deeply.

  It turned out that the cave below was much more than a simple nondescript tunnel. It had roughly hewn walls and the aged structure of a partially caved-in castle hallway. The walls were slick with moisture. The stone was heavily weathered, the worked pieces blended seamlessly into the stone of the cave suggesting it had been here for a very long time.

  Ashera had, at his insistence, stayed up above on the overhanging ledge. It made him both nervous and excited to be exploring on his own for once.

  The Guild’s badge lit up the dark cave entrance below. Several winding pathways joined this particular cave. But down the right-most path came the cackling again, only louder.

  Something in the timbre of the noise set Hal’s hackles up. Instinctively he understood it to be an aberration of some kind but he did not know what. Drawing [Goblinbane] from his scabbard, he stalked down the strange hallway-turned-tunnel.

  He missed his chain. It was lost somewhere in the pile of rubble far below with no hope of ever returning to him.

  By now they had to be a few hundred feet below the Ring they had entered on. Though the elevation often changed and there was little to judge their general trajectory, Hal had a feeling that they were progressing upward.

  And that, more than anything, made the appearance of ancient stone columns worn smooth with dripping water and time even stranger.

  There were no roots in this smaller section of the underground. More often than not the roots seemed to enter massive caverns so vast that they appeared to have no floor, ceiling, or walls.

  It didn’t make any sense how the town could be built upon so much… emptiness.

  There was a squeal. At first, it sounded like an old rusty hinge. Like the screen door from his childhood home. But then it shifted tone into something else entirely.

  Instinct told him it was fright.

  That same instinct froze his next step before it touched the ground. He looked down, curious what had prompted him to stop so suddenly. He had never been much for intuition and instinct before.

  The ground, though it looked very similar to the stone around him, was just the slightest bit off. Even with his improved Perception, he had entirely missed it. And as he stared at the flooring, it moved.

  Using his shadow-limb, Hal poked at the substance to see if it would react. In the light of the Guild’s badge, it had the consistency of dough. The limb made contact and moved right through it as if it were an illusion.

  When he pulled it out, nothing happened. He knew it was no illusion. If he were to put his foot in the doughy goop with its near-perfect camouflage, he would be stuck to the spot like a fly in a spider’s web.

  His predatory instinct wanted no part of that.

  There was a T-junction in the tunnel up ahead. The far wall was made of ancient partially crumbled dressed stone. It made him wonder whether dwarves existed in Aldim. After all, they had elves. Maybe it was a popular fantasy trope for a reason that went beyond simple reader expectations.

  Using his shadow-limbs to lift himself up and walk on the ground, Hal drifted down the hall and took a left. Immediately he was hit by a wave of hideous cackling.

  The [Gibberer] uses Gibbering Laughter.

  Essence Resist.

  Gibbering Laughter has no effect on you.

  It would seem using essence had more of a benefit than being able to conjure shadowy, tentacle-like limbs that allowed him to traverse difficult terrain with great ease.

  The sight before him stole his breath and he would have cursed himself for coming down if he hadn’t felt an animalistic thrill of excitement at seeing the grotesque creature in front of him. It batted away the fear, shoved it into a tiny box, and locked it tight.

  Without conscious thought, a word came to his mind: Prey.

  Excitement, rather than dread, filled Hal and he had to be quick to put a leash on the runaway sensation that wanted him to barrel in headlong and rip with teeth and claws.

  Ten yards away the tunnel ended in a pile of collapsed rubble. Backed into that corner was a small… box? In front of that box and moving with sluggish purpose was a grotesque monstrosity. An aberration that looked uncannily like a Shoggoth except on a much smaller scale.

  But it wasn’t. The creature was like a rough gelatinous cone of doughy goo that blended perfectly with whatever surface it was in contact with.

  Though it had many mouths all over its body, it lacked the telltale pseudopods that the Shoggoth had. Not to mention the prodigious size.

  With a thought, Hal’s shadow-limbs propelled him forward and he advanced on the creature.

  44

  He wondered why it hadn’t noticed his shadow-limbs stepping in what he could only assume was its skin. Maybe it’s a slime trail like a slug’s?

  There wasn’t much room in the dark, narrow space to maneuver around the thing but as Hal closed the distance, the [Goblinbane] poised to strike, he was certain that the prey of this particular creature was a box.

  Not just a box but a treasure chest. And a shabby one at that.

  Its lid rattled in fear and Hal felt a pang of sympathy for the creature. For just a moment he paused, watching the slow progress of the Gibberer toward what he could guess was a relatively weak Mimic.

  His newfound Beastborne knowledge informed him that this was a dance played over and over again throughout time and across many different lands.

  The Mimic was a thing of arcana. Magically created and imbued. It was unnatural. So, too, was the Gibberer. Except the Gibberer, being an aberration, was on an entirely different side of that spectrum.

  And in the monster world, that made them mortal enemies.

  Their hatred for each other was limitless. The two would forever fight and kill until the other was wiped from existence.

  A part of him felt connected to this cycle of hatred and death. But a greater whole was above it. A predatory sensation that told him he was above all of the squabblings between monsters.

  He could use the distraction of the Mimic to pounce on the Gibberer and then he could claim the smaller creature’s life as well. It was more than a desire for essence, which Hal felt keenly, it was the instinctual need to assert his predatory and bloodthirst
y dominance.

  Two words Hal had never once thought of in such close proximity before.

  As much as the predator inside him wanted to wait until the battle began to pick them both off, Hal couldn’t stand to see the cowering Mimic so terrified.

  It tugged at his heart to see the thing so terrified. To feel its fear. Before he knew it, he was descending on the Gibberer, summoning the swift and brutal strikes of Rending Steel.

  The [Goblinbane] swung around in an arc, slicing through two mouths and silencing them as they sagged into the doughy mass and were reabsorbed. The backswing of the blade bit into another pair of mouths. In the wound he just created, Hal dove the blade in deeper and twisted with savage force.

  A gout of black, foul-smelling ichor sprayed out, splattering against the wall and sliding down to puddle against its own doughy flesh.

  In short order, Hal hacked and ripped the creature apart. It was almost disturbing how fast the creature fell. He didn’t even get to use all five strikes of Rending Steel.

  Sneak Attack!

  You use Rending Steel.

  The [Gibberer] takes 217 points of damage.

  You defeat the [Gibberer].

  You gain 200 Experience Points.

  You earn 20 Sparks.

  You absorb 10 Aberration Essence.

  Your Stealth has risen to Level 6.

  +1% Stealth success (+6%).

  +1% Stealth speed (+6%).

  -1% SP drain (-6%).

  Your Sneak Attack has risen to Tier II.

  +12.5% Sneak Attack damage (312.5%).

  You learn Blinding Spit.

  Eject a gob of chemically unstable ooze that explodes into a blinding flash upon impact.

  Additional Effects: Blind, Enmity Up.

  School: Beast Magic.

  Type: Magical (Dark).

  Family: Aberration (Undead).

  MP: 50

  BP: 2

  Strain: 2

  Damage: 8

  You obtain:

  [Vial of Slime Juice]

  [Acid-Eaten Key]

  The body exploded into puffs of purple smoke that stung his nostrils. He set the spell as soon as the process of absorbing its essence was complete. Hal felt the Mimic watching, though it had no eyes he could see. It held itself completely still as if poised to strike.

  Hal turned his attention back to the Mimic. He lowered himself to the cavern floor, the Gibberer’s doughy flesh no longer carpeting the stone, and he walked slowly toward the beat-up treasure chest.

  Once again, he felt more than saw how the creature observed him. Becoming a Beastborne had heightened his senses and given him an uncanny ability to discern the mood and temperament of monsters.

  The creature was apprehensive, frightened of whatever could kill its would-be killer, and yet it did not attack as most creatures would. There was a faint thread of kinship.

  Reaching into his essences, Hal relinquished the aberration essence and tried to combine shadow and doll. Immediately the shadow-limbs fell away into twisting smoke that pooled at his feet and evaporated.

  He felt a twisting discomfort in his gut and the essence he had been holding vanished, leaving him bereft of anything. Okay, can’t use any essence that’s not 100%. Got it.

  Focusing on strictly his shadow essence, Hal noticed the shadows around him grow longer and thicker despite the Guild badge’s illumination. They shifted and twisted around him, wrapping him in a shade of darkness.

  The kinship he felt with the Mimic grew as he channeled the same arcana-based essence as its own.

  Wrapped up in the same magical nature he could see the Mimic reacting to him differently. Confusion remained its chief emotion but it was also tentatively hopeful. It could sense Hal as an ally rather than a potential threat.

  Is that why the Gibberer hadn’t noticed me? He wondered. Was I somehow masking myself by channeling aberration essence?

  It stood to reason but without thorough testing, Hal couldn’t be sure. Hal made a mental commitment to test the theory out at his earliest chance.

  New Quest: Scientific Endeavors.

  You’ve stumbled upon a sound theory but need further testing. Rigorous testing is the first step toward a valid conclusion. Test your theories and discover the depths of your powers.

  Objectives

  Test the nature of channeling Monster Essence and its effects on monsters of similar nature and those of opposing nature.

  Rewards

  All attuned essences +10

  That was a first. Was he capable of generating quests for himself simply by committing to a specific action that he couldn’t pursue immediately?

  The more I experience these systems the more questions I have.

  Hal slid the [Goblinbane] back into its sheath. “Can you understand me?” he asked the creature.

  It perked up – if an iron-bound chest going completely still for a moment counted as perking up – at the sound of his voice but otherwise didn’t seem to respond further.

  Once Hal was within 10 feet of the thing, hopefully out of striking distance, he stopped and crouched down to the Mimic’s level. He wasn’t sure why he was persisting in this endeavor.

  Logic dictated that he should kill it. It was a monster after all. But his recent changes made him view the creature differently. From what little he knew about fictional mimics from his homeworld, they were typically evil and hungry creatures.

  But he took that information with a grain of salt because mimics did not exist in his world. Besides, the thing was small. Barely as wide around as his thigh.

  “Are you a runt?” he wondered aloud.

  Once more, there was no response beyond the attention it gave to the sound he made. Hal wondered if monsters had their own unique languages. Goblins didn’t, though the way they warped the common tongue was often so vast and strange it seemed like a different language at times.

  Crouched down low as he was, Hal tried a different tactic. One he had no idea whether or not it would work.

  Concentrating on one emotion, he looked at the Mimic and focused on the word “friend” and all of the feelings he had when he thought of the word. Happiness, camaraderie, community, and cooperation flooded his thoughts.

  A tense few moments passed. Hal’s heart thumped heavily in his chest, waiting for the disappointing moment that the thing tried to attack him. He knew he was taking a risk being so vulnerable and unarmed in front of what very well might be a deadly creature. But he couldn’t deny his desire to know more.

  He had to be sure.

  What came back to him wasn’t so much a word, but a series of images and feelings. Much like how Hal had associated “friend” with thoughts and emotions, the Mimic seemed to have its own set of feelings.

  It was strange and wondrous all at once.

  Hal tried to sort out what it was showing him. Strength in unity was one, full bellies was another, warmth. Satisfying common base concerns was the creature’s most used means of communication.

  By the time Hal sorted through the imagery, the Mimic had started to inch toward him. It scooted and hopped, propelling its whole body forward bit by bit. One thing rang clear throughout everything else. The Mimic accepted the offer of friendship.

  Hal gingerly reached his hand out to the thing. It backed away at the movement and Hal slowed the motion, holding his hand halfway between himself and the creature.

  Like a lost pet, it tentatively inched closer. Its lid opened slightly and Hal got the impression it was sensing him in ways he couldn’t quite fathom. Then, with all fears and worries suddenly abandoned, the Mimic rushed up and bumped the rough wooden top of its body into Hal’s hand.

  Happy. Friend.

  This time, Hal could sort out the message from the images and emotions faster. A tiny ball of light floated from the Mimic to Hal’s chest and vanished within.

  You absorb 5 Mimic Essence.

  That is very different. A quick visual inspection of himself showed no black veins, nor any of
the usual caustic elements of absorbing monster essence.

  Hal’s immediate reaction was to look at the Mimic. He found nothing wrong and his fears subsided. The only time he had ever gained any essence was when he had killed a monster and even then it didn’t happen every time.

  Perhaps interacting with monsters was the key to gaining essence. And his budding friendship with the creature had awarded him a small amount of mimic essence.

  45

  As Hal stood up and turned to go, the Mimic implored him with another series of images and emotions. Hungry. Want. Food. The only difference was, its concept of “food” was… unique.

  Rather than the somewhat macabre expectation of dead adventurers or something like that, the Mimic instead wanted equipment. Armaments. It dreamed of snacking on iron plate mail and leather jerkins.

  Gleaming, polished long swords made its mouth water.

  The only weapon Hal had on him that he wasn’t using was the [Deserter’s Falchion]. And as remiss as he was to part with it, he could feel the faint thread of desperation in the Mimic’s mental urgings.

  The poor thing was starving.

  Hal removed the falchion from his inventory and turned to face the tiny creature. It was barely larger than a cat – roughly speaking – there was no way the whole of the sword could fit.

  As soon as Hal offered the sword, the Mimic went berserk with hunger and want but it held itself in check – with great strain – because it could sense Hal did not approve.

  Offering it, pommel-first, Hal extended the sword to the creature. It opened its velvet-lined maw and snapped down on the hilt. It did not chew or gnash, or even bite the sword.

  Its lid clamped down on the hilt and it sucked the sword into the tiny confines like a strand of spaghetti.

  The hard metal of the blade bent and flopped about the floor, drawing harsh scraping sounds across the stonework as the Mimic slurped it up. Hal had never seen anything so reality-bending in all his time on Aldim.