Hylam trudges through the woods, praying that his mission will soon make some… or any progress. The heavy alchemical box at his waist clinks against his thigh with every step, worsening the bruise that has become more and more of a constant for the young man over the past few weeks. The apprentice evoker wonders — not for the first time — why fate has conspired so that he, of all of his master’s pupils, is the one who must complete this arduous task.
He’s far from the best student of the esteemed High Evoker. His practical abilities with evocations are fairly good, and his theoretical knowledge of the art is just as refined. Perhaps, were he the student of some lesser-known master or even of one of the more rustic universities, he could be considered a solid — if not necessarily outstanding — student.
As things stand, however, he is as a drake among dragons — impressive, but when compared to his peers he may as well be a common medicine man. Sivion can already evoke flames hot enough to melt through most armors and spread it over an entire battlefield without harming so much as a hair on his allies' heads. Oraiya has mastered her control of wind so much that the High Evoker expects she’ll be conjuring full tornadoes before she reaches her third decade.
Hylam’s most notable feat, in contrast, was the near-lethal poisoning of an apprentice warrior. Impressive, to be sure, but it had been more of an accident than anything else — all Hylam had been trying to do was dull the woman’s senses, but he misjudged the amount of venomous Essence he had poured into the assault and nearly caused her heart to fail.
That was, generally speaking, Hylam’s greatest fault compared to his fellows: lack of control. A terrible affliction for any evoker, but for an evoker of the Essence of Poison it was an especially cruel one. Capable wielders of his form of Essence can heal as easily as they kill, provide anesthetics and antiseptics in a pinch, or even find lucrative employment as poison testers for royals, nobles, and even the less cautious alchemists of Terra.
A sudden pulse of energy from the box at his hip breaks Hylam from his habitual self-pity and he freezes. “Here? Finally.” He mumbles, kneeling down and unhooking the unwieldy thing from his belt. Savoring the temporary relief from its constant battering against his leg, he examines the device.
The Essence Cache is of a size that his master called “middling,” but that Hylam himself would refer to as “bulky and stupidly heavy.” The bruise that dominates the majority of his left thigh is testament enough to that, in his opinion. Otherwise, it resembles nothing so much as an ordinary wooden box with metal latches and a seam that can be opened, save for the large golden dial not unlike one that he’d expect to see on a clock face or compass embedded in its top.
The box pulses once more — not physically, but with Essence — and he hovers his hand over the dial, focusing on his own Poison-aligned Essence. The source of his power buzzes within him like a nest of angry hornets and he forces it up his arm and towards his palm. With an effort of will he ejects the energy from his body and sends an Essence pulse of his own, aiming it at the box.
Immediately the dial whirls to life and the grass beneath the box withers and dies, making him wince as he realizes he’s failed to moderate his Essence flow once again. There’s a reservoir that collects Essence in the Cache — hence the name — and every time he overruns like that it fills just a bit with his Essence. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue, but his master was very clear that she wanted untainted samples of naturally-occurring Poison Essence, meaning he’d have to painstakingly empty the thing before gathering any sources of it. Putting the issue out of his mind for now, he watches the dial spin as the words of his master come to his mind unbidden.
“Like calls to like, Hylam. Flame beckons flame, wind stirs wind… and in your case, poison seeks poison. This is the most elementary truth of our art.”
That “elementary truth” is the guiding principle behind the box’s function, Hylam knows. A carefully crafted and incredibly sensitive sensor gem in the box is infused with the barest trace of Essence of the desired type. The gem is able to detect even minute amounts of that Essence out to surprisingly large distances, but cannot pinpoint its location — hence the need for the bearer to introduce larger quantities of the stuff to a different mechanism connected to the dial, which can then accurately point them towards the source. There’s more to it than that, of course — there are other aspects of the box that prevent it from tracking the bearer themselves, for example — but those rely on alchemical principles that Hylam isn’t familiar with.
This, of course, is why Hylam is the one entrusted with the task of tracking down and collecting the Poison Essence for his master. Despite being more skilled than him, none of his fellow apprentices are attuned to that element of Essence in the way he is… which makes him wonder whether any of them are performing similar tasks of their own, only with their own Essence types.
“Like calls to like.” Hylam repeats, watching as the dial calms its wild whirl and settles into its final position. He looks up, then laughs in self-derision when he sees nothing but more forest in front of him. “What did you expect, Hylam? A great ball of poison Essence, ready and eager to hop into the Cache for you?”
His laugh trails off into a sigh and he latches the device back to his waist, wincing as it rubs against his sore leg. If he were only a bit better at using his Essence he could maybe dull the pain with an anesthetic… but no. Better not to risk it, lest he accidentally end up rotting his own leg off.
Resigned to his task and simultaneously glad that he’s made some progress, Hylam treads deeper into the forest…
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I don’t know why the sight of the surface stirs my heart like it does. The trees, the sky, the grass, the dirt… every little detail of my first look at it is, to be entirely frank, nothing special. There are no exotically-colored flora adorning the trees or fantastical fauna roaming the land. The sun sits alone in the blue sky, shining the same color as the one in my memories. The tree bark is brown, the leaves and grass are green… hell, I’m no arboreal expert, and if you were to show me these trees and tell me they’re called the “North American Ordinary” I’d believe you.
All-in-all, it’s nothing special. Nothing I haven’t seen before. When I was alive… or when I was human, rather, I was very much not an outside kind of guy. The one time I ever really did anything outdoors-y was when my dad took me hunting when I was seven or so, and my most distinct memories of that trip are of me wishing I had my smartphone and being damn near eaten alive by mosquitos. Not exactly my fondest experience, in other words.
I hated the outdoors. I spent damn near every second I could manage inside, preferably in my own home and with no-one else around to ruin the experience. But now, looking at this very ordinary scenery? I’m moved to tears, and have to shut my horizontal eyelid to blink them away. I didn’t even know kobolds could cry, for God’s sake — I’ve never seen any of us so much as tear up!
God, was it always this grand? Maybe it’s just the scale of it all — I am less than half my human size, after all. Maybe instead it’s the fact that I’ve been living in a drab set of tunnels and caves my whole second life. Or maybe it’s nostalgia and wistfulness, simply me realizing how much I’d missed out on. Honestly? I think it’s all three, and a bunch of other feelings I don’t really know how to put into words. So instead of trying to do so, I simply focus on basking in the moment, enjoying this warm glow that’s simultaneously bittersweet and invigorating.
I’m so far gone that when Karr speaks I nearly jump in surprise, having completely forgotten he was standing next to me.
“Wow.” He breathes, looking around wide-eyed at what I realize is an entirely new world for him. Fortunately for me he seems so enamored with the scenery that he failed to notice my little waterworks display, avoiding what I can only assume would be a very awkward conversation. “It’s all so… colorful.”
“It is.” I agree, thinking back to the Nest, most of which is dominated with the same color as our scales even when there is light to make out color in. “Noisy, though.”
He laughs a little, nodding his head in agreement. “Yeah. What’s with all the chirping?”
“Birds.” I replied. “They’re kind of like bats but with feathers, which…” I frown, thinking. “You know that thing that hunter Sken wears on his belt?”
“Oh. Weird.” He pauses, frowns, and turns to raise a scaly eyebrow at me. “How do you know what they look like?”
“Vekit.” I reply instantly, which isn’t entirely untrue. The old kobold has regaled me with tales of surface creatures more than once, though I’ve supplemented quite a bit with assumptions from my old life. Karr nods again, satisfied with my explanation, and I take another, more deliberate look at our surroundings.
I’d expected us to pop out of a mountainside for some reason. Maybe because I’ve always associated the underground with dwarves as far as fantasy stuff goes? I probably shouldn’t assume dwarves are a thing, actually. Either way, my expectation is entirely off base. The little earthen maw that leads back into the tunnels below isn’t quite a hole in the ground, but it’s close. It reminds me a bit of an upscaled rabbit burrow or foxhole, save that instead of being carved out of dirt it’s made of rough stone.
Surrounding the tunnel entrance are the host of trees and other greenery that took my breath away moments ago, and they’re so close that I find myself wondering how often people looking for the hole pass over it entirely amidst the dense foliage. I do actually notice a few small trails leading in and out of the area — presumably made by small game like rabbits, seeing as they’re too little to have been made even by kobold strides.
A rustle of leaves makes me whirl around, my spear at the ready. “Whoa now, Zel.” Soh laughs, pushing my spear point down and away from a surprised grayscale dangling a bunch of snared rabbits across his back. “It’s just Asz.”
Asz — who I don’t recognize as any kobold I’ve seen in the Nest — blinks at me, then turns her gaze to Soh when she’s sure I’m not about to stab her. “I’ve checked the snares.”
“I see that. Pretty good haul.” He nods at the bundle of unfortunate critters on her back. “At least in the worst case we’ll have some meat for Ivo and her hatchlings.”
“Yes.” She agrees, then turns and points in what seems like an entirely arbitrary direction to me. “There are deer tracks that way, near one of the no-scale paths. Some signs of a no-scale wandering alone, too.” She grimaces a little and looks back at me and Karr. “Try to catch the deer. No good comes from killing no-scales… and there’s not enough meat on them for a good meal anyways.”
She stares at us expectantly and we stand there for a moment before Soh starts as if realizing something and moves aside, gesturing for us to do the same. We do, and Asz moves past us and towards the tunnel. Apparently we were in the way.
“Don’t cross the stream!” Soh calls towards her. “There’s a lurker!”
She raises a hand to signal that she heard and disappears into the tunnels. “That was Asz. Weird sort, but not a bad girl.”
“I’ve never seen her before.” Karr comments, making me glad that I’m not the only one who didn’t recognize her. It makes me feel just a bit less like an antisocial weirdo, which… well. One lifetime as an outcast loner was enough for me, frankly.
“Doesn’t surprise me.” Soh grunts. “She’s not much for company ever since she lost the rest of her clutch. Spends most of her time up here on the surface nowadays. Hell, I’ll wager most of the meat you hatchlings have been lucky enough to eat was caught by her.”
“How’d her clutch die?” I ask, sympathy worming its way through my mind. To lose your clutch basically means you lose your entire family as far as kobolds are concerned. It means waking up every day alone in your den, your only company being the empty hoard-holes of your clutch-siblings. No wonder Asz doesn’t stick around the Nest, if that’s what’s waiting for her.
“No-scales.” Soh shakes his head grimly. “Her clutch-brother killed one on a trip like this one, actually. The rest of its group hunted him back to her clutch, and she was the only one who got away.”
“Which is why she told us to leave them alone.” Karr surmises, and Soh nods in confirmation.
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“Yeah. She’s not wrong about leaving them alone or them not having much meat, so we’ll be steering clear.” He begins heading the way she pointed. “A deer, though… well, the chromascales will be dancing atop their hoards in delight if we get it. Means we might actually get some of the rabbits for ourselves, you know.”
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This is turning out to be a very educational experience, all told. More than once Soh calls us to a stop and points out some interesting tidbit, such as one of the snares (“Oh good, Asz reset them already.”), a couple of bird nests, and important landmarks for us to find our way back by. Not that I think the latter is entirely necessary. My tunnel sense isn’t working as good as it was when we were actually underground, but the tight confines of the woods are apparently close enough for it to operate regardless. It’s not providing me with a full-on subconscious map of the area, but I’m confident enough that I can find my way around the place if I need to.
The hunting process is about what I expected it would be. A bit of looking for tracks, a bit of stalking through the woods as quiet as can be, nothing too out there. When we spot the deer we’re looking for, I’m able to confirm that it’s just an ordinary deer — or at least it looks that way on the outside. It’s always possible it can spit acid in our faces or something, but I like to think Soh would have mentioned that to us.
Fortunately, if it does have acid breath or something equally lethal it doesn’t get the chance to show it. Soh motions for Karr and I to stop a ways away, stalks closer… and with one vicious jab to the throat seals the animal’s fate. A gout of blood spurts across the green leaves and grass as the deer flails about in a blind panic and Soh retreats to avoid getting clocked by a lucky hoof.
The deer darts off, gurgle-bleating in terror, and Soh hisses in annoyance. “Damn it. If something hungry hears that racket… come on, Karr, Zel.” He gestures for us to follow the deer. “It’ll fall soon enough. Hopefully away from anything else, but keep your guard up.”
Following the deer is as easy as one could expect — even if it weren’t painting the trees red and leaving a distinct metallic scent in the air as it passed its panicked flight would be more than enough for us to track it by. We’re no longer stalking the thing so much as chasing after it full-tilt, and I can feel my little heart pumping faster and faster as we engage in the age-old chase of predator and prey.
It doesn’t take too long to catch up to Soh’s victim. The creature lies collapsed on its side near a tree, letting out shallower and shallower breaths. Seized by a sudden sympathy, and not wanting to risk it getting a second wind out of nowhere, I grip my spear tightly and thrust it hard under its jaw and into its brain. The deer goes deathly still and its breathing ceases as I put it out of its agony, and Soh claps me on the shoulder.
“Not a bad thrust, Zel. You’ll find it’s a bit harder to pull off when they aren’t all but dead already, though.” He chuckles and approaches the corpse. “Good size, well-fed… this’ll do, yeah.”
“Good to hear.” I reply, staring at the blood on my spear and feeling just a bit queasy. Now that all the excitement of our chase has worn off, the reality of what we’ve just done really sets in. I’ve never killed something bigger than a bug in this life or the last, and the combination of the deer’s terror and the sheer messiness of it all…
I shake my head, pushing the thoughts and queasiness aside. It was dead already, like Soh said, and I’ve long known this world isn’t nearly as soft and cushy as my first-world life on Earth was. I don’t doubt that I’ll see a hell of a lot more blood before my second life comes to an end. Hopefully most of it isn’t my own.
“Kind of weird looking, isn’t it?” Karr says as he gets a good, up-close look at the deer for the first time. “How does it hold everything up on those stick-legs?”
“Well, there’s four of them.” I point out, and he nods.
“Right, right. I guess you’d know all about walking on skinny legs, eh?”
He dodges my attempt to whip him over the head with my tail, laughing, and then pauses. “So how are we going to get it back to the Nest, anyways?”
That’s a good question. Carrying a full-grown deer like this one that entire way would require some serious effort from three adult human men, and we’re not even half that size even if we are a bit stronger than that would imply.
“We have a travois hidden just inside the cavern for things like this.” Soh informs us, and, seeing the look of confusion in both of our pairs of eyes, explains further. “It’s basically two sticks and a net in between them. You’ll see.”
“Why didn’t we grab it beforehand?” Karr asks.
“It’s too unwieldy to lug around all day — it’d catch on the trees if they’re too close — and I wasn’t sure how long it would take for us to catch something, or if we even would.”
“That means we have to drag it all the way back to the cavern.” I note, already dreading the effort, but Soh shakes his head.
“No. One of us will go back to get the travois while the other two watch the body so nothing else gets a free meal from our hard work. Normally that’d be me, but…” The older kobold locks eyes with me. “You think you can find your way back alone, Zel?”
I blink in surprise. “Me? I can, but why not either of you?”
“We’re both more threatening than you.” He replies, gesturing between himself and Karr. “More bulk. That means we’re good at scaring off or fighting whatever sniffs around here. But you… you’re thinner. Sleeker. And you’ve got good senses. I wasn’t kidding before, you’d make a fine scout — or in this case, travois retriever.”
I look between the two of them. Karr gives me a shrug, which I return. “So where is this thing hidden, anyways?”
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Hylam groans as he comes across a gaping wound in the earth. “Of course.” He mutters, glaring at the hole as though it would oblige him and seal up, thereby giving him an excuse not to delve into it. The now ever-present pulse of the Essence Cache pings his senses, as if insistently reminding the evoker why he’s here. The frequency of the pulse is inconstant, signaling that the source is still far enough away that it can only get a faint reading.
Knowing his luck, the damned hole probably leads into the Underrealm, that ubiquitous network of tunnels and caves of all shapes and sizes that lies beneath the feet of everyone on Terra. Worse still, the most likely sources of Essence in that place aren’t the sort of thing Hylam is eager to encounter. If he’s fortunate, it could be that there’s a collection of crystallized Essence somewhere — that would be a bit tough to convert into a form the box’s reservoir can hold, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about it killing him unless he really screwed up.
The other options, though… animals are capable of absorbing Essence. Typically it kills them, but when it doesn’t they turn into monsters. A monster can be a total pushover or an absolute nightmare — not all of the beasts take well to their new power, but the ones who do are the subject of village legends and horror stories the world over. The worst case scenario, of course, would be a specific kind of monster — a dragon. No creature possesses such a natural mastery of Essence as they, and unlike most monsters they’re just as intelligent as the myriad civilized races of the world — or more intelligent, in most cases. Worst of all, his master would argue, is that if some monster is the source of the Essence then it will no longer be pure, meaning he’s risking his neck for what may amount to a complete waste of time.
Hylam chews on his thumb nervously as he considers his options. It would be easy to turn around and report back to his master that there’s something with Poison Essence in the Underrealm. She’ll be annoyed at the time he wastes going back and forth like that, but she’ll also likely requisition some protection for him. A few warriors, or maybe even another evoker, could make all the difference down there.
On the other hand… he doesn’t want to just turn back at the first sign of hardship. Aside from annoying the High Evoker even further, it’s not like Hylam is completely incapable. It wouldn’t be hard for him to peek into the tunnel a bit, see where it leads… who knows, the source of Poison Essence could be just inside, meaning he’d look like even more of an idiot if he went running back to grab help. Steeling his resolve, the evoker takes his first steps into the darkness.
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The sickly green glow of Hylam’s auracaster illuminates the evoker’s descent into the earth, making the entire affair much more unnerving than it already was. Not for the first time Hylam wishes he possessed a different Essence affinity — fire, air, water, ice, levin, anything. Any of those elements would produce a much less ominous color from the little lantern-like device that hangs on the opposite side of his hip as the box. Not to mention their light would probably be easier to see by.
The young evoker treks through the tunnel, jumping at every noise not made by himself, but still determined to make it as far as he can on his own without turning back. After what feels like hours but in reality is only a dozen minutes he hears a sound he never expected to hear in the Underrealm.
Is that… running water?
It makes sense, he supposes. There’s a source of Poison Essence down here somewhere, so doubtless there are other types as well. A collection of Water Essence crystals further up the depths could serve as the origin of any number of rivers down here, depending on how the tunnels flow.
Of course, water typically means wildlife of some variety. Hylam has no clue what sorts of creatures live down here, but he’s not too eager to run afoul of any of them. Once more he hesitates, and once more he swallows his fear and resolves to continue onwards. In the worst case he can ditch the Cache and run. If he unleashes all of his Essence at once in the act, he’ll likely be able to outrun whatever beast is unfortunate enough to get a full blast of it, if not outright kill them. The High Evoker won’t exactly be pleased if he loses the Essence Cache — it’s not a cheap implement by any means — but he’d sooner face her displeasure than his own death.
When he reaches the river he once more curses his green aura. The running water looks downright toxic in the light… but it’s not as though it hurts anything. He actually curses aloud when he examines the cavern the water flows through, however.
“One, two… three different paths, not counting the one I came through. Damn it!” Hylam doesn’t have the directional sense to go stumbling down multiple possible routes in the Underrealm and not get lost — hell, he doesn’t know anyone who does. Underrealm explorers aren’t uncommon, but they tend to be the sort who live off the thrill of things, or whose curiosity outweighs their desire to avoid death. Not the sort that Hylam associates with, typically.
That thought stirs Hylam’s heart, making him realize just how stupid he’s being. He’s gods-know how deep under the earth, completely alone. No-one knows where he is, and it’s unlikely anyone will find him without following the exact same steps he has — which would necessitate also possessing Poison affinity, and his master has always been loath to seek help from those not directly beneath her. Of course, he could always use the Cache to track the source of Poison Essence and determine which tunnels to travel down… but that doesn’t mean he’d be able to find his way back.
The evoker’s throat goes dry at the thought of getting lost down here and he reaches for his waterskin, draining the remainder of its contents in a few frantic gulps. Normally he’d be more conservative with the liquid, but since there’s a source right in front of him he indulges himself. One can never be too hydrated… not for long, at least. Besides, there aren’t any beasts lapping at the river, and he doesn’t see so much as a single fish swimming through it either. Just a few mocks and an odd moss that grows along the sides. For once Hylam is thankful for his Essence affinity — it’s easy enough to tell with a brief pulse of power that if the moss is poisonous, it’s not bad enough to harm him. It might be enough to hurt another person, mind — but his affinity grants him some resistance to venoms and poisons, even if it isn’t a blanket immunity quite yet.
Hylam treads over to the water, unhooking the Essence Cache and setting it aside for the moment, once more taking relief in the absence of its weight clanking against his leg every few seconds. He takes the moment to lift his legging and examine his bruise — and immediately regrets it as he winces away from the sight. “At least I can find a healer after I get the hell out of here.”
His waterskin refills easily enough as he watches the water flow over the stone beneath it. Whatever its source, this river must have been active for ages — his master had once told Hylam about how even gently-flowing water could cut through stone given enough time, and considering this stream’s size it must have been active for a long time indeed. The odd, rocky shapes beneath the water seem to twist and bend hypnotically beneath the eerie green light of his auracaster, making his heart beat ever faster as he turns his gaze away from the odd trick of the light.
Standing, the evoker turns to go then freezes in place as the Cache’s pulse quickens suddenly . “What?” Positioning his palm just over the device, he once more triggers the dial… which points towards the tunnel he entered from.
Hylam feels his blood run cold and curses himself for not having thought of the possibility earlier. Whatever monster had triggered the Cache before — and it was clearly a monster if it was moving around enough to suddenly set the sensor off without him approaching it himself — must call the tunnels its home. It had probably been out hunting when he arrived, and he’d happened to miss it completely when he stumbled across the crevasse that led down here.
Panicking, Hylam scrambles to grab the box but only ends up shoving it further away, back towards whatever was stalking down the tunnel at this very moment. Swearing, he stumbles to his feet and steps on something… squishy?
He doesn’t even get the chance to look down at whatever it is before pain explodes across his midsection and he’s lifted into the air, screaming in agony all the while. Whatever has hold of him hasn’t broken his skin yet, but its vicelike grip feels like it’s splitting him in half regardless. The evoker tries to move his arm but realizes too late that the pain is present in both of them as well — by some cruel misfortune his arms had been down at his sides when this monster grabbed him, and now he can do nothing but desperately writhe in the its grasp.
Hylam hears the sound of a large amount of water being displaced as the creature’s body surfaces in the river. Somewhere in the back of his terrified mind, Hylam contemplates the very real possibility that the movement he’d mistaken for a trick of the light had in fact been whatever held him now. Slowly, ponderously, the thing brings him closer to the river, coincidentally turning his body to face it.
The last thing Hylam ever sees is a mass of tendrils and black beady eyes — the torment that follows blinds him to everything else.