[Welcome Explorer, to Logos' Eye of the World]
Neato. It was still midmorning by the time Damon and the Goblin warband left the sunlight behind and started lighting fungal touchwood torches.
The first hour went precisely how Redcap Lila, grandpa Skalle and the rest of the seniors predicted, with this shadowy 'Rootmother' appearing to conserve her energy as the Goblin band advanced into its undulating tunnels.
If she even exists.
The strange, willowy trees growing all around did not stop but just kept coming in rows upon rows, growing tall in spite of the darkness, still somehow providing dozens of fruit pods each. Each one standing strong somehow, with no obvious source of sustenance, what with having only the barest layer of dirt to root through on the cavern floor, not to mention only a rare few spots of sun to empower the somehow hale-looking leaves from random slits and cracks overhead.
Looking around, it was no wonder why the tribe leaders wanted to secure this place. Fruits of defiance!
I’ll grow and grow, even if you won’t love me, sunlight. Heh. Sound familiar, Ärtan?
Ärtan was only level 29, in the [Conniving Battle Scavenger] Class, with this the very first time she was fighting in a squad of more than six Gobbos. Before this mission she'd taken part in a few village defenses versus predators too dumb for their own good, and been sent on plenty of hunts, thefts and lootings—all errands of the tribe—but not yet any real raids like this one.
For a first this sure was a lily, strange one. For a multitude of reasons.
First off, this was a very odd location. Hardly any mushrooms around at all, which was a downright unnatural state of affairs; considering the darkness in here especially, combined with a downright silly amount of lush trees. Second off, they’d been told to expect shadowy spiders to fight them for every inch of progress along the way—yet there were none to be found, let alone any webs or dwellings. Why aren’t there any webs!?
Ärtan had experienced the disconcerting sight of the orchard’s tarantulas coming after them before, times aplenty, usually skittering hungrily from among the clefts and the shadows—always aiming for the smallest, slowest white caps specifically.
Most upsetting, growing up. She’d run from ‘em on multiple occasions as a child, tasked with learning to safely collect the fruits which would sustain the tribe throughout the winter. Only if they paid proper attention and heeded the warnings in time to manage fleeing far enough in advance, reaching all the way and leaping into the sun beams waiting to shield them outside—only then were they safe, the deadly predators forced to retreat at last.
The friends who had not learned to listen did not last for long.
Ärtan'd always imagined how there would be a ton of webs to be found deeper inside, secretly hidden just beyond view, trapping all her lost friends in the dark. Where else would they live? They can’t all have been merely summoned minions, not for all these years. Can they? If so, then maybe the 'human' truly did see a big, hulking tree queen hiding in here?
Gah. Which would mean he wasn't pulling a really, really great prank, like Ärtan had secretly been hoping. Which was fine, everything was still fine, really. But heading into the darkness seemed rather foolhardy. This was the lair of a creature who clearly wasn't of any natural-born Dao. Which naturally meant you should stay away, if they bothered asking Ärtan.
Which naturally nobody did. Sigh. Maybe I should just start speaking up, even if I have to shout until I'm hoarse, like Berry. But then I don’t have anything smart to say, not nearly so often lilyways.
Then again, the orchard was tapped out multiple times a season, so it was no difficulty seeing why the securing more orchard access might be worth it, in the end. Hunting their food for days and weeks across the grass plains was certainly no easier feat. Especially during the cold season, with the beast hordes always looking to take offense at any unsanctioned crossing into their territories.
Such situations were untenable. The tribe knew all about the pains of deprivation, from their past, much tougher years.
By comparison this defenseless resource oughta be such a boon, Ärtan's belly was growling in anticipation already. Not yet, tummy! Only once we’ve actually rendered ‘em defenseless. Damned goofy, belligerent trees, acting up against their betters. Heh.
Who’d ever heard of one learning to summon charmed spiders to protect its precious fruits tho? Heh, new friends, new era.
Ärtan pocketed one of the fruits without stopping, from a weighted branch dipping barely into reach; outta sheer rebellion. Although now was hardly the time for such fine dining, even if her belly disagreed and kept on harping.
Ärtan may have snuck one bite, just to quiet it. Mm~m, marvelous.
Ahead was another cavernous section of the tunnel, so mighty Redcap called out orders again. Ärtan chewed carefully meanwhile and watched as the warband flowed into the abruptly widening space; the front row of coatis ahead shifting into a looser formation, her cousins all making sure to spread evenly among the trees, carefully ensuring the walls remain close enough for guarding their flanks at all times. Ärtan's job, in the meantime, the job of all the foot; was to plug any and all holes that were bound to pop up once the coatis were busy climbing and fighting—which was why the foot brought up the rear. Staying safe in the back, trying to pick up a level or two, as grandpa said to. Heh, nice. No big responsibilities.
Despite no sign of the tarantulas so far, it was vital to not get caught out in a position to be surrounded—not even for a second. Such behavior could all too easily become a fatal habit, if you listened to the seniors.
The large band of Goblins kept moving forward as one, farther and farther inside, with the ceiling looming ever wider and larger, making their torches feel tiny in the cavern's cloying darkness.
Someone stumbled and cried out, causing a spooky echo. Turns out it was nothing, yet now there was a tangible tension in the wilted air. But nobody else seemed to really notice, and Ärtan’d gotten spooked before, so she did her best to ignore the sensation, once more.
The trees kept coming on, but ahead they suddenly stopped where the tunnel walls narrowed into a long dip, making for a far tighter squeeze than the sections that came previous. The band of Goblins all contorted accordingly. Ärtan's tummy fluttered nervously at the walls closing in at first, but then she caught sight of that large lion’s back ahead—topped by an ancient human, who was moving forward so fearlessly, together with the experienced seniors, in spite of his very low level, and she was heartened. We’re super-duper lucky that he’s on our side, should he level some more especially. That stuff he's been teaching was crazy. Crazy—but fun. Heh.
Watching the trio troop ahead so stoically served well to ease her own fears, somewhat.
Eased them right up until Ärtan’s long ears caught the sound of an alien chittering, both ahead of them as well as behind—followed by the grim tap tap-drumming of hundreds of spear-tipped legs across rocks. Shite, shite, shite. No, no, no. This is a mess. Was she anticipating us moving into position all along!?
The skittering noise was multiplying, starting from a distant whisper but building all too swiftly into an intense, hostile crescendo.
They were caught out in a vice, despite all their efforts; now fully surrounded by the echo of the hairy arachnids, a menacing choir of keening, hungry spiders grown far too large, to where they could easily match a younger goblin for sheer weight.
Ärtan and the rest of the foot were well and truly trapped. The tribe had been heading down an incline, and now had a steep slope up ahead. She’s found us at the worst possible time, we’re doomed. Eek!
Ärta knew in the back of her head how the feeling was illogical, but she couldn't help it. The goblins around her were all scrambling, while she stood frozen trying to figure out what to do.
“H-h-how did they time it so perfectly!?” It was too suspicious. They needed room to deal with the oncoming charge, but how, when none of the goblins could dodge without knocking into each other!? Certainly the spiders had always seemed able to sense them somehow, as they would always show up whenever a Goblin headed in a little too deep, crossing over some boundary where it was calculated that one of them might mess up and get caught—allowing the predators to kill and drag them back inside. But not once had the tarantulas been acting so clever like this, waiting ever so patiently to trap them in a chokepoint where no one could evade reliably.
The young Goblin saw the dark wave of arachnids coming to consume them, meanwhile she heard a 2nd cluster flooding them from behind as well. "Oh, sunken lilies. They've caught us!"
Luckily hers wasn't the only cry of dismay, or she’d have been real embarrassed and never lived it down.
Then all thought ceased, as they were suddenly drowned out by the far louder sound of joy sprung from the tall, raring man ahead, who was mounted atop the magical lion who unleashed a mighty roar for emphasis. "Wait, is that!? Oh yes, hell yeah. Finally! Wannabe spiderslayers, on me. Let’s warm up!"
Ärtan watched in awe as the human’s Billy gleefully charged ahead, acting like the spiders showing up had just done them all a huge favor. Right before reaching the enemy line, the man suddenly glowed with a green energy and leapt off to land directly with both daggers piercing the brain of an instantly deceased spider, getting ahead of the heavier chimera who then broke through with ease, scattering the arachnids who were trying to mob him. They’d created an opening for the wedge of counter-charging coati in seconds. How is he only 8 levels ahead of me, but acting out as if he’s one of the trueborn battle maniacs already!?
It didn't help how Berry was shouting her equally loud agreement from his shoulder, immediately snuffing the idea that it was somehow different for the smaller, disadvantaged goblins.
Is it really just the power of a Strength build? It must be. But then Damon didn't move like any strength build that Ärtan had ever seen before. He was spinning, flipping and vaulting more like an intoxicated bonfire dancer. Wherever his razor sharp daggers went gouging past they refused to halt, cleaving through the legs and protective carapace surrounding him more like a tomahawk. Even when the filthy arachnids gathered in groups and managed to mob him, Billy always came charging to unleash a roar which turned the previously dangerous situation into mere mop work.
The lower level Goblins all went ahead to join in the fighting, but most ended up just watching in awe. Even the riders were struggling to keep up with the pace.
Just as the trio started to slow for a minute, allowing the rest of the goblins to catch up at last—apparently the work here was already done, with the tardier Goblins not having contributed a thing. Still, at least they’d cleared their way to the top of the slope, yet it seemed the tarantulas were not yet finished:
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In the distance ahead a new wave was already forming.
But neither was the Human. After merely a one-minute break, on the dot he rose and got back on Billy, and then the trio all surged ahead like a lance, heading straight into the 2nd oncoming wave of dripping fangs, spear-tipped legs and barbed hair. They were utterly contemptuous, treating the arachnids like so much chaff. Once the coatis caught up again, soon it was all over for that wave of spiders as well, and this time the trio didn’t even slow down before they went for wave number three.
Some of the keener warriors were already following Damon's lead, but the more hesitant didn’t move until Redcap Lila’s approval rang out. “Swiftly now, follow the blazing lunatic!”
The order put a tentative smile on Ärtan’s fearful face. Why didn’t I? I’m not sure I can?
They started trying to move faster and faster, still breathing heavy from the run uphill, they remained determined not to be left behind when given such an opportunity. Damon, Billy and Berry were showing the way—while Ärtan and all her cousins caught onto the tailwind, carried forth by the sheer momentum of the charge.
Then Sträng must have cast a shamanic Skill over the foot, because Ärtan suddenly felt her limbs flutter and then surge with power as they all started running effortlessly. The walls began surging past—allowing them to match the coatis and leave the chittering arachnids trying to trap them behind—slowing not a whit as they flowed into the giant opening that had been so artfully created.
Aaaah! Ärtan tried to lose herself in the battle frenzy, sticking close to the goblin ahead who was hacking at the enemies like a butcher—he needed her to cover the openings left by his wild swings.
She stabbed, and stabbed, and it was working. For the first time in her life she felt unstoppable. Inspired.
Whoops, cheers and hollers rang out all around as the raid was unleashed on the arachnids meant to contain them. Wiiihooo! We can do this, forsooth!
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Damon was enjoying himself, marveling at the ease with which they were making progress compared to last time. He had not seen a single Goblin get hurt badly so far, and they were moving ahead too fast for the spiders in the back to catch them up. We’ve got her cornered.
Ignoring the cavern's darkness was becoming easier and easier; this time they were bringing their own light.
A row of torches at his back in the dark.
The exiled Goblin tribe of the Verdant Black Hills boldly followed Damon into the earthen maw hidden by those fruit trees whose dregs they had settled for, for so, so long. Expecting to chop down a rare, magical mother of trees. Hoping to secure the vast orchard which had sprung from her magical seedlings in but a few short years.
All to source a hardy food source for the tribe, one that was conveniently available year round. But despite how good the proffered fruits were, in the constant competition for resources needed to bring their tribe back on top; it was merely convenience, luxury. They went to secure it now despite the dubious value. Mostly because they refused to be denied by summoned spiders of such lowly levels any longer.
A new leadership made the call, and there were vocal reservations, what with the enigma of the rootmother remaining unsolved—regardless everyone knew the next step was more information. Whether the enemy was weak or strong, dumb or clever:
The Goblin tribe was committed to finding out more.
They’d been lured nearer by the mystery for years, yet always held firm—deigning to send naught but experimental expeditions into the desolate tunnels—steadfastly refusing to take any further risk without learning of a reason why first. Perpetually spawning spiders was a rarity, and good fruit even more so, but the facts remained how there was nothing magical about it. Nothing very enticing, beyond the deeper mystery.
Not having any answers grated—just not overly much on the most experienced members of the tribe. Mysteries abound across the plains. Yet the news that Damon brought meant that getting denied further would grate all the more on the younger folks, and so the mission went ahead to confront this hostile aggressor which had kept their children from collecting much needed sustenance for so long.
Indeed, now the spiders came out to greet them as per usual, attempting to hinder them in their tracks, but where the goblins had only brought an elite group on previous missions; this time they were too numerous to be surrounded. Too swift to be denied, in spite of how the waves of spiders were unending.
Läker kept them in fighting shape after every mistake, as Skalle barked admonitions which had them swinging with discipline that would last them for hours still, and with Lila, Sträng, Brand and the rest of the seniors making sure to clear up any of the more stubborn clusters.
With Damon, Berry and Billy repeatedly playing the role of the initial wrecking ball.
In terms of true raids, so far it was pretty much a cakewalk, until they finally saw the first real beam of sunlight in hours up ahead.
By the time they approached the final dungeon, they knew the rootmother had been desperately wasting her energy sending skittering minions against them for hours, trying to slow them down every step of the way. All her efforts proving insufficient in the end, with the goblins mowing the spiders down, row after row—only taking mere scratches and smaller cuts in return from the repeated suicide charges.
Clearly, she was despairing.
Equally clearly, they would not be denied nor delayed any longer.
Lila called out and rode boldly ahead as the last of the spiders got cleared out of the tunnel. “Git, out of our way, you hairy tossers. Show us the boss!”
Yes. The entire Goblin raid entered the hall as one, with confident assurance that they had her on the ropes. The Redcap looked up at the enemy towering in the darkness, which Damon had told them would be waiting here, handily boxed in—when Läker called out her level.
[Shadewood Rootmother - Level ???]
“O-outofreach!!Outofreach!Outofreach! I repeat, out of my reach!”
That meant she was at least past level 124.
Läker never stopped yelling, only reiterated her message again and again, until she saw that everyone stopped raring to go on the attack.
Meanwhile Lila was taking up the shout too, realizing quickly that there was no way of doing this how they'd planned. “Get back. Get back, and run you slow little shits!”
Crap, we’ve gotta get out. Damon stood frozen, not just from indecision, but rather his knowing how him, Berry and Billy would all be sorely needed to cover the retreat. The white caps had to sprint out first; they were meat for the grinder in this situation. Even Damon would only be able to keep up for as long as his buffs lasted, if they hadn’t nailed her against the wall by then, then he was dead meat too.
There should have been zero chance of this threat level, the Rootmother being past level 124 clearly meant something was up, a supreme being of such higher levels? She ought to have been far up above, dominating vast tracts of the plains and lording over hordes of minions. Not being stuck down here, hidden away in the starved, desolate darkness below.
There’s nothing in here, what the fuck is she doing? Damon looked behind him fearfully, wondering why the Goblins still weren’t emptying from the cavernous chambers; only to be forced to watch in horror as an ongoing collapse was preventing any escape, caused by deeply penetrating roots right above the entrance, resulting in a tremendous, ongoing cave in.
The warband was given no time to react, none at all. The very next moment Damon saw the Rootmother’s massive taproots rising from the dirt across the chamber floors at preternatural speeds, racing to box them in from every side with thick ravaging vines, withdrawing lesser trees along their former path like applying barbs to its whips. The scene playing out before them showed the enemy was overwhelmingly formidable; the roots dominated the room in its entirety, covering every path forward—including streaking up toward the only remaining exit, where the sun was still providing a single spot of light from far above, casting the room into ever shifting shadow. The strong spotlight was making the shadows play and dance as if to a tribal coronach as layer upon layer of rock finished sealing the marauding tribe of Goblins—and a single chimera-riding human—inside with the hereto concealed 'Underground Matriarch'.
All the while the Rootmother was revealing her far greater control over the surroundings than could have ever been deemed possible: Her appendages rising and rippling all over the room.
Everything was going wrong.
That’s when Pipan lowered his teal cap over his brow and cleared his throat—catching the eye of Lila, who gave the go ahead. Full blast.
Then the Goblin strummed a lute and started singing in a loud, clear voice, warbling a warsong to counter the growing shadows and rising violence; the Goblin employed only one of his [Tribal Bard] Skills.
His ultimate.
[Ballad of the Exiles].
A haunting tune that deplored any who heard to never allow the travesties of the past to repeat.
The song rang out, echoing against the walls, and rather than keep attempting their futile escape, the whole tribe turned as one towards the enemy towering in the dark—defiance alighting all of their green-tinted faces.
Alas that was when the Rootmother first chose to use the rather useless, new ability that she had been granted, all those long years and 19 levels ago.
She spoke, in the hissing voice of an outcast nymph. “Welcome, otiose Contenders.”
Lila made a desperate, first attempt at diplomacy; "Oy, who're ya callin' useless... Hey, parley, ya cunt!"
But there was no further response.
Rootmother Rissa knew better than to raise her voice again.
Silence would reign, until the chamber was filled with naught but bleeding compost.