Arthur Decius- Crucible Hamlet
After a long and arduous journey, the procession of paladin initiates finally made it to the shabby little town sitting dangerously close to the maw of the malevolent entity known as the Whispering Grotto. From what Arthur had been told, they would form into squads of five initiates with one paladin each to watch over them until they had all reached level ten; then, if they proved themselves, they would be left to delve alone while the paladins plumbed the depths themselves.
The smell of unwashed bodies and horse manure assaulted Arthur and the other initiates as they wandered through the gates. A cutthroat manning the watchtower hardly even paid them mind, spitting dangerously close to the paladin commander. Where was the respect they were owed? This place was nothing like he had expected. To his surprise, they were ushered to the raggedy of the two inns in town, the paladin commander Garth pulling his horse to a stop to turn and address them.
“You have been coddled within Rembrand’s generous embrace for the last decade or more, that ends today. The real world doesn’t care if you are a paladin if you can’t back up your zeal with strength of arms. Our might comes from our faith, but we spread our faith with our might! Today you will delve into the dungeon. Those of you who break will be sent from here to join the regular church militant.” Garth's voice brooked no debate or questions. But a general hushed whisper of alarm ran throughout the initiates.
Arthur was looking out at the adventurers and ruffians going by. Garth's words held no concern for him; if he failed, he would die. It certainly wouldn’t be for cowardice or lack of giving his all that he would leave this expedition. The men and women passing by were far better equipped than he expected, many having the telltale glow of powerful magical artifacts upon them. Not for the first time, he wished Identify Talents were allowed to initiates. He couldn’t tell if these adventurers were considered elite or if they were new to this place like him. He focused on a pair that was walking from the gates in the distance towards the rising sun and the dungeon. One towered above the rabble around, barely clothed with bulging muscles and a warhammer Arthur doubted he could heft. The other was a shifty-looking individual, eyes flitting all around him, constantly touching at pouches and jars hidden beneath his clothes; a bizarre cape awkwardly jutted from the edges under his cloak. A thin branch wound its way around his arm and out from behind the man's ear. Hope I don’t run into those two in the dungeon; they look like common brigands.
Vraxious- Whispering Grotto
Vrax huffed slightly, out of breath and absolutley covered in dirt. Torvald, beside him, wrenched soil free in impressive scoops. They had been digging down under the corpse of the tree for nearly ten minutes now, not having found anything else hidden above ground. The only answer they had was it must be buried, and if it wasn’t under the guardian monster with a fake treasure chest, well, then they sure weren’t going to dig up the entire area looking for it. But at this point, nearly a stride under the tree’s corpse, Vrax was starting to wonder if there really was any treasure or if the dungeon was just an asshole. I'm buying a shovel in town this is stupid. With a resigned sigh, Vrax dug deeper; his fingertips finally brushed something metal.
It had taken Vrax and Torvald another ten minutes of digging and then wrenching roots out of the way to extract the hidden treasure chest. The whole time, Red was pacing around impatiently, grumbling to himself, obviously not happy to still be stuck in the dungeon with no end in sight.
Torvald looked to Vrax. “You don’t have any trap-detecting ability you have failed to mention, do you?”
“Nope,” Vrax said and stepped slightly back from the filthy wooden chest.
“Yeah, figured,” Torvald said and kicked the chest open, springing back.
When nothing exploded or tried to lunge at them, they both eagerly shuffled over to look at its contents. The inside was lined with a simple but well-crafted black cloth that had been folded over in such a way as to wrap around the contents of the chest. Vrax flipped one fold up, revealing a small leather purse that jingled when he picked it up. He dumped the contents into his hand: gleaming silver coins with the emblem of a tree on them.
“Dungeon coin!” Vrax exclaimed,
“Hey Red, how much is a Dungeon Born coin worth?” Torvald shouted to the impatient minder.
“Gods above, did you never go to school?” Red asked, exasperated.
“Well, I was too busy stabbing level one slimes to learn my words, Mr. Adventurer Sir.” Vrax gave a sarcastic nonanswer.
“About double whatever coin it is a facsimile of; one dungeon silver is usually worth two kingdom-minted silver. Now, if you’re done…” Red trailed off.
Vrax went back to rifling through the chest, pulling the cloth lining all the way open to reveal two more objects of note: a small potted plant with a blindingly bright red glow to it. It looked like a black and red mushroom, but it had odd holes throughout its cap, and small shapes stirred within. Without thinking, Vrax touched his finger to the top of the cap and adapted the color to a dull green glow to match his armor. The stirring shapes within lunged onto his hand before stilling. They looked like thumb-sized octopi with smooth, dull green, glowing skin and black orbs dotting the top; small, toothy maws clacked on the underside, and a trailing umbilical from the top of the mostly featureless head led back into the holes in the cap.
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“That was almost really bad.” Vrax said with a sigh, flashing identify [Retriever Hive Tier-1] (lvl2).
Red let out a low whistle. “That’s a lucky find. Those are worth a pretty penny at the beast market and normally harvested all the way on the fourth floor. Neat trick calming it down.”
Torvald snatched the other object out of the chest and retreated as the small retrievers flung themselves towards his arm; they reeled themselves back into the cap by the umbilical, chattering eerily after he got out of reach.
“First off, dibs, secondly.” He looked at the glowing plant meaningfully. “Please don’t do whatever you are thinking of doing.” Torvald untied the string from around the bundle in his hands. It was a pair of black metal brass knuckles with icy blue spikes across the striking surface. He put them on and took a few practice jabs, seeing that they fit surprisingly well.
Vrax gave him a pleading look. “When have I ever made anything without thinking it through?” He picked up the hive and carefully wrapped it in the black cloth, setting it into his backpack.
Torvald snorted, “Every single time. Also, not that I’m complaining, but when are you going to try out your cape…cloak? Whatever you turned the awful root into?”
“Whenever we are in a fight where something actually gets a hold of me.” Vrax retorted.
“Should we risk spending some essence here? Torvald asked,
“Sure, but no big changes till we are back at the inn.” Vrax answered, “Give me a bit to finish adapting one more of the mushrooms to acidic though. Oh, and I want to make the dandelion bigger.” Vrax said with that mad smile he had been getting more often lately.
“Fuck me, alright, then I will be way the hell over there guarding the entrance. Hey, Mr. Red, you do not want to stand anywhere around here for the next little while.” Torvald practically fled to the entrance.
Red furrowed his brows, but with the oddities he had seen from these two, he retreated back onto the wall, very distant from Vrax.
Vrax checked his mana; it was mostly back.
Mana 97/122
With a flourish, he murdered the faintly luminescent plants near the center of the glade, summoning both the dandelion and the mostly finished lurker. He focused first on the lurker. Pouring his mana into it, the acid organ finished forming, and the ground near the mushroom began to sizzle as glowing green drops fell from the tendril's thorns.
Mana 60/122
Is that less mana than that took before? He wasn't sure, but it certainly seemed easier to do, maybe because he had an already working example he was recreating. Now this fucking thing... Vrax stared at the dandelion; it only came up to his shin, the seeds gently undulating without the need for wind. He cautiously placed a finger against the stalk. I need to stick to a color theme to keep track of these things at some point; I might as well stick with "Look at Me Green." It will make it easy to tell what is mine mid chaos of battle. The edges of the dandelion seeds turned to a vibrant, gently glowing, icy green. The constant motion giving it an almost hypnotic quality.
Vrax didn’t want to wait for his mana to fully refill, but he gave it a few minutes to trickle up some and consider what he could do with the dandelion. It should act somewhat differently with my new talent, although who knows what predatory instincts do for this thing? Wait… I could make the seeds have an easier way to navigate. Vrax focused on the individual seeds, imagining tiny, silken, near-transparent wings on each, flapping sedately to keep it on course. He eased mana in as the seeds took on a slightly fuller look. Then he focused on the plant as a whole, pouring the rest of his mana in to grow it another hand-span taller. The furled seeds were now the size of the smallest coin's edge instead of being thinner than a sheet of paper. That will certainly do some damage..
Vrax looked over to Torvald and put the dandelion back in his garden. “Hey, I am going to spend some essence real quick!” Vrax shouted.
Torvald nodded. “Just be quick.”
Vrax sank into his sanctuary. There was one thing he wanted to try while they were still in the dungeon; it would potentially make the next few fights smoother. And as much as he wanted to improve [Adapt Life], he needed a lot more essence for that change. He rushed past his lake; the essence lapped over the shoreline at least a level's worth. He went straight to the ritualistic chamber that held his Stigma and focused in on his [Stigmata garden]. Gathering a moderate amount of essence behind him, he pushed it into the armor, imagining his garden expanding, growing rows and rows of planter boxes floating in a void as the cruel eyes of a god watched hungrily, willing for him to expand, grow, and devour those lesser.
Vrax cut off the flow of essence with a start. What the hell was that last bit...? Vrax blinked away the strange image with concern and looked to see if the change had worked.[Stigmata Wrath Of The Grove] (lvl 2)
Woe befall those that would cause harm to those under the sacred canopy of our protection. Life is a struggle. Life is pain. Life is hunger. Life is fear. Let those who threaten our beloved feel naught but the wrath of the grove until they are returned to the cycle.
[Stigmata Garden, Eight Slots Available]
Vrax quickly returned his consciousness to the dungeon, resolving to deal with the implications of adding essence to his stigmata later, and pulled out the daisy jar, undoing the top excitedly. He grabbed the almost confused-looking maneater in one smooth motion.
[Add To Stigmata Garden]
Vrax mentally slapped yes, and the daisy dissipated from his hands with a slight flash. Holy hells, it does work like that! The Maneater Daisy still counts as a plant. He quickly took out the glowing hive from his backpack and added that as well. He made some mental adjustments to how his system would display his Stigmata information and brought up the garden screen.
[Stigmata Garden 6/8]
[Adapted Lurker Mushroom]
[Acidic Lurker Mushroom]
[Acidic Lurker Mushroom]
[Adapted Vein Diver Dandelion]
[Retriever Hive]
[Infant Maneater Daisy]
Really need to come up with better names for all of these, especially the daisy, the daisy needs a name.
“Alright, guys! Area is clear. The vein-ripping plants have been put back into the box of horrors!” He cheerfully shouted.
“The fucking what? Aren’t you like level eight or something?” Red asked incredulously,
“You get used to it. Vrax, I’ll wait to apply my essence. I think I need more for the change I want." Torvald said and hefted his hammer, letting Vrax take the lead again as they headed further into the dungeon.