Beastborne- Mark of the Founder

by James T Callum

  You eat [Ashera’s Hearty Stew].

  +15% HP | +10% SP.

  +5 STR.

  +10% HP Regeneration.

  +10% MP Regeneration.

  Duration: 6hrs.

  You gain the effect of Camping.

  +205% HP Regeneration.

  +205% SP Regeneration.

  +205% MP Regeneration.

  +100% Healing effects.

  Duration: While Camping.

  Since he was the one to set up the campsite, it made sense that the Camping effect was weaker. A quick mental calculation told Hal that if each Level of Survival Skill gave an increase of 5% to the Camping Buff, then Ashera must only be at Level 5 Survival Skill.

  Not too much higher than his own.

  He also noted the different buffs this other recipe of Ashera’s gave in comparison to [Ashera’s Travel Stew]. Higher HP, it swapped SP for MP, with the addition of HP and MP regen bonuses.

  Twice now she had made something for them to eat from her own stores.

  She certainly hadn’t cooked much food for the Rangers when they traveled together and Hal wondered why that was. The most likely culprit was time and effort. They had, for the most part, been in full flight and subsisted of rations and simple fare.

  A cooked meal would also probably – though Hal admitted he was guessing at this point – attract unwanted attention. Something that, given their defensible position and many sentries, neither had to truly worry about.

  Vorax seemed to enjoy the dance of the flames. Hal wasn’t sure how the mimic could see but he could clearly sense the thing’s pleasure watching the crackling campfire.

  Fatigue and weariness settled deep into Hal’s bones. He had barely finished his second helping when he noticed he was starting to nod off.

  It had been a long day.

  And so he wasn’t surprised when he awoke to Ashera gently shaking his shoulder. “Hal,” she said, her voice as soft as an evening breeze. “Get some rest.” She pointed at his bedroll. “I’ll take the first watch.”

  Hal tried to send a command to the Wortlings to protect the camp and his group but he wasn’t sure whether or not that would work. And truthfully, he knew there was no way to confirm it had without the camp being attacked.

  He crawled on his hands and knees into the bedroll and laid down.

  The last thing Hal saw was Ashera sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, offering Vorax some of her stew.

  Before he could tell her the mimic wouldn’t want any, darkness claimed him.

  53

  “He’s in Murkmire’s Arboretum,” Rinbast said aloud, staring into the silvery pool of water. His calloused fingers lovingly traced the runes etched into the rim of the ceramic bowl.

  More than a day of constant searching finally paid off when that reject tapped into another ill-gotten Founder Sigil, showing himself to Rinbast. He still couldn’t figure out how he managed to evade him for so long.

  He suspected Midarian’s influence in the matter. It would be just his way too. A dash of chaos thrown into a world that was just starting to become neat and orderly.

  Alnafein stood off to the side, respectfully watchful but silent unless directly spoken to. How Rinbast missed good conversation.

  Even Hirash, with his hawkish features and constant wheedling, would have been preferable to the silent guardian at his side. He loved Alnafein as a brother, they had come up in the world together but the man was boring.

  And he took his task as Rinbast’s guardian entirely too seriously.

  The Founder looked up to the glowing orb suspended in the center of the chamber. It provided even light to the circular, airy room. Tall arches let in the sweeping views of Fallwreath and the surrounding forest-covered hillsides.

  His brown eyes burned as he looked out of the westernmost portal as if he could kill Hal with a glare from so far away. Even the Founders had their limits, however.

  A quick series of gestures through the air and Rinbast had a message racing through the void toward Hirash and his Kinslayers, telling him of the boy’s new position.

  How ironic, he thought. That not one, but two traitors would die in the same place.

  A ping told Rinbast that one of his defenses had been tripped. He waved away the killing magic before it had a chance to gather, and turned to the dark form that stepped out of Alnafein’s shadow.

  “You’ve been better,” said Ralst by way of greeting. The voluptuous dark elf sauntered into the room like she owned it and flashed a pearly grin at Rinbast. “I take it you finally found the kid?”

  “I did. And you do know there is a door into these chambers, yes?” He motioned to the trap door leading to a set of spiral stairs below.

  Ralst waved one coal-black hand at his words as if she could sweep them away. “Where?”

  Rinbast knew she didn’t mean the entryway. It was better to let Ralst keep up with her antics. Such a stark contrast to her brother, Alnafein. Though, perhaps, it explained why Ralst couldn’t stand to be bored.

  “My Arboretum in Murkmire,” Rinbast said, motioning to the pool before him.

  She snorted, elegantly sidestepping the massive globe set into a polished wood hoop in the middle of the room. Rinbast watched her keen sky-blue eyes take note of the various points of light he had marked there.

  Not much escaped her notice.

  “How many are going to die in that deathtrap?” she asked, approaching the dais Rinbast stood on.

  “Just the two,” Rinbast replied, avoiding the actual question just as she had his.

  Ralst cozied up to the balustrade that curved around the far side of Rinbast’s scrying pool. She casually leaned against it, folding her arms atop the white stone and resting her chin atop them. “I suppose the hundreds of would-be rebels don’t count?”

  “There are more important things at play than foolish notions of control.”

  “It’s a little odd, isn’t it? I thought you and that…” She rolled her wrist, searching for the name that eluded her. Mostly because Rinbast had never told her the god’s name. When it was obvious Rinbast still wouldn’t supply a name, she clicked her tongue in annoyance and moved on. “God, or whatever they are, had a deal?”

  Rinbast suppressed a groan, shut his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wondered when Ralst would connect the dots. “He’s dead.” No use in sugar-coating it. When he opened his eyes, Ralst stared openly at him. Her prominent canines on display as she smiled seductively. “And no, I’m still not telling you his name.”

  She pouted. “Well, can you at least tell me how somebody kills a god?”

  Rinbast suppressed a snort of laughter. Of course she would want to know that.

  “The Mad Traveler.” He didn’t want to give the man the pleasure of saying his name aloud.

  “Midarian!” Ralst said with a bright gleam in her eyes. Rinbast shut his eyes at the sound of the man’s name. A distant chuckle filtered through the void to the Founder’s ears. “What quarrel does Midarian have with a god from our world?”

  “I’m not sure myself,” Rinbast admitted, though he had his suspicions.

  For a god, Erastus was often reaching beyond his means. Humility was not one of his traits. One such incident, he recalled, had involved the Mad Traveler.

  It had nearly proved disastrous for the god. A fact Midarian had apparently sought to rectify considering the swift and brutal death the Mad Traveler visited upon the overreaching god only recently.

  To Ralst he said, “Who really knows with the Mad Traveler. He’s insane. What’s a god compared to somebody who literally lives within the Margins?”

  “He’s not… coming after us, is he?” she asked, and despite her almost fangirlish excitement at hearing Midarian’s involvement, she looked over her shoulder warily.

  Rinbast snorted a laugh at the image before him: The Creeping Death looking over her shoulder, afraid.

  “No,” he told her, coming around the scrying pool. He didn’t want to be too far in
case Hal made the mistake of tapping into his Founder powers again, so he stayed on the raised dais of stone that supported the wide pool of silver water. “We have… an arrangement.”

  That was putting it lightly.

  The truth would probably send Ralst fleeing back into the shadows. Something he didn’t want. He needed his friend by his side and focused on the task at hand once Hal was dealt with.

  They couldn’t afford to be distracted at such a crucial juncture.

  Hal’s death had already taken too long. A momentary setback he had told himself. A delay caused by an unfortunate incident. Midarian wouldn’t interfere directly with his plans.

  Rinbast didn’t much like the thought of a proxy war with the Mad Traveler but it was better than the alternative. Midarian wouldn’t risk a direct contest of wills, unleashing his brand of “magic” would have disastrous consequences.

  The destructive fallout of such an encounter would rip the realm down to its atoms. Rinbast had already pulled Aldim back from the brink once. He didn’t think he had it in him to do so again.

  No doubt Erastus had rubbed Midarian the wrong way once – or would have in the future, there was no telling with that man - and Midarian being… well, Midarian, he exacted his revenge in brutal fashion.

  A black hand was waving at him, trying to get his attention. “Yosk, where’d you go off to?”

  Rinbast shrugged, glanced at the still water, then back at the dark elf. “I have a great deal on my mind.”

  “Let me help, I’m bored and need something to do.” Ralst straightened up and sauntered over to one of the many tall stone bookshelves that lined the faceted, glittering walls between the arches. She pulled a book down and began to thumb through it.

  Rinbast smiled at his precocious friend. They had been through so much together and it truly filled him with joy to see her still loyal to him after all these years. It only bolstered his belief that the sacrifices were worth it.

  “I do have a matter you might be uniquely suited for, if you’ve a mind to help me out,” Rinbast said, placing his hands behind his back. There had been one thing he had seen in the void that had sincerely disturbed him.

  Her sky-blue eyes looked up from the book, sparkling with a hint of adventure. “Tell me.”

  “What do you know about the Reapers that come to collect the souls of the fallen?”

  * * *

  When Hal woke up, the feeling of being watched from the previous day returned for a split second before it vanished. When he opened his eyes he expected a face to be floating inches away, staring at him.

  Instead, he saw Ashera in front of a low-burning fire. It seemed like she hadn’t slept at all. The change in the fire was the only thing that told Hal he had slept for any length of time.

  You gain the effect of Well Rested.

  +1% Experience Points gained.

  +1% Skill Experience Points gained.

  +1% HP | +1% SP | +1% MP.

  +1% HP Regeneration.

  +1% SP Regeneration.

  +1% MP Regeneration.

  Duration: 7hrs.

  Hal’s eyes popped at the notification. While 1% wasn’t much on its own, it was the implication of the buff that truly had his interest piqued. The higher he could get it, the bigger the increase. And if it was tied to Survival Skill at all, he was seriously losing out by not having that Leveled.

  Ashera pulled out a series of glass bowls and delicate-looking blown glass contraptions with funneled ends and spiraling tubes.

  “Have you slept at all?” Hal asked her, crawling out his bedroll.

  “Yes,” she smiled sheepishly back at him. “Your Wortlings did a fantastic job protecting the campsite. As you can see, we are both alive and healthy. With a full night of sleep behind us.”

  He was a little surprised Ashera trusted the Wortlings - and by extension, him - so much. He gave a satisfied nod, happy that so long as they had the Wortlings, they might be able to get a decent night’s sleep. “Those look delicate.”

  “This is dragonglass. You could try to cut it right now with your sword and it would not make a scratch. It is very sturdy.”

  “And very expensive,” Hal guessed.

  Ashera merely shrugged one shoulder and continued setting up the area by unrolling a bamboo mat on the grass to provide a level surface.

  He had a good idea where she had gotten them from. In what little time Hal had spent fleeing for his life through the Founder’s keep in Fallwreath, he had seen a great many displays of wealth.

  If he had that all on display, Hal could only imagine what riches he had behind locked doors. Doors, it seemed, that Ashera had access to.

  As much as he wanted to ask her about the man that had effectively enslaved her, the last thing he wanted to do was open up old wounds.

  Hal belatedly noticed the smell coming from the cookpot. He hardly minded having leftovers but he was worried about food poisoning.

  When he asked Ashera about it, she explained the enchantments on the pot that kept the food edible for days after being made, so long as the lid stayed on.

  Getting food poisoning was the last thing he wanted. He’d been a little less-than-cautious as of late. Mostly due to the constant strain of his situation but he wasn’t so far gone that he would willingly eat eight-hour-old food without a second thought.

  They ate leftovers warmed over the glowing coals and Hal noticed – to his great surprise - that Vorax did, in fact, eat Ashera’s stew. The mimic slurped up the stew with a long purple tongue and then ate the bowl for dessert.

  Hal reached over and patted the trunk’s smoothly polished top, sending his approval and fondness to the mimic. Though he doubted it was necessary. Vorax seemed more than capable of picking up on his emotions without him needing to specifically target the mimic.

  But it seemed like a good idea regardless. He wanted Vorax to know he thought about him as a friend. And in truth, he worried about the mimic.

  Ironic, considering that Vorax often worried about Hal in much the same way that Hal worried about the mimic. They both thought the other needed sheltering and protection from the world around them.

  Hal got a kick out of that. Not that he doubted Vorax’s convictions but the cyclical nature of their worrying often made it hard to separate Hal’s feelings from the mimic’s.

  Vorax’s long purple tongue rolled out of the cracked-open lid and licked along Hal’s arm. It spread a sweet-smelling slime across his clothing.

  Not just sweet-smelling. But one of Hal’s favorite smells, one he thought he would never experience again; the scent of a Cinnabon in the mall and that strange smell that only Blockbusters used to have. It reminded him of better times.

  No, not better, he realized. Simpler.

  It was a gift, something Vorax wanted to give back to Hal. And as somewhat gross as it was to be licked by a mimic, it was a kind gesture.

  “Before we begin,” Ashera said, “We’re going to need some simple reagents to craft. You up for a little supply hunting?”

  Hal set the bowl he had scraped clean down and stood. Vorax wrapped his tongue around it and had a second helping of dessert. “Just tell me what we need.”

  54

  Halfway through the list of ingredients Ashera rattled off to him, Hal’s attention was stolen by a new prompt.

  New Quest: Alchemical Ambitions.

  Ashera has agreed to help you learn the basic fundamentals of Alchemy. But first, you’ll need some ingredients. Collect the requisite items and return to Ashera to begin your training.

  Objectives

  Acquire the following items:

  5 [Witherroot]

  5 [Waterwheels]

  5 [Vials of Tree Sap]

  10 [Vials of Fresh Water]

  Rewards

  Unlock Alchemy Skill.

  Unlock Foraging Skill.

  500 Experience Points.

  “Got all that?” Ashera asked. “Let’s go.”

  An answering grin appeared on Hal’s
face and he set off with Ashera and six of the Wortlings into the forest, away from the safety and warmth of the fire. He left the others behind to safeguard their camp for when they’d return to craft the potions.

  * * *

  It took them less than five minutes to find a cluster of creatures.

  Using the Wortlings had made child’s play of the search. He wondered what he would do without them. And then he remembered they were not permanently bound to him.

  Not unless he found a way to do so. And even if he did, there were problems that as well.

  Even if he was able to walk out of here with them, he doubted they could walk freely in any town. Or that Vorax could for that matter.

  At least with the mimic, he could hide or disguise him somehow. A dozen hulking Wortlings were impossible to smuggle anywhere. The lure to have a small army of creatures was intoxicating to Hal, who had grown up on RTS like Starcraft, Warcraft, Command & Conquer, and countless others.

  It was the ultimate dream to direct forces with a mental command, divorced from the reality that their deaths were on your head. If they weren’t ever truly thinking, living creatures, then their deaths would not have the same weight.

  But it wasn’t a creature that caught Hal by surprise. Whoops, he thought to himself. I have the list of items that Ashera needs, but I have no clue what a Witherroot or a Waterwheel is.

  In his eagerness to test his newfound understanding of the Wortling’s strengths and weaknesses, Hal had forgotten to get so much as a description of the ingredients Ashera wanted.

  He could have pondered the clues, decide that he needed to be near water for the eponymously named [Waterwheel], and taken his chances. But Hal wasn’t so proud that he would refuse to admit his ignorance.

  “Ashera?” Hal asked hesitantly.

  “You need a description of the plants?” she replied with a hint of mirth.