"Are you - sure about this?"
Ven turned a beady eye on his travelling companions. He had a very good beady eye. It helped that he was upwards of two metres tall (or six-foot-six if you still used backwards Iudian measurements) and built like a gorilla, but mostly it came from his Predatory Gaze.
Having one Rare-class Job would see you set for life as far as adventuring employment went. You could always count on a whole gaggle of parties trying to recruit you. Having two, especially ones that went together as well as Wild Man and Druid, meant he'd spent enough time with enough people he'd even been able to find a whole party who met his standards to come with him this far into the Jungle Wastes. Plus, they balanced out his mediocre Crafting Jobs. He'd probably have died if he hadn't learnt them young, though, so he couldn't complain too much.
The Jungle Wastes weren't unfamilar to him; he'd been here before, a few times. Hadn't enjoyed it much. It wasn't that the place didn't have any life in it - quite the opposite, in fact. It was just all so blighted hostile that any sort of settlement ended up torn down inside of a year or two, and an unwary adventurer could very easily never return from his little trip.
Mother Elesia was as red in tooth and claw as she was green in life and growth.
Still, he was more at home here than he was in the cities.
Grunting when the damn fool lad in his shiny silver armour (all well and good in a Dungeon, and for a Paladin, but he wasn't there yet - still stuck pushing through Knight and Cleric, though that was closer than most got who tried, the Divine being notoriously finicky about their priests swinging swords around) looked away, he returned his attention to the screen he'd been staring at idly for months now.
Druid Rare LEVEL 50 EXP 99.99%
One tied deeply to nature, and the magic of the world. A protector of the wild places, and a seeker of natural wonder.
Minor Affinity to venoms and strength.
Moderate Affinity to endurance, vitality, animals, and survival and navigation in natural environments.
Major Affinity to wisdom, understanding, comprehension, life, and magic of the natural world.
Rank Up
1. Grovekeeper [5/6]
2. Greendreamer [4/4]
3. Primalist [3/3]
4. Wildshifter [2/2]
5. Plantshaper [2/2]
6. Stormcaller [2/2]
A Legendary-class Job... he'd be only the sixth in all the world. Hundred and ninety-fourth in history. All fame, power and riches aside, a vastly expanded lifespan would tempt almost any man. He'd made his peace with death, it was part of the cycle of all things... but at the same time, he certainly wouldn't go quietly if there was another option. He had his pride as an adventurer, after all, and there was still so very, very much to see beyond the borders of the Kingdoms and Empires that littered the relatively tame western edge of Elesia.
This was the last hurdle. He knew where he had to go; it had been pulling him along for weeks, the little tugs and hints that qualified him for Greendreamer in the first place. He'd never heard of the Job before he hit the EXP cap at the peak of Rank I, but his intuition had never failed him before, and he'd probably have taken it if Grovekeeper wasn't there at the top of the list. You were lucky to equalise rarities across a Rank-Up; most dropped by one, and a Common-class Job couldn't Rank Up at all, so once you devolved to that point...
It was, therefore, a great fortune that he'd met a Dryad - exactly once in his life, but that was once more than most - as a stripling of but eight years, having been wild in the woods for four. At the time, he'd merely thought himself lucky to have stumbled across such a pretty, nice-feeling lady, his burgeoning magical sensitivity touching on her connection to the forest he'd grown up loving; nowadays, he knew full well he'd been far luckier she was the kindly sort, and not a trickster, or worse one of the ones who raged at slowly losing their homes to the encroachment of 'civilisation'.
She had been the one who initiated him into Druid, and he'd always been grateful for it. Now, finally, he thought he might just be able to pay back that debt.
On the other hand, with the Worldspine Mountains finally in view, he was starting to doubt his initial supposition that he'd been called by the birth of a new Dryad. They were kilometres yet from where he knew the Grove was, and already he could feel the magic being pulled away, drawn towards their destination, and the brighter, purer current rolling back out. Powerful as Elesia's daughters were, a newborn wasn't that strong.
But even still, he would do his duty.
"I don't know how many of you can feel that, but we need to be on guard from here forward. Alaric, I want you running interference around us. Early warning, drive off predators if you can, fall back to the group if you can't."
Silent, the hide-hooded head dipped in acknowledgement. Alaric was an old friend; he spoke little, but he wasn't the Master of the Rangers' Guild without reason. He wasn't far off a Rank-Up himself, which put him well ahead of the vast majority. Truthfully, Ven suspected he'd been putting off the last push; once he prestiged out of Ranger, he'd have to join up with one of the Rank II Guilds or try and go it solo. Or retire, Alaric was just as good a Pharmacist as a Ranger, and any noble would pay handsomely for his services.
They were far too alike to ever settle down, though. Both of them, though they'd never voiced it, knew they'd die out in the wilderness, to a storm or to a predator or simply because they got old, and just lay down to rest for the night and never got up. There'd be no funeral, no casket or mausoleum of stone - their flesh would feed the beasts, and their bones fertilise the earth for new, green shoots, and if their friends had any sense they wouldn't mourn, because they had died as they wished to, doing what they loved, and returned all that they were to the world.
Neither of them held out much hope on the last point.
Still, that was perhaps a little overly morbid for what was hopefully the occasion to precede his Rank-Up to Grovekeeper.
"Lucylla, Edmont, inverse triad with me. Rikkard takes the centre." Edmont, the prospective Paladin, and Lucylla, a rather unusual but undeniably effective Berserker/Wardancer/Bard combo, took the lead, spreading out so that one was slightly to the left and one slightly to the right, but still both still close enough together that either could cover the centre at an instant's notice. Rikkard, an Air Elementalist, a Sorcerer, and a Summoner, something of a glass siege catapult, stood between and behind them, Ven himself at the back of the formation to prevent any ambushes.
Alaric was good enough that even Ven couldn't keep eyes on him without using magic, and sometimes not even with it, so there was minimal worry of him getting ambushed out of position. Still, caution paid off, and Lifewatch didn't cost too much mana, so it was a worthwhile expenditure.
They advanced, slowly and steadily, on the lookout for danger. And all in all, Ven was profoundly unsettled by how little they found. A couple of disturbed snakes making threat displays here and there, easy enough to detour around. A fallen tree forming a natural bridge over one of the Godsroar's distributaries was actually rotten, unsafe to put your weight on. That he even had to mention the tree at all proved how thin on the ground problems were; they should have fought off at least two or three ambushes by this point. Likely more, with how thickly the magic was flowing.
It didn't take long for the reason to become apparent, though, because as they neared the foothills of Godsroar Mountain (which shared its name with the river that thundered past its broad, sturdy base), they found themselves emerging into a clearing positively bursting with wolves.
"Alaric..."
Not making a sound, despite the twigs and dry leaves that layered the earth, the ranger dropped down beside him.
"They're not hostile."
Rikkard stifled an oath as Edmont only barely pulled back the instinctive swing of his blade. Lucylla just giggled at both of them, then giggled more as Edmont scowled.
"What are you -"
Ven narrowed his eyes. A Druid's understanding of the natural world was even better than a Ranger's, and... "He's right."
These wolves were... laid back, he couldn't think of any other word for it. A few had glanced over at them as they stepped out of the treeline, but after assuring themselves that it wasn't an immediate attack they'd just looked away again, gone back to lounging or playfighting, as if they were mere pups.
Given these beasts were half again the size of their more normal kin, fur unnaturally sleek and eyes piercingly bright, something was definitely up.
Then again, the deceptively gentle magic that flowed over the area was oddly calming. He hadn't felt this relaxed in years.
Well, if they didn't want a fight, Ven wasn't about to pick one.
"Alright, let's not provoke them. Round the edge, keep a weather eye on the pack but weapons down unless they're looking shifty."
"... Uh, sir?"
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"What, Edr- oh, for - Lucylla! They are not dogs!" Tempering his natural inclination to shout into more of a strangled hiss, mindful of his own warning, Ven stumped over to where an admittedly particularly fluffy specimen had its eyes closed in bliss as the blonde woman, grinning brilliantly, furiously ruffled its fur, both hands buried under silvery tufts to the point of being more or less invisible.
"But Ve-en, look at him!"
"Her. She's a - why am I even debating this? Lucylla, these are wild animals - beasts. In a high-magic zone. Just because something strange is going on doesn't mean they won't take your face off in a heartbeat should that something stop happening." The she-wolf, rather unhelpfully, chose that moment to let out a friendly chuff, butting her head against Lucylla's hip. Which itself spoke of the creature's size, given that the deceptively peppy Berserker - her sudden and entirely unheralded mood swings being the stuff of fearfully whispered legend across the Kingdom of Lumestra, and several other locations beyond - was the tallest among them by a noticeable margin.
"Moonbeam wouldn't do something like that, would you, Moonbeam?" Another friendly purl as Lucylla went back to two-handed ruffling. "See?"
"... And now you've named her. Isn't Alaric the Tamer here?"
Lucylla pouted.
Internally cursing Bardic charisma, Ven threw up his hands. "Do as you will, then! Just don't expect that I'll take responsibility for your foolishness when your little Moonbeam rips your throat out." He turned around. "And what are you laughing at, boy?!"
Edric, bent almost double and leaning on his shield to support himself, managed to squeeze out a vague apology through the giggles, to which Ven just rolled his eyes. And these were supposed to be the best he could find...
Still, he couldn't deny their efficiency as they advanced further onward, even if that bloody she-wolf had decided to tag along. Ironically, his ability as a Druid to determine that she meant them absolutely no harm at all just put him more on edge, which wasn't helped by the fact that despite Rikkard glancing nervously at her every so often, Edric had been converted in short order by wide, soulful eyes, and Alaric could be leaning either way given how nobody could ever tell what he was thinking. That was two or maybe three of five with their guards down when Yelof inevitably stuck his pustulent fingers where they weren't wanted.
Of course, when they finally reached the surprisingly unassuming little archway, grown of living wood that had been trained and woven with a care he thoroughly approved of before he registered what the System was telling him, he suddenly found he had other things on his mind.
Silvestre's Grove Dungeon
The home of the rowan Dryad Silvestre, curated by the Dungeon Core with which she shares a contract of equal partnership. No monsters designed for battle exist here, for none are needed - cross the Guardian of this Grove at your own peril.
Great Affinity to protection, connection and natural magic
Major Affinity to other positive magics, renewal, rejuvenation and life
Moderate Affinity to cycles, change, transition, growth and wisdom
Minor Affinity to time
Special Effect Rowan Benediction
Great Augmentation to protective, healing, natural and connective magics
Major Augmentation to divinatory magics
Major Opposition to maledictive magics
Great Opposition to necromantic and stagnant magics
"... Fucking shit, Ven. You don't do things by halves." Rikkard's face was pale, eyebrows high as he ran a nervous tongue along suddenly dry lips.
The silver-grey text characteristic of an Unknown was never comforting - something the System couldn't entirely quantify by normal rules generally had a tendency not to play nice with adventurers. Moreover, the lack of usual information like the actual difficulty of this Dungeon, how many Floors it had, whether the Grove was an entire Floor or just an Area... that indicated the anomalous behaviour was directly related to the Dungeon as a whole. So either this Silvestre was the Unknown (and a Dryad this new, this powerful? Strong contender), or, far worse, the Dungeon Core itself was.
Alaric, head tilted slightly, glanced back up the screen once he'd finished reading it. "... Rowan?"
Ven shrugged. "I don't know either. It's not a tree I've ever heard of, but given this... I suppose it must be some magical breed."
"Nuh-uh!"
Everyone looked around at Lucylla, who was wearing her smuggest expression, which Ven privately considered the I know something you don't know smirk.
Bardic Knowledge was almost as annoying as Bardic charisma.
"Apparently, rowan is a mostly mundane sort of tree, but the people in its native habitat associate it pretty strongly with protection and connection, so it can take magic really well. No idea where it's from, but it's nowhere around here. Doesn't even use our alphabet, the System gave me a phonetic transcription but it doesn't match the linguistic conventions of any -"
Edric, bless his selfless soul, put a hand on Lucylla's arm, breaking her out of the monologue before it got rolling too fast to stop. That meant he'd have to put up with her put-out pout for a while, but Ven had been a young man once and he'd had plenty of experience since - he didn't expect Edric would consider it a hardship.
Almost a pity this was a temporary arrangement, in some ways. Watching the little preacher try and keep it together (and keep it in his robes) would be fucking hilarious.
... Shit but he was getting old.
Huffing to himself, leathery-soled feet and wooden staff setting an irregular three-thumping rhythm, he stepped into the Dungeon proper.
And his jaw promptly dropped open.
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Silvestre was, despite herself, a little worried. Master had done so much for her, and she had yet to find an opportunity to repay him. Simply in bringing her forth into the world, he had provided her with such a wonderful Heart-Tree; then, so soon after, he had Named her, entrusting her to be the Guardian of his first - and only! - Floor, and even allowing her a level of access to his magic that her Innate Knowledge told her was all but unprecedented. Her strength had grown so great, so fast... she was still nothing compared to Master, of course, but she would already be considered respectable among her sisters, had she come by that power through slow aging and steady growth.
In all honesty, she hadn't believed herself worthy. She had no experience, and Innate Knowledge could only take her so far. So she had striven to prove that Master's trust in her wasn't misplaced, feeling out the structure of the Dungeon, the unique flows and coils of its magic, the things that could be done with Master's power no mortal - no Dryad, save the very eldest, and even then only for some of it - could hope to replicate.
The Shimmerbirds Master had provided her were beautiful, but quite mundane; she had shaped them slowly, helping them grow fleeter both on foot and in midair, able to soar and swoop and turn so much faster than before. Their feathers sparkled and shone (and, indeed, shimmered) in so many wonderful colours, so she showed them how to control that change, that they could hide themselves away or draw attention or even disguise themselves as other types of bird, should the mood strike them.
Mossy cracks in the cavern walls were home to the insects her Shimmerbirds largely fed upon - these, breeding quickly, eating moss that grew more quickly still and was purely sustained on Master's magic, very soon began to change all on their own. They grew larger, hardening their carapaces or sharpening their mandibles or starting to dart and twirl in midair. Mostly she left them alone... save for giving them a little nudge to alter their pigmentation. She very much enjoyed the swirling tapestry of colour that resulted, bright points of single colours desperately evading ever-changing, rippling streaks.
Slowly, the habitat grew and evolved, rodents and serpents and other insects and birds and suchlike all attracted by Master's powerful magic and maybe even her presence within it. She made sure things stayed balanced, that no species grew out of hand or died away, making small, careful changes here and there. Perhaps she overdid the colours a little, but would Master really begrudge her an honest error? She didn't think so, but her heart quivered in her breast all the same at the thought of having displeased him. However it would turn out, by the time the migrations had slowed down, her Grove was thriving, festooned almost as thickly with animal life as plants.
Best of all, Master continued to provide her with more and more wonderful additions to her little garden. Sometimes he would give her specific orders, like the little bursts of rounded blue leaves he told her to hide in the deepest swirls under the merry little brook that wound about her Heart-Tree's roots, or the purple-fronded fern that was only to grow atop the Jagged Cliffs that lined the north wall, but mostly he let her shape his domain as she liked so long as she didn't disturb the trees. Not that she'd dare, of course; Master's insight into natural magic was far deeper than hers, and she couldn't possibly have woven such an amazing harmony. It only went to show how far she was from deserving the trust he had put in her to properly manage his Territory.
Still, he had been so distant, entirely absorbed in his work, and while she was happy he was enjoying himself, and ecstatic to receive each and every gift for her Grove (each one a plant he had personally - personally! - worked on), there had been an ever-lingering concern that she simply wasn't all that interesting to him, that she was a convenience or even a bother. And naturally she would be willing to serve him however he required, even should he take it for granted that it would be so (and it always would), but the thought that she might be a burden on him had gnawed at her so.
It was why she had been so overjoyed at that great burst of satisfied accomplishment he let out one morning, when he immediately turned to her presence to show her what he had made, not because he wanted her to do anything with them, but simply to share that happiness with her. Bellsilvers, he called them, a tumbling cascade of oh-so-delicate silvery petals she fell instantly in love with, filled to brimming with vitality as they were - and he had laughed, and fashioned her a crown of them he set upon her head with the touch of his own magic, and told her that he thought the brilliant colours she had brought forth from her Grove were simply beautiful.
She had almost cried.
But thankfully, she had managed to present a composed front to her Master, a brilliant smile shining through as she clasped her hands demurely before her to stop them trembling.
Really, she didn't think he knew what that sort of gift meant to a Dryad. It was selfish of her, not to tell him... but she wanted to keep the illusion, for a little while longer, that he might love her even just a fraction as much as she loved him.
Bellsilver Crown Mythic
A gift to the Dryad Silvestre from her Master, this living wreath of Bellsilvers is steeped in both powerful magic and heartfelt love. Mighty an artefact as it may be, its owner treasures it as a symbol of her worth to the one for whom she would give everything and anything, if he only asked.
Produces Royal Bellsilvers at a rate proportional to the wearer's magical strength and affinity to natural magic.
Functions as a magical focus perfectly attuned to the wearer, and allows them to touch the natural magic around them if they cannot already. If they can, it improves that ability.
Fantastic Affinity to connection
Great Affinity to life, healing and natural magic
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"My Lord? The report you requested."
The shadowy figure waved an absent hand. No further words were spoken; the sheet of parchment was set upon the desk, and the lackey withdrew with a respectful bow.
For His Lordship, all current information on the adventurer known as 'Wilder' Ven:
Human, male, 74 in adventuring condition, unmarried without heir
Druid (Rare) 50, capped; Wild Man (Rare) 44~46, Survivalist (Uncommon) 40~49.
Herbalist (Uncommon) 35~45; Butcher, Chef, Woodworker (Common).
Mana approx. 3.87 on His Lordship's standard index, highest affinity towards life and nature, also strong in wind and water, some level of accomplishment in lightning. Excellent control and wide grasp of subtlety and cunning; favours nonstandard battle tactics. Wild Man Job provides exceptional physicality to complement Druid's high mentality. Survivalist emphasises scavenging, improvisation, endurance and overcoming difficulties by ingenuity. Cutting off resources and/or slowly wearing down nonviable.
Seeking a Dryad to unlock a Legendary-class Rank-Up for Druid. Recently recruited strong party (4 other members, all but one with positive prior history, special attention member Master Ranger Alaric) to venture into the Jungle Wilderness. Driven, pushing for time, was offering high rewards.
Is known to have some low level of prophetic instinct.
In the low moonlight from the window, a pair of lips could be just barely made out as they turned upwards.
It was not a pleasant expression.
"... How fortunate."
A rapier blade glimmered softly.