We continued the walk in relative silence after the realization that I was now with the Prince and Princess of some strange bug kingdom. I tried to enjoy my surroundings or think about my past but nothing really stuck. For once I could only really fixate on the here and the now. The inch worm with the swords and the friendly demeanor, who may or may not want to devour me, and the humanoid female moth who almost definitely wanted to eat me.
Fogwen seemed fine enough, if not just a little bit sassy. Unlike Fogwarth, Fogwen put up a cold front and had a rock solid presence. She walked with purpose, spoke with accuracy, and killed on sight. I learned that the hard way when a stray tiger pounced from the cover of a piled rock formation, only to be taken down by a single glowing energy javelin thing that she hurled before it even landed on the ground. Fogwarth was unimpressed but I was impressed enough for the both of us.
Despite knowing that I could not accurately gain her information through the odd system thing, she still shared everything openly. She was a Spanworm at one point as well, but had a rare evolution path open at level 15 called [Sacred Lunar Moth] and she was not a mere 2 levels away from her level 30 evolution. She shared that she was planning to remain on her current path and just take the next option closest to her current one. Apparently what made that path rare was that it altered her class from a [Lancer] to a [Sacred Lancer], which allowed her to do dope shit like throw those energy spears or even summon a hard construct of one for melee combat.
I asked her about my class at one point but she only shrugged, stating that she knew little of classes or evolutions outside of the Mothric family and the general Spanworm ones. I took the opportunity to pull some lore about Fogwarth while I was at it since I didn’t check before.
[Name: Fogwarth.
Title: The Flightless Guard, The Patient, The Comical, The Medic, 7th Heir To House Mothric, The Unevolved Son, The Castle Bastard, other.
Race: Spanworm.
Level: 15.
Class: Bladesmen.
Rarity:Common.
Equipment Level: 226]
I took a moment to process all of that. First, he actually had all of those titles? Like, legitimately? I had assumed it was a joke, and apparently I could go into a list to see them all if I wanted to, but I really didn’t feel like that right now. 7th Heir was interesting and said a lot about his standing, but not nearly as much as the last two. I didn’t want to pry, but I’d make sure to ask about those at some point. It was clear he wouldn’t have picked those himself.
Next, I saw his level. He was already at the Spanworm evolution point, but for some reason he was still just a spanworm. It made the Unevolved Son title make a bit more sense, but why wasn’t he evolving? Either he was holding himself back, there was more to evolving than I thought, or maybe a different reason. This one I definitely had to ask when the moment was right.
Lastly was the equipment level. I didn’t know if his number was low or high and I had nothing to compare it to, but given that he was a prince and had worn what I assumed was decent equipment, he was probably at least at a mid-tier equipment level for his current regular level. Bastard or not, no king would let an heir walk around in flimsy junk. No way.
I checked my own status page thing but there was no difference. I focused on my level and could bring up my experience bar, which was just over three quarters full to a level. That tracked. Early levels are probably easy to obtain, but if the Fog Twins over here had to wait until 15 to hit their first evolution then I couldn’t be that different myself. That gives me three days to gain 14 levels, give or take depending on what the Oracle guy says.
Soon enough we hit the township of the Mothric Kingdom, called Fogshire. The Fog names were really growing old fast, but I kept it to myself.
The town was actually pretty nice. Rows of shops and homes with peaked roofs outlined the main road, which had been paved with smooth stones embedded in the dirt. There were lots of spanworms ranging in size from as tiny as myself to roughly as large as Fogwarth, and they milled about from shop to shop, buying and trading goods. Other races blended in with them just not as great in number.
There were a few people who looked a bit like a human crossed with a carpenter ant, some kind of bird with octopus tentacles instead of legs, a perfectly normal human with a full blown deer skull for a head complete with antlers, and a few other strange things sprinkled in. But what shocked me more than the people was the town itself.
It was normal. Brutally normal.
The steady chime of a blacksmith hammer filled the air. Neighing horses pulling carts of goods trotted up and down the main road. There were rolling farmlands surrounding the main town, there were tailors and bakers, merchants who sold odd little trinkets, and even a couple of inns. Hell, I even saw some drunk people. They might all look weird as shit but they functioned the same as what I imagined early Europeans did. It was sort of fascinating.
“Fogshire is the hub of our fair kingdom. If Castle Mothric should be the brain of our orchard land, then surely Fogshire would be the heart,” Fogwarth said. “We house all manner of trade with nearby Kingdoms and accept envoys who bring us quests and news. Once we meet with father we will return to see you properly outfitted and perhaps we shall take on some of the quests that offer experience as a reward! It shall grant you the levels you need, and thus the evolution you require to survive.”
“Outfitted?” Fogwen chimed in. “He is a blueberry, you fool.”
I wanted to argue, but I sort of agreed with her. Not sure equipment would be necessary if I couldn’t actually move.
“Nonsense! I have many fine thoughts on armor for our dear sir berry.” Fogwarth puffed up his chest as we continued to near the castle entrance at the end of the main road. “He will be armored as well as any of our Mothric Knights!”
Fogwen laughed. “I suppose that is why you are known as Fogwarth, The Dreamer in some places, brother.”
The outside of the castle may have been truly impressive, but the inside was nothing short of incredible.
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Ceilings rose up to incredible heights as we entered, with red silk banners adorned on the walls that were painted or stitched with depictions of spanworms and moth people in battles. Enormous paintings hung here and there in the halls and showed what I imagined were former royals and nobles throughout the castle’s history. Blood red carpet lined the center of the halls and occupied a large swath of space in the huge rooms we entered. Stained glass windows allowed in some natural light that dazzled and danced in various colors, while tall bronze candlesticks stood at every corner emitting a steady glow from a ghastly white flame.
Shit was wild. Absolutely wild.
Fogwen said little to the armored guards who patrolled or stood watch throughout the castle, while Fogwarth greeted each by name as we passed. Only one had a Fog name, Foghurdt, and he was a burly figure with a somewhat humanoid form, boasting four legs and four arms, jet black skin that shined as if it were a carapace, and smaller crimson wings on his back. I couldn’t see his head due to the huge iron helmet, but I could tell he was staring at me, and his head seemed to follow us down the hall as we approached the throne room.
We entered through a stone archway and into an expansive room that was large enough to be an entire cathedral itself. More of the banners, art, and candles. Larger stained glass windows. Four guards lining either side of the walkway up the massive steps and towards the ornate, obsidian throne. Heavy chains rained from the high ceiling down to either side of the throne itself, and I glanced up only to see that not even the light in the room could reach up high enough to reveal its height.
“Father!” Fogwarth called out. “I have returned from my patrol! I bring news!”
Fogwen sighed at her brother’s outburst and moved to sit at one of the 7 seats, each mirroring some feature of the throne, that hung to the far side of the room.
For a long while we stood in silence. There was no answer, no life in the room outside of us and the guards.
“Father?”
Suddenly a voice boomed out of the darkness above us. It was like a thunderclap had exploded inside of the walls, it’s bellowing tone bouncing off of each surface and shaking the ground.
“Fogwarth,” it called down. “My son.”
An enormous gust of air pressed down on us like a gale force wind, causing the guards to brace themselves. To Fogwarth’s credit he didn’t move at all, except to remove me from his back and hold me by the ropes beside him. The gusts caused me to sway about like a common porch wind chime. I dared to glance upward.
And, I wish I hadn't.
“Oh my… what is that!” I screamed as the thing descended from the darkness above.
Enormous black moth wings spread out to either side, as huge as two yachts, carrying it down towards us. The glow of the room revealed more as it moved down, showing a body that was nothing but a collection of tire-sized eyeballs, ranging in type and color. Most were milky with sparse red veins, colored iris and dark pupils, yet some were pure black like Fogwarth’s own and others were a grid like that of a house fly. Its spherical, eyeball cluster body had an assortment of black tendrils that hung beneath it and seemed to move about at will.
It was, hands down, the most disgusting and horrifying thing I had seen to date.
It came down and hovered in air only feet from the ground, causing the guards to step back and clear space. Why a thing like this needed a throne was beyond me, but I really wished I wasn’t staring eye to eyes with it.
“It is good to greet you, father. I hope you are well,” Fogwarth said, bowing with his head low.
“Rise, my son. Tell me of news of your patrol,” it bellowed again just before its eyes all shifted and focused on me. “It appears you have much news indeed.”
“Thank you, father,” Fogwarth answered and stood up once more. “Icaraz patrols our borders still, and one dared to come within our bounds. It was a simple soldier, common evolution path of their people and only the first tier judging by our encounter. I managed to fend the enemy off, dealing a critical blow and severing his arm, yet it retreated shortly after.”
Fogwarth retrieved the severed arm from his side and laid it on the floor before his father. His father then appeared to look down on it, examining it for a moment before addressing his son again.
“Lucan, Advanced Hornet path…” the King began to say, pondering the words as he spoke them. “Scout class. Level 12. Interesting they would patrol with such lowly infantry.”
“Yes, father. I agree with your assertion,” Fogwarth answered. “From what I have gathered over the last week or so, they have a larger force buried somewhere just beyond the line and are sending patrol units to test our borders.”
“Interesting indeed. It appears our momentary truce is once again frayed and at the end of its life.” The King let out a long sigh, exhaustion clear in his voice. “And, if my assertions continue to be correct, the scout had come for this?”
“Aye, father. This is sir berry, he calls himself Barry.”
“That is… bewildering,” the King answered, its eyes scouring me in a way that made me equally uncomfortable and nauseous. “One of the Resurfaced, to be sure. Level 1. A strange debuff status with a small window of time connected to it. Tell me, Barry, what is it you seek here in Mothric?”
“I… Uh…” I found it extraordinarily hard to speak to the eyeball thing. “I was told I could come here and maybe find out some evolution information? I don’t know much about this place, but apparently I’ll start to slowly die within the next few days if I don’t level up and evolve. Foggy- I mean, your son had mentioned that I’m most likely the only sentient blueberry and that there might not be information on my paths readily available. Ya know?”
The King seemed to belly laugh at that.
“You are an interesting one, Barry The Berry. You are also correct, we know nothing of your paths. There are rare races in our world to be sure, yet you may be the rarest gem of them. It was a brave and bold choice to enter Mothric given your status, and I commend you for it. Most would consider you one of The Damned for being here.”
“Oh, Uh, thanks?” I answered, confused both by what he said as well as the odd way he said The Damned. “Fogwarth said it’d be the best place.”
“Normally I would be inclined to agree,” the King chuckled. “But it is not often that our primary food source comes wandering into our walls! Sentient or not, our calypso blueberries are second to none. With an unyielding, crisp texture and robust flavor, they are the very foundation our kingdom was built upon! I am sure many would have stolen a taste if it had not been my children who accompanied you.”
I looked over and glared at Fogwarth, who only looked down at me, berry-stained cheeks, and shrugged.
“I gave you my word you would be protected, sir berry. None shall taste the succulence of your fruit while either of us still draws breath. They shall not feast on your flavorful, scrumptious innards on this day or any other! At least while you still remain in sound mind.”
“And that brings me to a discussion we must have without such company,” the King said in a more stern, commanding voice. “Fogwen, please bring our guest to see Aspenoc, and do not eat him. I will speak with the 7th Heir regarding his new companionship. The council will not be pleased.”
Fogwarth hesitated for a moment as his sister approached us, but with the many, many eyes of his father on us he held me out in my ropes and I was snatched up by his sister. He looked down at me and gave a nod, a somber expression on his normally cheerful face.
“I shall see you soon, sir berry.”
“Yeah,” I answered him, giving a forced smile. “I hope so, Foggy.”
This seemed to brighten him up a bit and he turned back to his father with renewed confidence as Fogwen carried me out into the hall and began to head toward one of the spires I had seen from the outside.
“It is not befitting the 2nd Heir of the Mothric Kingdom to be on delivery duty for a bloody talking blueberry,” she said under her breath.
“Shut it, moth,” I answered, and we continued on in stiff silence.