Shrubley found himself twirling his [Practice Sword] through the air as a chilly autumn breeze drifted through the turning leaves of the forests at the edge of the path.

He had stayed for a few hours talking to the old man and petting his small cat, who was named Lucky. The man was strange, but then to Shrubley, all people were strange. And besides, he liked strange.

Strange was interesting.

And so Shrubley found himself alone along the dirt road outside of town that would lead him to the Haalften farms a few miles to the west. West was a good direction. It was where the sun set and allowed him to bask in its warm golden rays as his rooty feet trundled over the packed dirt.

Golden leaves fluttered on the forest trees to his left, while the town of Taamra faded into the background behind him. Shrubley enjoyed the outdoors as much as you could for being a plant creature, but he truly loved his conversation with Winmore.

The old man was once a great and prominent merchant, and Shrubley had no reason to doubt his boastful claims. He was, in fact, very good at a large amount of things, but a turn of bad luck had spoiled everything when he was a young man.

Shrubley did not know much about love or relationships, but Winmore seemed to be an expert. He said it was the love of a fine young girl that had turned his life upside down and left him, as he put it, “falling down the stairs of life”.

Winmore, however, was as undaunted as a mighty oak and would not bend nor yield to fate, and so he was starting from the bottom. He managed to make it sound as if it was his choice, that he could have done things differently if he desired it.

Shrubley respected him. He talked more than the Druid. In fact, he talked more to Shrubley than just about any other creature in existence ever had in one sitting.

It was not that the Druid was unkind, but he was a man of few words. Doling each one out as if it was a precious thing. And to Shrubley, his words were.

Swinging his wooden sword and the [Wooden Pot Lid] he was using as a shield in his other arm, Shrubley was more than halfway to the Haalften farms by the time the sun was sinking toward the far hills to the west.

The verdant countryside had gone from clear cut lawn around the town to dense forests to parcels of land segmented by low stone walls.

Shrubley instantly recognized the farmers. There was something in them that he intrinsically respected and liked. They understood the earth and the soil, the plants and animals.

Several of the farmers stopped their late day chores to watch him. Propped up on upturned rakes, shovels, and hoes, or perched on fences, the farmers watched the strange creature amble down the country road.

Shrubley, who had been practicing this bit for the last few hours, threw up his sword into the sky and caught it again, much to the amusement of the various children running about the fields.

Their parents watched nervously, but seeing as the monster wasn’t attacking or going toward their farms, they saw no reason to invite trouble. They were pragmatic folk, but still they watched the creature intently until it was far out of view.

Arthur Aking spat on the ground as he watched the creature pass the farm that had been in his family for generations. It had only been rebuilt twice, and he was incredibly proud of that fact. “You think we should tell the guild?” he asked his brother.

Roger, leaning against the low stone wall, kept his eyes glued on the shrub creature’s back. “It don’t look that fearsome. I reckon we can take it. Maybe even get some loot, eh?”

His older brother shook his head. “Nah, that’s not for us. You never know what a creature like that might do. Could be trouble, and you aren’t about to get out of chorin’ just because you broke an arm, Roger. Ain’t no Aking brother o’ mine is going to sneak out of chores just because of something like that!”

“Fine, fine,” Roger said, turning and surveying the field. He hated farming, but his brother was right. It was in the Aking blood. They had been farmers for as long as their family could remember. What else could he do? Even the weakest type of essence was more than they earned in a year.

And every year they needed something else done. Lumber and materials for upkeep for one. The damned tri-headed rams kept breaking the old, rotted fences, and then there was the fertilizer, seeds, patchwork for the roof, and the list went on until they were somehow barely scraping by.

Arthur recognized that morose look in his brother’s eyes and looped a thick arm around the younger Aking’s shoulders. “Listen, how about we go up to Tossle’s place and check on the latest batch of [Scrumble]?”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

That did the trick. Roger’s eyes lit up, and he licked his lips hungrily.

“Just a drop, mind,” Arthur added. “We don’t want to start seeing the pink hippos and flying otters again, do we?”

Roger shook his head. Once had been enough.

The brothers watched as Shrubley shrank to a small green dot and vanished out of sight. Perhaps they should have called on the Taamra branch of the Adventurers Guild, but they had chores to do, and it was just one monster. A rather dull one at that.

***

The sun was a half-shell of molten gold when Shrubley heard the pathetic mewling cries of a [Slime] crying for help. He didn’t know how he knew that. Perhaps it was his nature. He understood a lot of things that he shouldn’t, especially anything to do with another monster.

Perhaps it had to do with his [Monsterfolk] racial ability? While hurrying, he checked it, wondering if the beautiful Shardscript might unveil a little bit more about himself and his place in the world.

[Monsterfolk]: Classifies you as one of the many kinds of monsters, altering your social standing with monsterfolk and humanfolk. Certain monsters are more willing to trade, parlay, communicate, train and even fight with you, whereas certain humanfolk are more likely to be aggressive or fearful.

Shrubley still wasn’t sure. Perhaps his connection to monsters had more to do with [Awakened Intellect] and [Shardic Creature], but now wasn’t the time to dig deeper.

Here, the path bent and twisted around various hills and hollows as it climbed into the autumnal hillside. Shrubley picked up the pace, worried about the suddenly cut off cry.

He came upon a trio of adventurers who were all bullying the tiniest [Slime] that Shrubley had ever seen. It was small enough to fit into a teacup.

“Let’s cut off pieces of it to see how long it’ll stay alive,” one of the adventurers said with a snigger.

“We can put it in a cauldron and boil it,” said another sneering voice.

“Yeah!” said a young girl, “I’d love to see what happens when all its water is gone.”

The little pink [Slime] cowered and cried, but Shrubley could not see any other [Slimes] coming to its aid, nor any other creatures for that matter.

The golden hills were dominated with small hollows and tiny mossy cliffs that could hold any number of caves where the little creature must have wandered off from.

Even Shrubley, who often gave fourth and fifth chances, and always assumed the best of people, knew that this was wrong. The [Slime] was a monster, yes, but it wasn’t hurting anybody.

And even then, why bully and torment it?

Shrubley hurried up the winding path just as one of the adventurers took out a small, rusted cauldron and put the quivering, crying, and distraught [Slime] into it.

New Quest: Slime Savior Wanted

A fellow monsterfolk is in danger from a group of adventurers. Rescue the young slime, before he gets turned into potions!

Objectives:

Rescue the slime 0/1

Don’t die 0/1

Rewards:

Class Experience

[Essence Vessel]

10 [Copper Coins]

Monster Accolades (Common)

The new quest urged Shrubley on, filling him with even more determination.

“Hurry and light the fire, Konko.”

“I’m trying,” complained the girl. She was furiously striking a flint and steel, but the wood beneath the cauldron wasn’t catching.

Shrubley set himself into a wide stance, sword and shield at the ready. “Stop that!” he cried out in his most fearsome voice, full of authority and strength.

A thin, reedy voice brought the adventurers around. Konko looked up from the cauldron and spotted the creature. It looked like a common [Soul Shrub], the sort of thing you saw in high mana fields, not somewhere like Haalften.

So what was it then, a rogue wizard in the area dumping off its refuse? She tilted her head to the side, enraptured at the thought of blackmailing a wizard. It was very bad news to dump magical waste, and wizards were great sources of potions and ingredients.

As a junior Alchemist, Konko could only smile.

Her companions, however, were less entrepreneurial. They took out daggers and a large club, respectively.

“Looks like we got a talking monster,” said Fredrick. “Go on Jorn, bash the shrub into paste, then we can toss it into the cauldron and see how the creatures mix together!”

Jorn lifted his club, and because he was always getting bullied for being thick, he decided to show off to his friends. A Red swirl of essence wound its way over his club. He grinned at Shrubley as his [Bash] ability triggered, and his club came screaming down in a crimson haze.

Shrubley had hoped it would not come to fighting, but the adventurers needed to be stopped. He hopped to the side, something that the big man they called Jorn did not seem to think a small shrub like him capable of doing anything other than standing still.

The club crashed into the dirt road and threw up clods of earth and dust, momentarily hiding the small three-and-a-half-foot shrub.

Something sparked in Shrubley’s thoughts. A golden light surrounded by darkness. Shrubley’s thoughts seized on that crimson Red essence, and he felt a faint draining sensation as his thoughts rearranged themselves around the foreign essence.

When he brought his [Practice Sword] up into the air, a ruby haze gathered across it, though it was a pale imitation.

He remembered how Jorn had used his Red essence, and when Shrubley brought his blade down on the man’s club, it left a trail of Red light in its wake that amplified its impact damage considerably.

[Lifelong Student (Curiosity Essence)]

Cost: Low mana per second

Cooldown: 5 seconds

The Druid instilled within you the potential for life, but it was you that acquired an unquenchable thirst for knowledge.

Imprint: After witnessing an ability, you can augment your body or abilities to incorporate facets of the knowledge you have gained. Repeated viewings increase this effect.

Though his sword was smaller, Shrubley understood wood perhaps better than any other living soul. He struck at the weakest knot he could find in the club and brought down the Red streaking wooden blade with all of his might.

The crack of wood splintering echoed off the hills and drained out into the darkening hollows of the countryside as Konko and Frederick turned their full attention to this latest threat.