Cryer-Oak
Stone Goblin, Female, Inventor
Location: Beneath the Mountain Ranges of Triestwald, below the Earthen-Home, deep in the Cavern-Halls leading to the Tomb of Stone Dungeon
Cryer-Oak walks in companionable silence with her party, going deeper and deeper into the dank cavern halls. A slight hum emanates from even further down, earthy and bassy in its make.
“Does everybody know the plan?” The human, Tiny-Red, spoke out of the blue, gaining our attention as he held a makeshift map to his face and inspected the routes we'd gone through already. Taking into account the different markings that he's added onto it, he dashes with the charcoal in his hand through the many routes that he's confident would lead to nothing, leaving us with four routes we could take today.
“Triangle shape, you front, Cryer-Oak middle, yaddah yaddah,” the lumbering Ogre, Quiet-Leaf, rumbled, picking his nose with his free hand. “And when big-big gets in way,” he lifts his other arm that was dragging behind him, a gnarled root of some sort turned makeshift club held in it and swings it in front of him.
The club smashes onto the cavern floor, resulting in a resounding thud echoing throughout the halls, reverberating from all sides of the cavern and humming within all of us. He smiled at the crater left behind in its place, the surrounding stone shattered.
“You smash it, yes,” Tiny-Red said pointedly, finally looking up from the map and looking at the rest of his party behind him. “We all know our roles, so I want this to be a smooth run, okay? No funny business.” He slashed down with his arm, a simple shield of mana locking into place on his forearm, as he continued speaking.
“Nobody getting distracted by shiny things.” All heads turn toward Cryer-Oak.
“Nobody doing anything risky without expressing their intent to the rest of the group.” We all turn to Quiet-Leaf.
“And lastly, nobody running back out of the dungeon alone, leaving the rest of us behind.”
We all slowly turn towards her, the assassin.
“I already said sorry,” Sweet-Dirt said meekly, shifting uncomfortably from us staring at her, “There were just too many of them and... I just got scared.”
“Sorry no make up for fact you nearly got me killed, Sweet-Dirt,” Quiet-Leaf rumbled, practically breathing down her neck. “Might as well do us favour; gut you like fishy. We no need coward with us.”
“That’s enough from you, you oaf.” Cryer-Oak slapped her arm against his lower leg as she stared him down, eyes glaring into his. “She knew she fucked up, that’s why she apologised. We made it out fine, anyway.”
“No thanks to her,” Quiet-Leaf rebutted, his gaze returning to glare at Sweet-Dirt, before walking ahead of us all, his club in tow.
A moment of silence passes, save for the heavy footsteps of Quiet-Leaf and the ever-present hum of the dungeon. Sweet-Dirt looks to be on the verge of tears, before Tiny-Red places a hand around her shoulder, nodding once towards her, looking a bit apologetic, before walking ahead to follow Quiet-Leaf ahead.
Cryer-Oak stands beside the elven woman for a moment, waiting for her to collect herself, with the assassin doing little breathing exercises that the Stone Mother taught all of us. Cryer-Oak reaches up with her arm to gently hold Sweet-Dirt's hand, walking forward with the others.
“You know,” Cryer-Oak began as soon as Sweet-Dirt completed the breathing exercises, “You really did put us in a shitty situation.”
The elven woman suddenly burst into tears, finally losing her composure. Cryer-Oak cuts in amidst her crying, caressing her hand all the while, “But I need you to realise that we are a team. We need to watch out for each other’s backs, no matter how scary or dangerous it becomes. We owe each other that much, you know that.”
Sweet-Dirt ekes out between quavering breaths, “I do know that – I really do – but you saw what we all saw, Cryer-Oak!” The elf looks at her with teary but focused eyes. She continues, “We all know for a fact that what was down there wasn’t anything we’d ever encountered.” Her lips quiver as she thinks, likely trying to think of words to describe what we all saw down there.
“I know, I know, but the Stone Mother knows we’ll be safe at the end of this run, she’d already told me our Fates for this upcoming week,” Cryer-Oak reassures her, “She told me that we’d ‘get into a couple scuffles, but would emerge victorious!’ Have some faith in ‘lil old me!” She makes a show of herself, clambering on top of a rather tall stone and flexing hard, being outright stupid.
That got her to smile and chuckle, thankfully.
Sweet-Dirt sniffles a bit, steeling herself for the task ahead, before giving her a hug and walking ahead, her earlier worries hopefully cast away, although she remained slouched and her body still a bit rigid when she got closer to Quiet-Leaf.
Cryer-Oak jumps off of the stone, looking down the hall where a giant room and an arch of dungeon energy awaited us all. It blended easily into the cave’s natural walls, with glowshrooms in two alcoves on both sides of the arch, lighting the room. But if one were to pay attention, one could see a slight shimmer where the natural cave and the dungeon joined one another. The others’ silhouettes were cast against the glow, their backs made dark.
Dark. Just like what we saw the day before.
She thinks back to what they all saw, with her inspecting the unknown entity as their strategy put in place instructed them all to.
Unknown
Element: Unknown
Level: Unknown
Rank: Unknown
Heed their warning, for theirs is true.
They care not for anything else: only their due.
HP: Unknown
Amidst all the fighting and clashing of steel between them and the dungeon’s monsters, there was a simple beggar off in the corner. Just watching.
Their garb was nothing more than linens, albeit patchwork and crudely made. Human features, feminine figure. But just a hint of darkness surrounded the entity — or more accurately: nothingness.
An unexceptional beggar — without the weird nothingness, of course — commonly seen throughout any city one might find along their travels.
However, the others saw them differently.
Tiny-Red; the Stone Mother with her arms outstretched.
Sweet-Dirt; a dapper orcish man, clad in the fancy clothes the royals use, sitting at a round table banquet with no other attendees.
Cryer-Oak; his dead uncle, whom he left long ago to join up with our community. People close to us. People we saw in the corner of our eyes throughout our travels before we came here.
Just... people.
“What are you waiting for?” A voice yells out from the end of the halls. Tiny-Red’s voice.
Cryer-Oak shakes her head, ridding herself of the thought. “Nothing!” She joins the rest of them, adjusting her bandolier as she got closer.
We all enter, ready as can be.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
The Stone Mother, Revered Matriarch
Location: Beneath the Mountain Ranges of Triestwald, in the heart of the Earthen-Home
“So, you see, beloved Stone Mother,” the man went on and on, talking about things far too unimportant to have needed her guidance, “It’s not me that did anything wrong — in fact, I’d even go as far as to say that he was the one to have wronged me. He was the one that didn’t read the sign properly, so it’s his fault that I got a bit of extra coppers for it.” He flashed his pouch of money, dangling it in front of her. It clinked as it did. “Do you think this money would pay for what he did? He broke my damn leg! Not to mention all of the property damage he’d...”
She mentally blocked him off, taking a deep breath in and out, and mentally surveyed the rest of the brood. All healthy. She then looks out into their city, which the rest of her family calls home.
Large stalactites and stalagmites jut out from the cavern surface, where she has made places for them to feel safe and to live, bridges made to connect the domiciles together. Lantern light from Luxberries that we have grown ourselves create the warm glow that comes from the windows of their homes. She looks to where the nearest facing mountain wall is, the one closest to the exit, where light touches the ground.
Giant openings in the earth above — sinkholes — for light to enter where we have sown our own seeds, trees, and plants. Our own forest for the dryads to live in.
Many ponds and lakes of extraordinary bounty dot the forest, full to the brim of fish and other such aquatic life, and for the naiads to live in.
The river’s path enters into the mountain and winds through our fields, kept clean of the contaminants brought along by the Dwarves further upstream by the naiad that lives within the river, allowing clean water to seep into the soil to replenish it, before leaving out the mountain to continue to its path to the cities downstream.
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
Drilled recesses along the mountain’s face for water to pool in hundreds of rocky reservoirs, purified weekly by Aquess, one of our naiad sisters. A natural source of safe, clean water for everyone and for the plants to sustain themselves on should they need to in the case of a dry spell, their hardy roots able to dig through the earth and into the stone to tap the water.
Our home.
Many people from all walks of life — goblins, orcs, ogres, humans, even a handful of elves — have submitted themself to this place, accepting the transformation the pupa offers, along with the loss of their former name.
Some would say it is unbecoming of one to forfeit their life to live among the People of Stone.
Some would even go as far as to say it is stupid.
But we know better.
We are better.
She takes her last deep breath, returning her attention to the gnome in front of her, forcing a tolerant smile as best as she can, as he rattles off more and more nonsense before his spiel finally comes to an end.
“But... Yeah. That’s pretty much it, I think.” He looks up at her, smiling earnestly. “Thank you again for your time, beloved Stone Mother,” he bows, before continuing, “May the Earth bless us all.”
“May the Earth bless us all.” She echoes, mentally speaking to him, with her bowing in return. He turns around and hobbles his way back from where he came, his peg leg attached to his stone body forcing his gait to cause his coin pouch to clink more loudly and obviously.
He’s a fool, but he is her fool.
They are all hers, as she is theirs.
Without them, she cannot function, and vice versa.
Tomorrow, when the dawn breaks, he will come to realise he does not need to hobble any longer.
... And that he is also missing a silver and a few coppers, returned to their rightful owner as they should’ve in the first place, but he won’t remember it, and nor will they.
It gets quiet here, up in the nest with the brood. Many thoughts whizz past her mind, all belonging to the denizens of her city. Many are dreaming. Many are also awake, yet still dreaming in a way.
They all hope, and they all pray.
They all wish.
And with their wishes to her, she gains ever more power. And only with such strength could she wholly protect them from those who wish to hurt them. From those who want nothing but to watch our home burn. To keep them safe and save them from their banes, traumas, regrets, and sorrows.
And their stupidity.
(The Stone Mother) has casted: [Stoneshape (Lifelong)] on (Pale-Moon)’s right leg
[Pale-Moon]’s right leg being reconstructed: 0% {Will begin once entity rests}
(The Stone Mother) has casted: [Memory Alteration] on (Pale-Moon) and (Hair-Worms)
(The Stone Mother) has casted: [Teleport Object (1 silver & 27 copper coins)]
The rapid casting fatigues her slightly, but the coherence of her community is paramount. Her exhaustion and suffering will disappear with time, but her family cannot fight amongst themselves — unravelling the painstaking effort she'd gone through — so a tiny bit of modification is called for.
However, it seems that even with her all-encompassing control over all who dwell here, outside forces still rear their ugly heads. She thinks back to what had transpired all those days ago.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
“Stone Mother! Stone Mother!” interrupted Sweet-Dirt, her elven and fair face even more paler than her usual white complexion. I look behind her, her siblings-in-arms nowhere to be found. My heart sinks, fearing the worst.
“Please, I need your guidance!” She practically begged. Her voice was shaking, I realised. She finally closed the distance between us, immediately prostrating herself before me, her trembling hands faintly gracing my feet.
“What is it, my child?” I lift her to standing, my mind reeling at all the possibilities for what could have occurred in that dungeon.
Before she could even answer, a rush of emotions and sensations hit me, finally catching up to my mental senses, along with memories from a long time ago.
Her memories.
A branding iron seared my flesh, the smell of something burning wafting into my sinuses.
My body contorted inside a cruel torture device, pinpricks of rusted steel poked at my entire body, digging deeper as it slowly closed in, the wooden parts of the device creaking as it moved.
Moments that stain my thoughts, never leaving, always there. The abuse, both sexual and physical in nature, enraptured the Orcish man, seeming to relish in the unspeakable.
My mind seethed and recoiled, incapable of withstanding the onslaught of pain and torment.
The stone all throughout the underground city became jagged and sharp, the feeling of retaliation and slaughter coursing through my mind as I focused hard on every characteristic of the Orcish man.
His wrinkles, his clean-shaven face, his cracked tusk, the purples and magentas of his fancy clothes.
Everything about him made my skin crawl, the digits of my stone fingers becoming pointed as I scraped at the stone floor beneath me, scarring it, an affront to the hearing of those who could hear the action.
Everyone within the Earthen-Home began to feel emotions of rage, my own emotions bleeding through to my connection with them.
Sweet-Dirt hugged me tightly, sobbing as she did.
The pureblooded fury within me died down a bit with her embrace, the many denizens of the underground city losing the slight edge to their mind as she hugged even tighter before speaking.
“I saw him in the dungeon.”
I saw red.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Cleaning the mess that came afterward was a bit of a hassle, but it was nothing a few wishes, a few Stoneshapes, and a concerning — but necessary — amount of instances of Memory Alterations couldn’t handle.
However, learning of such an occurrence hasn’t been the best for the poor girl's mind.
It always remained in the far corner, Sweet-Dirt never truly forgetting what had happened despite the many decades that had passed since it had been done to her by that foul man.
But to try to forget it would not help her poor girl. It is necessary for a mother to carry some of the burdens of her children, no matter what those burdens are.
Yet, she is not ignorant. She knows how cruel it is to send the poor girl back down there again, once more possibly exposing her to her past traumas, but she needs to know what the dungeon wants. So she must let Sweet-Dirt tempt it once more.
She won’t let any harm befall them, of course, but it does not make it any less unkind of her to let her back down there.
The sound of cracking could be heard from behind before a heavy thud hits the stone beneath.
She turns around at the sight of another child, flakes of the deep-black stone pupa falling off of him as he pats down his now unscarred stone body, looking very surprised. She smiles at him as her hands caress his cheeks gently as he stares up at her, his eyes on the verge of tears.
“Welcome home, Clean-Ink.”
(The Stone Mother) has casted: [Bestow Name (Clean-Ink)] to (Lakerosh)
ENTITY [LAKEROSH] RENAMED TO [CLEAN-INK]
They embrace one another for the second time, as he cries and rejoices in wonder at his new body, thanking her between sobs.
She thinks back to the scouting dungeoneering party, still wondering what that new dungeon could want.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
!!! WARNING !!!
UNNAMED PARTY OF (4) ENTITIES HAS BREACHED THE DUNGEON
“Oh dear. Not again.” The hooded man said, his hollow voice sounding through the quiet forest, as he looked at the blue notice box.
He looked back down from the warning, doing one last trimming of the rose bush in front of him before standing back up and taking a step back, looking at the now-maintained gravestone and inspecting it.
Gravestone of Lylan “Lyle” Geoffreys
Description: A well-maintained gravestone. It is now clear of any moss or lichen and has been cleaned recently, with a brighter colour to its stony exterior than what some other graves tend to look like. To its side rests a rose bush, pruned and trimmed, its flowers still in bloom.
The epitaph on this particular gravestone reads;
“A Perfect Son, a Loving Husband, an Incomparable Father, and a Great Friend.
Loved his mead, and a lover of woodcraft and dancing.
Follower of Dryas, God-Queen of Nature, Nurture, and Family.
Died in battle, sword still held in hand, ever victorious.
In death shall he finally rest, his final slumber.
65th of Spring, 503 – 99th of Winter, 536”
Once hidden behind the overgrown moss was a note written in the bottom-left corner. An etching with some misspellings reveals itself, scraped into the stone in an almost unintelligible text. It reads;
“i mis yu papa ~ milly”
Quality: Great
May apply Status Effect(s): Heartbroken, Sorrowful, Griefstricken, Nostalgic
He hums in approval at the improved quality, having gone from Normal to Great.
Placing his hands behind his back, he turns to walk to the other gravestones, simultaneously searching through his dungeon and finding where those pesky invaders are by sensing the ambient magics being disturbed by them.
With his hands still behind his back, he flicks with his bony fingers, summoning the spirit of Lyle to go and keep the party occupied and to support the spectres, while he continues taking care of the remaining graves that have been uncared for.
Spirit of Lylan “Lyle” Geoffreys
Level: 3*
Class: Farmer (Soldier Subclass)
Description: A base human spirit, called back to the Realm of the Living once more.
[A Passing Memory]: Has a chance of having a fleeting interaction with loved ones upon being summoned. Once it has been activated, it can never occur again. The chance of this occurring is equal to their level as a percentage {currently 3%}.
*Decreased from Level 14 to Level 3 due to the soul’s deteriorating connection to the memories of the living.
He walks to another unmaintained grave, still contemplating what else he is meant to do once everything has been tended to.
He hums to himself as a bucket of some liquid, a soft-bristled brush, and a sharp scraping implement for the moss apparate out of nowhere, appearing beside the grave.
Making himself comfortable as he sits on his knees in front of the grave, he takes the scraping implement and begins to remove the overgrowth attached to the stone.
With a bit of curiosity, he wondered if the party was the same one from before, going back to the blue warning box and inspecting the party.
Party consists of:
Defensive Magician, Stone Human
Berserker, Stone Ogre
Assassin, Stone Elf
Inventor, Stone Goblin
He tsked, wondering why they had returned after he had gone through the trouble to meet them personally.
Grimm never did like those who disturbed the dead.
The moss is scraped off cleanly, sloughing off of the stone. He likes this part of the cleaning process.
It is fun to care for the dead.
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Milly Geoffreys
Human, Female, Bookkeeper
Location: Lying on her bed, in a northern border village belonging to the Capital City of Triestwald
Milly’s eyes open, a cold sensation that felt like calloused hands gracing her face, as she sits up in her bed. A coldness that felt like a soft kiss rests on her forehead, not fading away. All the windows of her home are closed. The fire, still roaring. Her husband is not beside her, still working at the inn.
She touches her forehead, the warmth of her fingers dissipating the cold sensation.
She lowers her fingers, oddly bringing them to her nose for no apparent reason other than the fact that she feels the need to.
It’s a familiar scent. It smells of mead. Her family’s mead.
She looks around her tiny room, looking for the source of whoever caused this.
She finds none.
Quietly and slowly, she lies back down in her bed, doing her best to remain calm.
The cold sensation returns, this time resting on her belly.
Her face loses colour at the sight of a ghostly apparition appearing right beside her on the floor, resting its ear on her pregnant belly, the smell of rain-soaked dirt and the sweetness of her family’s unique mead entering through her sinuses.
She sees two droplets appearing on her dress, a feeling of joyous laughter coursing through her soul unbidden.
The apparition vanishes, as the obvious sound of a coin spinning comes from below her bed where the apparition once was.
Her heart pounding, she musters up the courage to look down at the floor.
It’s a wooden coin, slowly spinning on its edge before it lands still on one of its faces.
She inspects it.
Wooden Coin
Description: A simple wooden coin, made ornate with one side of it being of an old man and an old woman embracing a pregnant woman, all crying in one another’s embrace.
The other side is of a young child being lifted into the air by a man, a woman behind the man looking all too proud of their silly antics.
Along the coin’s rounded edge is an etching. It reads;
"I’m so proud of you, my darling"
Milly calls out to the ghostly apparition with her voice shaking, her eyes now streaming with tears.
“Papa?”