Separated from the others, Joulo was safe.
Gods watched her every move, yet none dared approach themselves. Some had mortals traverse her mountains, as the Father of Swarms made plans with his companions of pestilence, yet none took direct action. They didn’t care about the journey or the game, just the solution. Vultures that would swoop in the moment they saw weakness.
Weakness that Joulo had to hide. Her slender form shook as she sweat under their gaze. In her mind, she practiced the conversations she would inevitably have. Her brain was in overdrive as she tried to plan for every scenario.
‘Minimize the inevitable damage. Don’t flinch when they approach. Be ready for them. Don’t stare at your feet. Meet their eye.’ She repeated these small mantras to herself, hoping they would give her the power to face others. A form of prayer from a god.
The sound of talons on stone approaching caught her attention. Casting a quick glance over, she saw the approach of Tyliana, matriarch of the flock. In humanoid form, her hair was a long brown that turned to colorful feathers just past her shoulders as it cascaded into both dress and wings. She was the mother of all harpies, corvids, and vultures.
Joulo knew this was the omen that marked her death. A god came to visit.
She was doomed. She would have to be social. She prayed for a quick death.
Joulo cast a quick glance as Tyliana pulled up a chair to sit with her. The other gods stared. Each wondered how the interaction would play out, but each was far too worried for their own safety to intervene. With a shaky breath to steady herself, Joulo greeted her visitor.
“H-hello Tyliana, w-what brings you to my corner today?” With a half smile that she hoped to hide the fear in her eyes.
The feathered matron sat quietly for a minute as she just stared. Eyes that bore into Joulo, eagle vision that took in every detail. The silence put her more on edge than she already was. Joulo let out a squeak as Tyliana took in a breath to speak.
“So, aren’t birds great? You know they once owned the skies, undisputed, in a time when the lizards stayed on the ground. What glorious days they were, to be above the petty squabbles of others.” With a sad smile, her voice held a reminiscent tone. There was no obvious threat. Yet, it was the possibility of the hidden blade that made Joulo worry.
“Y-yes, I heard of the time before d-dragons. So, is it alright if I mind…. If- to what do I owe the p-pleasure?” The shaking in her hands and voice only grew worse as she stumbled over her words.
“I hear some birds died within your mountain range.” Tyliana’s eyes were unblinking as they stared into Joulo as fear rooted her tongue in place. All she could do was silently nod at the question.
“I have no intention of a blood feud over a few sparrows, yet it is a situation I can not simply let slide. I am sure you understand.” As she spoke, her mask slipped as the facade fell away, only to be replaced with a wide grin. “So to make it all the better, I would like to formally gift you with something. No charge!”
The sudden shift caught Joulo off guard. Panicking, worried she had missed something, she glanced around the room, trying to find if it was all a prank as Tyliana continued.
“Now I know it’s not much, but so long as you can get that filthy cat out of my hair for even a few minutes, I will gift you an entire flock.” Her smile was one of genuine compassion as her eyes showed pain. A hint of sadness that left Joulo dumbfounded. This is nothing like how she had planned for these interactions to go.
As Joulo opened her mouth to speak, Tyliana suddenly stood up with fear in her eyes. Without formalities, she turned and left. Her footsteps softened as she tried to sneak away. While watching Tyliana leave, Joulo noticed someone tailed the god of birds. Stalking through the crowd was the god of feline curiosity, Sushi, inventor of sushi. During their conversation, the god of cats approached, stalking the god of birds, waiting for a chance to pounce.
The interaction left Joulo dumbfounded, with a headache that formed as she tried to decipher what played out before her eyes. She couldn’t understand if this was the interaction of predator, prey, or prankster.
To make her day easier, she chose not to dwell on it and just accept ignorance.
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“Gozric. Go’zric. Goz-ric”
He rolled the name around his tongue, tasting it as it danced across his mouth. It was the only thing the dwarf kept in the years since being disowned by his family. A failed dwarf that wasn’t worthy of his own name. One that couldn’t grow a beard, nor could he hold his ale. Lanky and taller than the others, he was a human in all but name.
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These and a dozen other thoughts filled his mind as he strolled down the street of the small village of his home. Their journey had ended just an hour prior, and while his friends rested, he couldn’t sit still. Happy to enjoy the night air, he let his stubby legs carry him as his mind wandered.
He thought about his friends, and the pain Samu tried to hide behind a sense of duty. Of the landscape they had left behind, of dead mana and the embers of life, and the signs of a mage’s conniving ways. Gozric may have been no mage, yet the mana in his body did wonders to enhance his senses. He was a Mastermind of Perception.
His walk came to a pause as he let the world wash over him and clear his muddled thoughts. His senses were far sharper than most could ever dream. Effortlessly, he smelled every dinner in town, just as he heard the purring of a cat three hundred feet away. He counted the mosquitoes as he felt his hair and nails grow. The world was alive if he stopped to watch it pass by.
Perhaps it was these senses that made him a terrible dwarf. His understanding of the world that defined him, that made him so sensitive to temperature and the taste of alcohol. The fact he didn’t let his facial hair grow out because of the sensation of each strand as it forced its way through his skin.
He was no leader, but the others looked to him because of his skill in executing plans. His mind changed by all the details he took in every day, until it could retain information perfectly. Plans he made sure had no holes, no missed steps, perfectly constructed with the capabilities of his friends in mind.
A plan he constructed on his stroll through the village. He knew the first step would be to ask Granny, the local innkeeper, if anyone new had passed through. He needed to keep track of everyone in the village and their whereabouts if he wanted to pinpoint the culprit of the fire in the mountains. Unfortunately, the late night meant she wouldn’t be awake. So he headed for the next best thing, the herbalist.
With a quick stop by the single-story house at the edge of town where the farmer lived with her three children, he knew she could help. He smelt the smoke from a recent fire that hung in the air as he raised a hand to knock, but quickly decided against it. Instead, he called out to the occupants to avoid the pain of contact with the door.
“Marda, greetings to Marda Grandearth, this is Gozric in need of some help,” he called out. He could hear shuffling behind the door. Too light to be her or her oldest, Gozric was unsurprised to see her only daughter open the door with a mild look of annoyance on her face.
“If yer looking for ma, she’s out picking herbs with Sully,” the girl said. “Just beyond the field in their usual spot.”
With a nod, he set out to find the halfling at work. Though late in the day, he knew enough about plants to know that some herbs were less potent if picked while in bloom. With the glint of a lantern, Gozric had no trouble finding the herbalist with her children as they tended the field. Quietly he waited, to avoid disturbing their work.
“It’s been a week since you were last here hon, you return with a story to tell?” Marda spoke as she stood and dusted off her apron. She stood just shorter than him, with her stocky body. The fact that she looked more like a dwarf than him brought a tinge of shame to his cheeks. His eyes drifted to the wicker basket in her hands as it overflowed with herbs.
“Actually ma’am, I come carrying a question on my mind. Have there been any travelers that have passed through asking for medicine to treat mana burn by any chance?” The fact that her basket was full of Witch's Clary did not escape his notice. The primary ingredient for treating magical burns.
“Oh, no honey, no one new has stopped by in the past several weeks, and even then those were just merchants on goat sled. Though that’s probably for the best, as I had to use all my burn ointment on that Baros boy,” her words laced with sadness. “Must have found a particularly rough patch when he got too close to the border. Went through everything I had on hand, so just out here getting more.”
That gave Gozric pause, but he nodded at her answer, regardless. He knew the Baros boy, a timid kid who rarely left the house. He must have been trying to collect firewood and found himself stuck in the gelatinous air of dead mana that rolled in.
“Thank you for the information, and if anyone can help, I know it is you. Such an experience must have been painful, so I hope he gets better. Though if anything changes, please keep me up to date.” As he bid her goodbye, ready to head home to begin a more thorough manhunt in the morning. His mind was full of possibilities as he made his way to bed, mumbling the entire way.
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Baros, covered in an ointment made by Marda, slowly crept back home. He had stayed away for a few days while under the healer’s care. Though he dreaded it, he needed to face his family, healed or not.
Though his timetable moved up significantly, as Marda returned from her work and tell him about Gozric’s visit. ‘Must be worried about travelers trying to traverse the mountain, asked about burns,’ she had told him while he lay in their guest bed. Simple gossip that put Baros on edge. He feared Gozric knew about his hand in the dungeon’s state, as now he returned to hunt down the person responsible.
He had to get home, to deal with the inevitable storm of questions. With each step, he rehearsed what he was going to say. ‘No, there isn’t a dungeon core out there. No, I don’t know what a dungeon core is. I got these wounds when I fell asleep… yes, I felt my skin burning and decided to take a nap. Don’t worry too much, Marda says it will grow back eventually…’
With a defeated sigh, he pushed open the door, knowing nothing would stop the disaster that awaited him.
The two-story house was quiet and dark. The hearth cold, and inhabits missing. No one was home.
A fact that eased Baros’ mind for a moment before he thought about why. If his sister wasn’t home, where was she? A quick search of the house turned up a letter. One that made his heart drop.
“Don’t worry, I’m just going to hang out with some friends for the next few days. They found some old books we want to read through. Don’t look for me. Be back in a few weeks.”
Baros knew his sister didn’t have friends. She had contacts, underlings, but not friends. He knew she wasn’t going to ‘hang out’ with them. It wasn’t hard to read through the lines, and he knew how powerless he was to stop her.
She was going to make a massive mistake.