Strained, a man ran down the mountain in the early hours of dawn, barely sleeping the night before. He skittered and slid through the half-melted snow. The rain that fell from above did little to deter his stride. He passed bushes that signaled he could remove the thick leather suit that covered his entire body. He clumsily removed the leathers as he ran, unable to let anything delay him.
Exposing his tanned skin to the cold weather did wonders to cool the sweat that built up along his stout frame, but wasn’t enough. Thinking quickly, he threw the bulky suit into his bag to free up his hands. His stride slowed just enough to draw a pickaxe from his belt. Hefting the spiked weapon overhead, he brought it down upon his foot to create a hole in boot and flesh alike.
Gritted teeth swallowed the cry of pain. His attack had served its purpose. His journey continued with a slight limp as he stored the pickaxe in a loop on his belt. The magic that flowed through his veins rushed to his fresh injury, where it not only tended to the damage but strengthened the muscles in his legs. His pace only increased as the magic gave new life to tired muscles, reinvigorating them.
His destination was just within sight. A small hamlet tucked away from the world of trade and war alike. The village he called home had weathered many storms, the signs of wear present on the leaning buildings.
Ragged breaths forced the crisp morning air into exhausted lungs as the man ran through the main street. The sound of metal tools rumbled through the quiet town as the man discarded his pack upon reaching his destination. Without checking if the door was locked, he threw his shoulder into the frame. There was an explosion of splinters as the door was thrown off its hinges as he collapsed onto the floor.
The words wheezed out of him in short bursts, “Mountains…. Plants, birds…. Alive!”
A bored woman glanced over from her breakfast upon her home being invaded. Short white, spikey hair and pointed ears, she was dressed in a simple sleeping gown, having not bothered to put anything more on this early. After a moment to acknowledge the man on her floor, she spoke up, “You know Thal, some would consider it rude to burst in smelling so much of yellow, but I'll forgive you this time.” Her sapphire eyes glinted with amusement at her own joke as she offered him a hand.
“Sorry, it’s just…. life out there,” he said, having finally caught his breath.
“Well, I am glad you’re excited, but were you able to locate the ore veins you were looking for?” a new voice spoke up, strained and tired, speaking just slow enough to enunciate his words perfectly. The owner of the voice was a thin man who had finally collected himself after the surprise of Thalman’s appearance. As he reached from his chair to pick up the ornate walking stick that he had just dropped, its silver trim perfectly matching his tailored suit. Heavy wrinkles around his face that made him look far older than his true age.
With a grin from ear to ear, Thalman shook his head. “Nope! But this is way more exciting than some fancy gauntlets, oh and Sam, your suit worked!” As he retrieved the bulky suit he had worn during his travel and passed them over to their creator.
Without getting up, Samu accepted the suit with fingers just a little too long, examining it for damages. The suit’s exterior had worn from use, while the inlaid silver runes that lined the interior had held up. Small portions of the enchantment had worn away, but they expected such faults of a prototype. “You were gone for two weeks this time. I assume no mana drain from your little mineral excursion?”
“Hold on boys, try to hold off geeking out until Gozric gets here,” the half-elf interjected. She whistled a low tune that caused the light streaming in through the window to take on a green tint. A smile crossed her face as a few rooms away, they could hear the thud as someone fell out of bed. “Best to have us all if we are going to plan our next-”
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
She was cut off as a man came running from his room. Taller than most short races, yet still only shoulder height of most in the room. “Ink, I’m up, I’m up alright! You can make the sound of mint stop now, it's too cold on my ears,” he pleaded. Relief fell across his face as the elf ended her enchantment on his senses. With a chance to wake up properly, he rubbed his eyes and ran a hand over the patchy beard he was trying to grow. He paused when he noticed their visitor. “Thalman, a pleasure. What brings you back so early? Did Samu’s magic fail?” he asked.
Before Samu could mock indignation at the shoddy ness of his work, Thalman spoke up, too excited to hold in the news. “Joulo has plants growing in a valley two days north from here, in the shadow of the broken hill.” The grin of excitement became infectious as the other adventurers in the room let the news sink in.
Gozric tried to drill Thalman with countless questions about age, species, and distribution before Samu cut him off. “Let's not rush anything. We can all go together, but it’s going to take me three days to get the suits ready. We should be fine without the extra protection if it was a brief trip, but I have a suspicion you guys may want….” he trailed off, seeing the others in the room. The looks on their faces told him everything Samu needed to know. He sighed, knowing it was going to be a long adventure.
Slowly, Samu got to his feet, using his walking stick to support his weight, grumbling about the long walk ahead of them.
Gozric observed his friends that towered over him, taking great care to notice how Somu avoided putting a stain on his legs. The lanky dwarf was by no means the group’s leader, yet they all respected and trusted his eye for details. “Does that work for everyone else? Should be plenty of time to make preparations and gather what we need to traverse the hills.” He spoke in an authoritative tone, not demanding but stating a point. He couldn’t get distracted during the planning stage.
Met with only nods of agreement from the group, they all went their separate ways to ready themselves for what lay ahead. A scouting trip fueled by curiosity and the need to discover and innovate. The very traits that originally brought them together.
In their excitement, they had failed to realize they had a tail. The noise of Thalman as he entered the town drew in a boy, barely out of adolescents. He listened to their conversation and set off running in a blind panic. He had to act fast. The Joulo mountains were dead, so any place where life grew would be a massive discovery he had to capitalize on.
He grabbed the bare essentials and left town that very night, yet he wasn’t fast enough. Another had followed him. Someone far more experienced that would strike far faster.
After all, who would suspect family?
The boy, blinded by loyalty, failed to notice someone slip out of town ahead of him.
----------------------------------------
Dressed in pure white, the mage of moonlight crested the hill. Carefully placed steps avoided the patches of snow that have yet to melt, leaving no footprints. Slowly, he approached the only foliage that grew in the entire mountain range. An oasis of life in an inhospitable environment.
He knew from his studies what he sought. His entire life was spent scouring the ancient scrolls for knowledge, a search for any glimpse of how to purify dead mana. Each year amounted to nothing, for only a dungeon core would be strong enough to purify mana in its entirety. Every other form of magic was just a pale imitation. This was his chance.
The journey brought the mage to the first patch of moss. Kneeling down, he took a deep breath and let the dead mana fill his lungs, tasting it. Beneath his robes, his skin burned and smoked as the mana ate away at his body like acid. He ignored the injuries, too focused on the task at hand.
Quickly, he withdrew a clay pot from his pack and uncorked it to expose the black grub inside to the open air. A grotesque insect with red eyes, it crawled towards the opening, eager to feast upon the world. Before the insect could go far, the man draw a dagger and slit open his palm. He gave little care as he reached into the fresh wound and took hold of the blood-like yarn that was hidden in his veins.
The mage tied the crimson string around the demonic grub as he chanted in the ancient language of death. “Colo of the Corpse, I beseech thee to spread thy miasma of night. Spread your filth and flourish to eclipse the night.”
Tipping the jar over, the black maggot inside spilled past the threshold of the dungeon. The mage severed the rope of braided blood that connected the two as the wound in his hand healed over.
Confident that his spell would conceal the demonic grub, he retreated, knowing that many would pass through this area in the coming weeks. The grub was left to burrow into the mana-rich soil. Hidden from sight, it would grow and leave its mark upon its habitat as it terraformed its surroundings into an ideal habitat.