The following morning Damon, Billy and every Goblin belonging to the post-migratory tribe of Jacob's Well woke early, gathered into two groups and headed out, leaving the collection of huts uncharacteristically devoid of life. The precaution was a necessity, considering how many of their combatants were being committed to the assault. Even the village’s rarely used back-up defenses relied on a few high level members remaining behind, ready to perform specific tasks to delay any attackers until the defenders returned.
Instead of remaining in such an exposed location, valuables were hidden with various mundane and mystical means, while all the children—as well as other useful but vulnerable Goblins, fitted and prepared—would all be staying safe, wandering along well-known routes in some nearby verdant hills, hiking the areas where views were clear and the hiding spots plentiful. They turned the event into a day trip excursion for the young ones, a trip where the official aim was to alternate between spotting different landmarks in the distance while learning about the local peculiarities, with bonuses for recalling any useful survival tricks. They could keep the jaunt going all day, while secretly awaiting word of a raid's success.
Children from last time were old enough to be among those in charge now; getting to see the whole venture from an entirely shifted perspective.
Meanwhile, the 2nd band of warriors hurried their pace, a burning need to get home as soon as possible settling deep in the pits of their stomachs, as the two groups separated.
Just over half the Goblins in the raiding party were mounted on their freshly bonded coatimundis, most showing obvious prior experience and riding in a wedge formation, with the Goblins who'd been forced to jog making up the middle portion. Damon, with Berry posing on his shoulder, ended up naturally riding at the head, due to the unexpected factor of Billy, who it turns out would accept nothing less than pole position as his due.
Marching along, every head in the warband kept swiveling to catch any and all potential signs of danger early, though none could match the swivel of Billy's sham eyes, which were spinning in victory laps around all the rest; while his true visage was steady, determined, hungry.
Since yesterday, Billy had been munching non-stop on the medicinal bark that Berry brought back, and was feeling on top of his game. But for while there, when the Coatimundis had first arrived, too many Goblins for it to be a coincidence had wandered past the ol' stubborn goat to brag about what superior tree-climbers their new mounts were, making a point of comparing them to both goats and larger cat animals, but never to chimeras. Gotta still keep that plausible deniability. Yeah, the young ones are real subtle.
Damon had reassured him, pointing out how nothing could beat his little hoofs for dashing along the walls, and they'd be underground the whole time. But apparently the long-snouted climbers were able to run down a tree just as fast as they could up, and with perfect control due to their pronated wrists.
The sun was rising fast, suspense in the air following suit as they carefully approached the maw. Despite the band of Goblins encountering no resistance for the first half hour, a force of the orchard’s defenders could show up at any point—leading to an increasingly tense experience advancing into the darkness.
If it was me, Billy & Blå alone, those hairy screechers would have attacked by now for sure. Hell, by this point, I’d gladly let 'em. Doubt the spiders alone can even stop us. I've leveled way too much, too fast. But then maybe they’ll be stronger as well, somehow?
As they made their way through the orchard, Skalle interrupted the train of thought when he rode up on a scarred old coati. Only when Damon gave him a questioning look, after several minutes of awkward silence, did the high level Goblin grumpily start to share a curious tale. Skalle cleared his throat, then reminisced raspily about the time when their Goblin band took down a particularly nasty, hostile hyena Rex, merely a few years back—for sure no more than ten; one who’d been harassing their migratory tribe, in spite of how they steered well clear of its territory as soon as their Redcap at the time was made aware. “Trackers sussed the fiend out following its sudden strike, staying gone for more than a day, only returning upon having located the hidden lair. We could not yet be certain of the threat level posed, as the attack had occurred during the night. By sheer luck we found the creature was no worse than level 122. A difficult fight—yet the beast was yet barely within range of Läker’s freshly improved [Identify]. Heh—” He eyed her far in the back, chortling at the memory.
Turns out that Läker's reassurance at the time was the sole reason why the Selma tribe had willingly hunted such a mighty enemy down, rather than suffer the losses and simply flee, way back then.
Thankfully, Damon knew better than to interrupt, but his mind was racing. The [Identify] can be upgraded!? How? I’ll need to interview Läker to find out, later.
Apparently the ol’ ‘Purpur cap’ as he called her, had gotten a System reward, at some point. One she refused to share the origins of, besides vaguely vowing to holler if another such opportunity came along. Without such an [Identification] they would have had no way of fighting a murderous creature like the Rex in its lair with any degree of assurance, the tribe needed to be positive that their greater numbers would suffice to overwhelm the sanguine beast. Even in ambush that advantage could never be a given; certainly not when going up against a predator of such size. Some slaughter Paths grew empowered off of bloodshed—even from lower level kills, so long as the blood was fresh— “We fought for many hours. Having caught it unawares made little difference. We sacrificed much, deciding to corner such a dangerous hyenic Rex. And may have gained more in terms of levels and System recognition, according to some. Yet there’s a balance. One it takes experience to find and stay true to,” He told Damon, whilst dubiously studying him out the corner of his eye.
The way Skalle was talking made it clear how despite committing a lot to this venture already, the goblins still needed to judge their chances in there for themselves. If the odds looked too dire, there would be little to no chance of the tribe risking a direct attack against the Rootmother willingly. I’m getting the feeling that he’s making a round about point, about not rushing in wildly? Hah. It’s not like I’m the one pushing for this, but I guess they consider me the wildcard.
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Damon was basically a mercenary recruit at this point, simply along for the ride. One who’d been given a few too many expensive rounds of healing to refuse another mission, when levels were on the line. Not to mention how he needed to save Ken, and figured this was as likely a shot as any at finding one of the Vigor Draughts.
Alright fine. Also how badly he wanted to be part of taking down an opponent with power comparable to a giant Rex—a kind of challenge which the tribe of Goblins clearly knew all about, making it hard to imagine how he’d find a better teacher to learn from anywhere else. Not to mention how slaying such an opponent was sure to level him, and the tribe up quite a bit; possibly even the older veterans. Then again, there’s bound to be some reason why the Rex are rare out here, or the tribe would have some I’m sure. Maybe there's a downside. Real easy to imagine how that hyena one might've went insane, rampaging on a hunger Path with no clear exit. Probably ate its siblings and pack mates, all on the Path toward becoming a king of nothing.
Damon pictured the creature as having been similar-looking to the bat Rex—only if that one had been grounded and twice as muscular—then shuddered as he recollected that close call, only a couple days past.
What if the Rootmother is even stronger?
Damon nearly stumbled when he had the thought—yet with so many other fighters all around, his spirit rallied swiftly, plus he remembered how he couldn't stumble since he was riding safely on top of Billy. Heh, oops. Anyway, so what if she's higher level, it’s not just me and Berry alone any more. This is a proper warband. That damn mysterious, eerie tree is going down.
Usually there was nothing to perk a guy up quite like confidence in numbers. Only… this was a world of levels, and Damon still wasn’t anywhere near the top—any sort of top, making it hard to stay confident. I may well end up among those who get hurt badly, those that die.
He’d vaguely had the thought before, but this feeling of running towards the towering enemy in the darkness ahead was chilling, and it was going to take them hours. It almost made Damon wish they’d be attacked, if only to take his mind off of things, at least until the real fight awaiting them ahead. Shit, what am I balking at? I just need levels, and this is the way. Way, way worse things than some shadowy tree might lie ahead. I gotta get my inner conqueror on. It’s go time.
Damon’s body was flooding with energy, but without an opponent to focus on and prepare for, he found it far more difficult to get his head in the game. There were too many unknowns, and speculating was a potentially dangerous dead end. Damon knew if he let fears take root, his focus would shift from that of a wolf on the hunt to a rat trapped in a box. He’d seen that switch before, including in his own opponents. When it happens, the aggressor has already won.
Damon found he didn’t know what to do with his rampant thoughts, so he focused in on the droning voice by his side, as well as Billy’s stride. Eventually the combination allowed for his body to settle back down.
Skalle’s speech was all about how he’d found the hyena Rex to be a formidable opponent worthy of taking on with every precaution, while he’d sent Damon up against the Hiisia with nary a word of warning, allowing Damon to extrapolate. The Rootmother may still turn out to only be at about the level of the Hiisia, but he wants me prepared in case it’s closer to the hyena Rex.
The old warchief’s explicit descriptions of things going wrong portrayed how you had to be prepared for anything, with the beast’s biggest, baddest weapon back then remarkably the debilitating noise made by its insane laugh, rather than its nest of needle-like fangs which first drew the eye. Apparently a specimen of sufficient size had a truly maddening laughter, enough to drive even magically inclined opponents into a frenzied, foolhardy charge. It wasn’t to the point where goblins had run straight into its gaping maw, but by the time they caught themselves they had often been too late. Caught out of position, already in reach of being gobbled up one by one, if they were the intended target.
The tribe had been going up against a true, psychological nightmare.
In the end the Goblins managed to shut it up by firing off one of Läker’s more volatile concoctions, combined within a thermos fashioned by Brand, another senior, who’d also helped her time when it was ready to blow from the pressure building inside. Once the taunting cackle was disabled, they’d started to successfully evade the beast- and eventually managed to put it out of its misery.
Figures, they've gotta have a real weird bunch of Classes. Damon learned all about how the senior goblins were stacked with not just levels and powerful Skills, but cheap and effective tricks as well, proving how the trait was not exclusive to Berry, but clearly characteristic of the tribe as a whole.
By the time they entered the beginning of the true cavern, Damon actually felt in safe, experienced hands.
But Blå had been uncharacteristically quiet during the trip, still perched on Damon’s shoulder, only treating Skalle to the occasional glare.