Beastborne- Mark of the Founder

by James T Callum

  65

  The “elevator” worked on a simple basis. Look down to go down, up to go up, and straight ahead to stop. Even Vorax, with no neck to speak of, could use it. The Wortlings came next, and only proved a problem to control when they finally stepped off the weightless magic.

  Half a dozen feet tried moving at once, tumbling one creature into the next until they landed on the hard stone in a sprawl of thick bark-skinned limbs.

  Ashera went to the doors as Hal cleaned up the mess of Wortlings. Without his explicit commands, they were blind. And without any soil, they could not take root, which severely lowered their utility.

  He could still command them to fight. They would swing at whatever he told them to, so long as he could see it. And the Wortlings he still possessed were a different variety than when he had originally commandeered them.

  Hal took a moment to look over their stats, wondering if their maturation meant anything meaningful.

  [Wortling (Mature)]

  Lv.18

  Resources

  HP: 584/221

  SP: 177/177

  MP: 50/50

  Resistances

  Fire: -20

  Water: 20

  Lightning: 30

  Earth: 40

  Wind: 0

  Ice: 0

  Piercing: 60

  Slashing: 0

  Blunt: 10

  Defensive Properties

  DEF: 25

  MDEF: 5

  Abilities

  Vine Lash

  Lash out with barbed vines, binding the creature and causing damage for every second it remains bound.

  Needleshot

  Emit hardened thorns up to a range of 60 feet. Grants Blindsense within 60 non-obstructed feet of an embedded thorn.

  MP: 5

  Ensnare

  Wortlings are capable of opening up their bodies to trap prey and creatures up to three times their size.

  Root

  Send roots into the earth, recovering 12 HP per minute. If left rooted beyond their HP, they will instead absorb temporary HP up to 4 times their maximum.

  New Growth

  Mature Wortlings are capable of severing a limb, reducing their HP by 25%, and spawning a Dormant Wortling. A sapling that will grow to a simple Wortling within 24 hours of being planted. The limb regrows within an hour.

  Mature

  Wortlings can evolve into more dangerous foes by Maturing. Maturation takes a minimum of 15 minutes, up to a month. Wortlings grow in power, size, and capability as they mature, culminating in a full-grown Worttree if left undisturbed for a month.

  Traits

  Splintering Wood

  A Mature Wortling is covered in thick, spiny bark. Attacking the bark with a melee hit creates vicious splinters that retaliate against the attacker, inflicting damage.

  Tiring Strikes

  A Wortling delivers its poison with each successful strike. A potent sleeping toxin courses through their opponent's veins, rendering them deeply fatigued until they lose consciousness.

  Swarming

  Wortlings are capable of swarming with incredible efficiency, moving through and within each other’s space without hindrance.

  Plantmind

  All Wortlings and their Worttree parent are capable of maintaining constant communication within 15 miles. If one is aware of a particular danger, all are made aware.

  Woodsense

  Wortlings are automatically capable of sensing anything that resides within 60 feet of itself, so long as they both are in contact with vegetation.

  Hal’s mouth hung open at the difference. For some reason, he didn’t think much about the Wortlings he kept at the camp. When he gave them the command to Root he didn’t think the difference would be so massive.

  But the time it took him to return to camp and summarily command them to stop had been long enough for them to change. The Level Up was a welcome surprise.

  The small boost to their HP was nothing compared to the gargantuan stockpile of temp HP it had gained. And with its improved form, it would gain it even faster.

  If he could find some dirt.

  His original goal was to release them at some point because he didn’t think it would be possible to hide their obviously monstrous features.

  But the Wortlings looked almost handsome. They were, however, nearly seven feet tall. Despite their more humanoid features, their skin was clearly rough bark. Neither of which would make them easy to conceal in a town.

  But the New Growth ability would let him hedge his bets. As Ashera stood by the doors waiting for Hal to open them, he triggered the ability in two of the Wortlings.

  Purely as a means of preservation.

  They had become too important to Hal. If one of them was killed, at least he could make more. He envisioned a forest filled with Worttrees. If he raised them, would Dominate still be necessary to command them?

  He glanced at Vorax, still held in the arms of a nearby Wortling, and wondered if other monsters could be tamed. There was no denying the instinctual connection he was beginning to develop toward other monsters.

  Instead of being a predator, could he instead turn them into allies?

  Hal stuffed the two, still-twitching limbs into his inventory. His train of thought was cut off suddenly as he took note of Ashera.

  The doors opened for Ashera as readily as they did for Hal. It seemed to surprise Ashera as well, because she started and let out a small gasp before looking over her shoulder sheepishly at Hal.

  Curious.

  Were the doors in this area simply designed to permit any person? If the enchantments and materials required for creating the additional security were rare, it would make sense. You don’t need a lock on every door if only people with a key can get in to the entire complex.

  And it was a complex, Hal began to realize. What he originally thought was perhaps a few rooms dedicated to some passing fancy of the Founder turned out to be much larger.

  There were enough rooms on the level above to house hundreds of people. And they had only gone down one hallway.

  The fact that it was all beneath Murkmire unsettled Hal. The organization of it all spoke of practice and iteration. He doubted this was the only one of its kind.

  With one look back at the hole in the floor signifying more floors below them, Hal hurried to catch up to Ashera in the room beyond his.

  Ashera stood there, dumbstruck.

  The room was a squat box with massive faceted emeralds, eight feet high and half as wide, set into the corners of the room.

  Strange glyphs and markings filled the room from wall to wall, like a graffiti artist had gone wild. The only surface untouched by those shining glyphs were the impossibly large gemstones and the two full bookshelves stuffed between them on the walls to the left and right.

  Within each of the emeralds was a shadow that shifted and twitched. Hal was reminded of something sleeping. Perhaps forced into slumber they could not wake from.

  There was nothing else in the room. No place to sit, nothing but the glyphs, the emeralds, bookshelves, and a door across the way.

  Ashera stood two steps in, clearly afraid the shadows within the gems held guardians to ward off intruders. Beside her, Hal studied the room.

  It was heavily warded, he could practically taste the mana in the air.

  Hal took another step and the shadows shifted once more. Faint whispers he had almost forgotten about came back to him.

  Failure, why do you bother us?

  Noth zipped into the room, her raven-black wings fully extended, a look of fury stamped on her fair features.

  Hal was more concerned with her than the shadows. “What’s wrong, Noth?”

  The Reaper looked to the four crystals. “Foul magic,” she spat. “These are Void creatures, they should not exist on this plane. It is a perversion.”

  Ashera looked at the emeralds. “Are they… aware?”

  Noth gave a curt nod. “As aware as a creature that desires nothing but
destruction and havoc can be.” She turned and drifted toward the nearest emerald. “Why do you call this one Failure?”

  The shadow within the emerald shifted as if startled by this new creature. At first, Hal thought it wasn’t going to answer but then it gave a gleeful cackle. Reject. Failure. What else to call him?

  “What do you mean?” Hal asked suddenly.

  Ashera furrowed her brow at Hal. “They are speaking to you?”

  Hal nodded and stared at each of the emeralds, waiting. So, only he and Noth could hear them.

  A ball of tension knotted in his gut. The Founder had written just outside of the district a similar phrasing, “Failure #37. Lost Cause.”

  All four shadows pressed against the interior of their respective gem like it was a thin pane of glass. Their forms roiled and shifted so fast through various faces that they were a constant blur of darkness.

  The Founder’s Grand Plan. Failures, all. Number thirty-seven, the worst of all. Blood-traitor.

  A cold sweat broke out on Hal’s brow. His Founder’s mark still glowed brightly, casting its many-lined geometric symbol into the air a few inches off his forearm. He stared at it, disquieted by what the creatures meant.

  He bears the mark of the Failure, cackled one shadow.

  He will bear it to his grave, snickered another.

  What number is this one, we wonder? asked the third.

  “Do not listen to their lies, Hal,” Noth said. “They twist the truth until it is unrecognizable.”

  We cannot lie, not here, said the fourth, in the farthest corner on his left. Ask us what this place is, Failure.

  Hal looked to Noth, then back to the emeralds. He stepped fully into the center of the room.

  Despite Noth’s reservations, he was so hungry for knowledge that he couldn’t deny himself the possibility of answers. Even those so horribly warped that he might spend weeks untangling the knots.

  This place made no sense to him. It was large enough to house a second secret city and only a Founder could get in. What was he planning?

  What “Grand Plan” were they talking about? And how did he fit in with Rinbast and this plan?

  There were so many questions and he had stumbled right into the one room he might actually get some answers.

  And they didn’t have the time for him to entertain his curiosity.

  As if to punctuate that point, Elora spoke up, <“I don’t mean to rush you two, but there’s something coming this way and it doesn’t look friendly. If you can’t get to me, then do me a favor, okay?”>

  <“We are not far,”> Ashera said, her eyes wide and round. <“We will get to you,”> she promised.

  <“Just in case, I want you to check on the Gone Goose when you get out if I can’t. Take my share of whatever money we get and if Giel has any surviving family, give it to them. I wanted to find a way to repay his sacrifice, a memorial o-or something but I’m no good with that. If you could… I would be grateful. The same goes for you, Hal.”>

  Hal hung his head, his face hot with shame. He was so wrapped up in his own world that he barely acknowledged Giel’s death. It still felt so far away, like he expected the big lamora to walk into that door with a goofy grin on his face.

  And throughout it all, he was going to stay in this room asking questions instead of saving his companions. His friends.

  <“We’re coming, Elora. Hold on.”>

  Without looking back, Hal ordered the Wortlings to follow.

  As much as Hal wanted his answers, it would be a hollow victory if he lost anybody else. Giel’s loss hit him hard then as he marched out of the room and into a lit tunnel beyond.

  The man had come at great risk to himself. Hal still didn’t understand how he seemed to recognize Hal. And while he would have preferred some more concrete answers, he never doubted that Giel wanted to help.

  There was more to that story than met the eye, and he hoped that somehow he could get the full tale. Maybe… just maybe, Giel would miraculously be back at the Gone Goose when this was all over.

  Everybody could have a great big laugh at their worry over him. And over a round of drinks, he could regale them with his tale of survival. In turn, they could explain what happened. How they completed the Coffin Contract.

  Hal would even make sure the lamora got an even bigger, better tavern in the district once it was safe.

  He didn’t deserve to die.

  Hal’s essence-limbs rippled through the air behind him as he took off at a run. This close to Elora and Mira, even Hal could feel where the two were.

  He rounded a sharp corner, his tendrils pushing against one wall and pulling at another. The Wortlings pounded tirelessly behind him.

  “There should be a door up here,” Hal said as they approached another crossroad. “I can feel them just up ahead.”

  Elora couldn’t have been more than twenty feet away from him. What he expected to find was another Founder-locked door.

  His shock was complete when he turned down the corridor and found nothing but a blank wall of solid stone.

  66

  Mira was curled up against Elora, mumbling in her sleep. Elora pressed one hand to the bedroll they were sharing for warmth and leaned over the woman.

  “Mira… wake up.” If Hal and Ashera were coming to meet them, then the least she could do is mirror their progress. Now that the pair were close enough, she had a general idea of their position and could move toward them.

  With the noises echoing in the dark around her, they wouldn’t be safe at the campfire for long. At least their Exhaustion wore off from being warmed up. It would still take some time for the cold to creep back in.

  But with drier clothes, they should have enough time to rejoin with Ashera and Hal.

  If not for their need of the campfire’s warmth and slight regenerative properties - slight only because of how short their stay was - Elora never would have set a fire.

  She knew well the dangers of putting down a campfire and the unwanted attention it would bring. But the choice had been between most assuredly dying, and being able to die with her bow in hand now that her fingers were no longer numb.

  Elora gently shook the elf in her arms again.

  Of course, that wasn’t enough to wake her up. The elf took quite a bit more convincing before she roused from her slumber.

  She groaned and rubbed at her eyes. Due to their Exhaustion, their short stay at the campfire was barely restorative. And despite Elora’s Survival Skill, the hastily thrown together campsite was far less functional than normal.

  But it was all her numb fingers could do.

  Mira looked at Elora, then back at herself… and then finally realized they were sharing the same bedroll.

  Elora looked sharply at her. “We were both freezing,” she explained. “And nobody else needs know of this.”

  The normally jovial elf nodded her solemn agreement. “Thank you… Elora.”

  “Up on your feet, we need to get going.” Without waiting for a response from the woozy and groggy Dragoon, Elora slipped out of the bedroll and helped Mira out.

  Unfortunately for Mira, Elora’s “help” was little more than hauling her out of the bedroll so she could fold it up and put it in her inventory. The fire could stay burning until the wood turned to ash for all she cared.

  Together, the two women hurried as fast as their tired and weakened legs could carry them. Mira’s left leg would hardly support her weight, forcing the much shorter Elora to help support her. But it soon became obvious that they were being followed. Hunted.

  And it was gaining on them.

  “My spear,” Mira groaned, when she realized far too late that they would be forced to make a stand before they ever got near to Ashera and Hal.

  “It was lost in the collapse,” Elora said. “Forget about it, just keep moving.”

  At the edges of the pools of light from their Guild badges, dark hulking shapes - Shadow Predators - flitted in and out at the edge of the light.

  I
t won’t be long now, Elora thought grimly. With Mira’s leg, and her lack of a weapon… there was no way they could hold off the things around them.

  She was hardly in a fit fighting state, what potions she had saved as emergency use had already been used to stabilize the poor elf. But she didn’t feel remorse for the action.

  With those potions, Elora might have been strong enough to fight back. But against the countless sounds in the dark her sensitive ears picked up? She shook her head.

  If Mira hadn’t died from her injuries without those potions, then she most assuredly would not have been awake. And they would have been caught hours ago.

  It was a good thing they stayed at the fire as long as they did. Had they left sooner, neither of them would have possessed the stamina to keep going. As it was, they were running on fumes.

  Mira suddenly stopped, and Elora feared that the woman had passed out on her. She tried to tug her along but Mira’s superior strength kept her grounded.

  “No,” she said through cracked lips. “You go. I’ll hold them off.”

  Elora tugged on her again, this time urgently. “Come on!” she cried out in frustration. “I am not losing another friend!”

  A bit of the old Mira peeked through, like sunlight through darkened clouds. She smiled at Elora. “Aw, I knew you would like me eventually!”

  “Yes, yes, and I will like you a whole lot more if you come along with me.”

  Mira rested a gentle hand on Elora’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Elora. I’m not really going to die. I mean, to you I will be gone-”

  “Spare me your Fenerheit Cycle garbage, you are not dying and as your party leader that is an order!”

  The Dragoon looked back at her with sad violet eyes. “I would have liked to see what sort of Sanctum Hal could have made. I think you’ll like what he has in store,” she said, readying herself for a final fight.

  “Fine, you want to be stubborn? I’ll show you stubborn.” Elora’s bow was damaged, but serviceable still. She pulled it out and nocked an arrow. “Then we go together.”