Struggling against the restraint put on Grumblebark by the dungeon proved fruitless time and again. No matter how much strength was mustered, the meliae couldn’t even twitch a leaf. Standing torturous witness to the complete destruction of his new grove still haunted the lumbering familiar.
A day? Week? It was some time until the meliae had uprooted to begin venturing southward. Trees are known for their patience, but not their attention to detail. Sealed with a sticky resin, the stout flora’s broken branch no longer leaked sap.
Tromping through the brush was becoming difficult as the forest shifted to jungle. While the climate was more comfortable, it made for slow going. Putrid and earthy scents of decomposition wafted from nearby bogs.
“Headstrong, prideful dungeon! We needed to keep moving. Or we could have found a cave or abandoned building. We had to go trekking across the whole island!” Even as the words echoed to no one, they could only be heard by others linked by the dungeon after all, Grumblebark knew that they were hollow.
It had been an enjoyable adventure until the serpents had arrived. The willful, stubborn meliae had gotten swept up in the excitement. Besides, it wasn’t like the traditional defensible locations of a dungeon’s infancy had appealed in the least to Grumblebark. Although unexpected and odd, the Lair had rapidly become one of the few friends the meliae could count.
“Hmph. Ridiculous dungeon.”
The Lair had advanced much more rapidly than any core that the meliae had ever heard of before. However, it had been captured and stuffed into a bag of holding to contain it. Grumblebark could admit that the bag was a clever bit of thinking. If any summons had been hiding or playing dead, they wouldn’t have survived the core being transported to a pocket plane. All of that added up to one simple fact, as undesirable as it was: Grumblebark was truly the Lair’s only chance at liberation.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Where should I even go for help? Who would help rescue a newborn core from the worshipers of Phobos?” Many lengths of the longest roots separated the traveler from respite.
“Somewhere south beyond the jungle is home to the Shadowed Forest. I remember Swiftleaf’s tales of dryads and elves having a home there. That’s probably about the same travel time as Gearspoke. I doubt any of the other meliae at the grove would help a dungeon, but the Fae can probably be convinced.”
Plodding along in anything but a straight line, there was ample time to consider the decision. Eventually the meliae would come across the only river on this part of the island, Naiad’s Run. Down river it emptied into Oceanus right next to the Fae city. Once the river was crossed it would take too long to backtrack.
Algae and other various forms of stinking muck hung off the once-beautifully decorated trunk of the mobile tree. Mudsplashed roots rhythmically churned through boggy earth. Sun and moonlight flowed overhead like sap.
Rushing and splashing echoed through the rainforest long before Grumblebark laid sight on the water. It came down to a fifty-fifty proposition. Roots whipped and coiled, driving through the clay bank. The wrong decision may be the end of the dungeon. Would that be Grumblebark’s end as well? The thorny giant wasn’t sure, but it didn’t seem like a prudent risk to take. Dryads didn’t last long without the meliae they bonded to; familiars probably withered away without their dungeons.
Whatever the case may be, a decision had to be made. Perhaps a short rest on the lush banks of the run would help? Gazing into the vast night sky, Grumblebark became lost in dower contemplation. “Stupid baby dungeon, will anyone be even willing to help us?”
Unanswering, silent sky replied with wondrous song of constellations sweeping the ecliptic. Grumblebark knew the tales of their formation well and sought refuge there. If only one of the stories held an answer to his dilemma, it would be a blessing. Sprouting rapidly from a single branch, dozens of bright pink blossoms bloomed, radiant in the moonlight. With a rather unceremonious shake the meliae sent the flowers gliding to the soil.
“Dionysus, please accept my offering and grant me wisdom.”
Responding from the woods, insects and various animals of the night were the only reply. Troubling through his choice, the past few weeks, and the many paths ahead, Grumblebark was left alone with the ghost of memories.