Vraxious- Hopes Path
Vrax and Torvald had spent a few hours carousing with Torvald's parents before heading out from the arena and back to the Adventurers Guild. Stereos had bid them farewell and promised to seek them out for a few quests or another fight together once he was done with his research in town. They were still hoping to find a job on the copper board that would let them skip the wooden rank offerings. It just couldn’t be one they had to accept, so no escort missions or private jobs; that narrowed it down mostly to resource fetch quests or monster extermination.
The guild was open all night, but at this late hour there was only a smattering of people at the bar. A solitary figure browsing the golden-bordered side of the job board and Borub’s corpulent form half-folded over the reception desk, snoring loudly with a spilled tankard of ale dribbling onto the floor beside him. Vrax and Torvald unsteadily wandered over to the copper job board, simply ignoring the waste-of-time jobs on the wooden board; they were still a bit drunk from the Dragon's Maw after-party. Vrax still needed to make about one hundred gold in the next few months if he wanted to get his sapling back. They began perusing their options.
About twenty minutes later Torvald had put a small pin in two jobs on the copper board, and Vrax had marked one.
“Technically we could do any of the bandit bounty contracts, but I don’t fancy our odds against a group of criminals far above us in level.” Vrax mused, leaning back from the last job on the copper board. An Ember swine farm a few days north had put a bounty on a troupe of brigands five strong that had made off with some magical farm tools and a prized breeding pig.
“Yeah, these two shrike nest missions would work just fine for us. I’m sure we could wreck a nest together; it just might take a few days of chipping away at the horde, and ten gold each isn’t a bad payday at all. But…both of these jobs are almost a three-week trek plus however long it takes us to clear the darn thing.” Torvald said.
Vrax walked back to the job he had marked. “Hunting a lesser drake honestly sounds like a blast, but I am not thrilled about having to hoof it all the way to the northern steppes and then find the damn thing. Eighty gold is a lot of money, but not if it takes us three months… I wish there were some jobs closer to home instead of deeper into the kingdom.” Vrax said.
They both looked towards the silver job board with the same idea.
“Alright, let’s see what’s available in the awful, awful woods no one below level fifty should ever go into.” Vrax joked as he started skimming the silver job board.
“I’m willing, but please remember I am not as goddamn stealthy as you. There is a good reason I’ve only ever done hunts on the edge with you. We can handle a bit more now, but still if my big ass catches sight of a Voruk, I’m running, and I think I’m faster than you!” Torvold poked at Vrax while also starting to skim the job board.
“Maybe take all those bet winnings and go buy something to add to your ridiculous topknot jewelry collection that makes you quieter,” Vrax said, halfway serious.
“That’s not a bad idea actually. I probably have enough…maybe a nose ring,” Torvald said as his eyes stopped on a job towards the middle, and he chuckled to himself. “Anything good over there, Vrax?”
Vrax leaned in a bit; by one he had stopped at “I mean sort of; there is one for ember balm bulbs, no surprise there, but they want an ungodly amount of them. There is another here that is maybe doable if we get a couple more levels. Someone wants a Gurachong nest core stone.” Vrax made a face for a moment. “I haven’t actually killed one, but I have fought the babies. It pays one hundred gold, but you know, do we really want to fight giant psychic spiders?”
“It’s okay, Vrax. I found the perfect job, it will solve two of your problems at once. Pay is one hundred and forty gold, we might need to delve pretty deep though.” Torvald said with a smile.
“What the hell could we do that pays that much? I know things like drakkar claws go for one hundred each, but we sure as hell can’t even try our luck with anything approaching the second tier.” Vrax looked confused.
“Soul Render, honey, two barrels for one hundred and forty gold. I’m sure we could get one extra one for Martha and square your debt with our dear baker while making enough money to pay off your new abomination.” Torvald said, looking pleased with himself.
“Goddammit, of course it’s those things. Fuck. Okay, fine, put some damn essence into mental resistance so they don’t use you like a fucking sock puppet, though!” Vrax grumbled out.
“So, uhh, where are they, by the way?” Torvald asked.
“The nest I knew of that was near Hopes End got burned out by a very competent team of adventurers a few years ago now, but I have some ideas where there might be others; we just might have to explore a little.” Vrax said, already opening his rough map of The Forsaken Lands.
Vrax thought about how to deal with soul renders on the way to a cheap inn for the night. They weren’t horribly powerful—well, most of them. The main problem was they had an insane life cycle with an absolute grab bag of abilities ranging from easily manageable but still dangerous grub-like larva that could turn invisible as they inched up to eat you all the way through to a brain-melting hive lord that could kill you with a literal glance. Most Soul Render nests didn’t have one of those; at least Vrax was pretty sure they only rarely appeared in the oldest nests.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
Realistically the most dangerous stage of life they would have to deal with would be, hopefully, the Soul render matriarch within the nest, but as long as they didn’t disturb her while gathering the honey, she wouldn’t attack. Meaning they could expect enemies ranging between level ten and thirty spread across a sprawling hunting ground covering nearly a league and leading back to a corpse-filled den.
Vrax continued mulling over the dangers of this job while they checked into the inn. Mostly though he was excited to go back into his home turf, this time with a small measure of power to defend himself with. He would be able to venture farther than before and explore more boldly than before. He felt truly alive in those woods.
The other big reasons to go back to the forsaken lands were simple. The next level of the dungeon was probably still beyond them, from the little they had gleaned from other adventurers at the arena. And Vrax needed a base to house his horrors in; his stigmata garden was going to run out of room soon. The Dreadfeast he was picking up in the morning would probably not be safe to leave alone in any kind of populated area, and the same would go for any other nightmares Vrax adapted. He couldn’t just shove them into the garden with the daisy, at least not yet.
So where better to tinker with his powers than in the forest? If one of his monsters eats someone there, that isn’t even on him; they knew the risks going into the damn woods. Vrax would be sure to at least leave some warning markers or something surrounding whatever area he stuffed his horrors into. He wasn’t sure if Feldwin would be okay with him using the fort for that, and honestly, that was probably a bit close to town. The city near the grove had some potential as a good location, though it would probably take the average adventurer close to a week to reach it safely. But Vrax would need to scout it more first.
The Grove of the Cycle was also a great spot except for the whole tier-3 monstrosity guarding it aspect. Vrax fell asleep, his mind awash with possibility. The last cognisant thought he had before sleep took him was that he could probably adapt a Devourer now.
In the morning Torvald split off from Vrax to go shop for magic items that might help offset his rather inconvenient and potentially deadly lack of stealth skills, and Vrax went to pick up the Dreadfeast hatchling. Vrax showed up at the auction house with an adapted collar in hand, ready to slap a symbol of vurune on his newest and probably deadliest party member to make sure it and the daisy didn’t kill each other in their first fight.
He was greeted by a guard who told him to go around back instead of into the showroom like he expected. The loading area he found himself in was guarded by more heavily armed men than he had ever seen in one place before other than the Duke's occasional patrols. The same mage he had talked to before rolled out a black armored box with a slightly squeaky right wheel on it.
He pushed it towards Vrax. “Alright, this is your problem now. Place your hand on the box, and I will register it to your mana so only you can open it. The box is gratis; it’s an old one, and honestly, I still think this thing is going to kill you when you open it, so please do it way the hell outside of town.” The mage with the crystalline staff said his weapon still vaguely pointed at the armored box, which rattled slightly, a pissed-off low growl coming from inside.
Vrax placed his hand on top. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Anything else I should know about it?” Vrax asked.
“Father, do you think the monsters are gone yet?” The scared-sounding voice of a child echoed from inside the box. Vrax looked at it in abject horror.
“Well, it can apparently do that too. It didn’t start until we boxed it up, but it has been mimicking some fucked-up things, probably from when it helped its parents hunt that village.”
“Run, Margaret. I can’t hold the door much longer!” The breathless voice of a father echoed from the box, followed by the sound of a door splintering and a man screaming before a slicing sound cut the mimicry off.
“Uhh…” Vrax banged lightly on the box, hoping to get the monster to stop whatever the hell it thought it was doing; if it kept this up, he would be the one getting nightmares from it.
“Like I said, your problem now,” the mage said, sounding equal parts tired and relieved.
Vrax quickly pushed the box down the streets as it alternated between mimicking random conversations and replaying the last moments of villagers lives. The looks of confusion and concern he was getting from the throngs of people spurred him on into a near jog, clinking the squeaky wheel right to the nearest gate. The gate guards held up a hand to stop his near frantic journey.
“Whoah there, young man, what’s the rush?” An obviously near-retirement city guard said while stepping slowly into his path.
“I’ll tear its fucking guts out and wear them for a fucking bonnet before I let it take another of us!” A slightly drunken and very angry voice shouted from inside the box.
“Uhh?” the guard went from bemused to concerned, a hand slipping towards his sheath, and another guard, who was half paying attention, started to walk his way.
“I can explain; it’s just a monster that can mimic voices.” Vrax rushed to explain.
“Don’t let the monsters take me!” A young voice cried out from the box.
Vrax banged the top of the box awkwardly while pulling his bill of sale out and showing it to the guard as fast as he could before this escalated and someone was stupid enough to make him open the box in town. The guard took it and read very carefully over the details. Both of them stopped and stared as the Dreadfeast let out a guttural coughing growl and scraped slowly at the inside of the box.
“Uh, yup, go ahead and get that wherever it’s going…” The guard quickly handed him back his paperwork and waved him past.
Vrax made for the top of the winding hill where he and Torvad had agreed to meet up. He took a long hard look at the box. “We need to have a damn conversation about what is okay and what is not!” Vrax half scolded the Dreadfeast hidden in its box.
There was a poignant moment of silence where Vrax thought maybe the beast had calmed down, then an eerier, otherworldly voice echoed from within, “Yes, my pretties, feast, feast upon them, and grow strong, grow wise.”
“Okay, really? And where the fuck would you even hear that? That sounds like something a damn hag from a fairy tale would say to a pet.” Vrax stopped for a moment after his outburst, thinking through what he just said. It was capable of mimicry, which means it had actually heard that somewhere. Shit, I just adopted something a fucking hag thinks makes a good pet. This little guy might actually be more dangerous when it grows up than I was expecting, and expectations were already on the iffy even for me side of things.