Verlon awoke to a throb of pain throughout his body. The paralytic numbing effect had mostly worn off at some point. His entire body was sore and his bones ached from the awkward sleeping position. His entire body felt weak as if a leech had sucked out all his nutrients.
Sure he felt weak, but the healing properties of the Corpse Bud’s venom had kicked in at some point and the puncture wounds felt manageable at the very least. He didn’t think he was going to die as long as he was cautious. The candle had only half burned, so he snuffed out the flame and stored it back in his bag after clearing out the broken bits from his bag. He then sat in the tree and slowly ate while he tried to think of what to do.
The gargantian had thrown him off course, both literally and mentally. By his reckoning, he was several miles off course and off to the northwest somewhere. The massive turtle beast, although it looked as if it moved slowly, had covered a lot of distance with its slow gait.
Caution was the key to survival in this situation, as it so commonly was. Verlon needed to really think about his chances of survival and plan accordingly. And so, he planned and schemed as he read through the passages of his journal. Some were his own discoveries or were the discoveries of other Seekers.
At the end of his planning, he narrowed his decisions down to two things: continue to the Floating Mesa for his contract or make his way back. He wanted to just head back and recollect himself. He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to just surrender and live to fight another day. Ignoring his own emotional state, logically he should see his contract through.
For one, Verlon wasn’t sure if he even could get back. Assuming he met no trouble in the Graviton Highlands, he simply wouldn’t make it through the Steamglade. He knew from experience that the injury on his side would slow him down. Not a ton, admittedly, since human mobility relied on legs, but enough to make a difference. It would be just enough to get caught by the explosive trees at some point in the two-day trip through the woods.
He could follow Stefan’s lead and head to the Mechanus Outpost. The chances were high to receive treatment and maybe join a convoy back to imperial lands, assuming he could make it. And that was the issue. It was a sound idea, just not logistically sound. He was already several days' walk from the outpost before the gargantian carried him in the opposite direction. He didn’t know quite where he was, but he was displaced far off to the north.
While heading back had far too many cons, heading to the Floating Mesa also wasn’t an easy decision. It would be incredibly dangerous to head deeper into the Graviton Highlands where the miasma, and creature count, sat at higher levels.
Not even mentioning the dangers of miasma, the creatures alone would be a massive problem. With his arm out of commission, he wouldn’t be able to aim his rifle and would have to stick to his sword and revolver. He would only have six shots to kill in his revolver, which wouldn’t work if there were groups of beasts such as Stormhounds.
As for his sword? He really wasn’t confident in his sword skills. He had never received in-depth training more than basic techniques to slash and stab. He could maybe fend off a small, weak critter, but the chances were low against anything moderately strong. There was a reason he took the role of ranger and not bruiser.
The trek also had the minor inconvenience of the Floating Mesa literally floating in an anti-gravity well. It was the largest floating landmass in the entirety of the Graviton Highlands and sat a hundred feet up at the lowest point. The gravity well was also one of the few incredibly unstable wells, which was one of the many reasons Seekers tended to avoid the place. The other major reason was the underside of the mesa. More specifically, it was what dwelled there. It was the main nesting ground of the Gravitic Wyrms.
Not all was lost though. For such a high height, it was surprisingly easy to access. Several vine bridges snaked up to the flying island. As long as the anti-gravity didn’t drop the boulders entwined with the vine, it was the easiest floating landmass to board. For a non-handicap, that is. With his arm bent out of shape, he wasn’t a hundred percent sure if he would be able to get up.
Even dealing with the Gravitic Wyrms wouldn’t be too big of an issue thanks to his third relic, a one-time-use relic he specifically bought for the Floating Mesa. It had cost quite a bit, but he originally bought it under the understanding he would be paid back severalfold by his employer. It was also the reason he only had ten silver coins left in savings.
There were a great deal of benefits to finishing out his contract other than potential ease of access. Money was a big one. If he didn’t finish the contract, he wouldn’t have made nearly enough money from this excursion to pay rent. Maybe he shouldn’t have taken the contract. It was essentially gambling, but he was so confident in his skills he forgot the number one rule of Endenheim: Death comes equally. He had been so stupid, cocky in his ‘abilities’, and put him and his sister in a potentially very, very difficult position.
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Most Seekers avoided the Floating Mesa, so there was potentially a plethora of new discoveries just waiting for him to write down. He could then sell that research to the Sekorium for a nice-sized sum of money on top of the contract pay. The money paid out for research notes was one of the main reasons he had gotten into writing things down in the first place.
He might even be able to find a Heartbloom up on the Floating Mesa if he was lucky. His mother acted similar to him, or rather he copied her, in that she took notes about anything and everything. One of the research notes he had uncovered and copied into his own journal told about the plant. It was one of the few discoveries that his parents never turned into the Sekorium.
The reason for the secrecy seemed to be due to its effects. Its effects couldn’t even be compared to Corpse Bud venom. It was supposedly a miracle plant that momentarily increased cellular growth. In layman’s terms, it could help non-bone injuries. The real kicker, according to his mother, was the side effects of the flower. Heartbloom's effects were almost all pro’s since they also had a small permanent effect of cleansing the bloodstream and allowing oxygen to flow better through the heart. It dramatically helped stamina.
The issues with actually obtaining Heartblooms were manifold. They were extraordinarily rare and only grew on the Floating Mesa, as far as his mom knew. They were also impossible to spot during the day and could only be harvested at night. Searching around at night for a micro chance to find the plant was its biggest danger.
The Heartbloom was the secondary reason he decided to take the contract. He wanted to find at least two, one for his sister and for himself. That plan, it seemed, would have to be scrapped. Now it was a ‘if it was on the way’ type of deal. His entire focus was on finishing his contract and then getting treatment.
Realistically, his decision-making process wasn’t as set in stone as he tried to make it seem. It would be decided by two things in particular: the extent of his injuries and his location. If he was closer to the Floating Mesa, he would go without a second thought. If his injuries dropped his combat effectiveness by too much and he was closer to the Mechanus Outpost, he would just head home and try to figure out some other way of making money while he was incapacitated. It wouldn’t be the end of the world even if he had to sell some stuff to a pawnshop.
Verlon rolled up his shirt and undid the crimson bandages wrapped around his torso. He had to change the bandages out anyway, so now was a perfect time to get an in-depth idea of his current state. The hole on his side looked far better after he washed the blood off with his Endless Flask. The stitches held the wound tight enough for the Corpse Bud venom to patch up his flesh. It was extremely tender and covered in a scab that rubbed awkwardly against his shirt, but wasn’t debilitating as long as he avoided further irritation. He rewrapped the injury and moved onto his arm.
His left arm wasn’t in as good of a state. It had been pierced fully through just below his humerus. It ached constantly and the wound looked quite nasty. The entire thing was smothered in blood which he cleaned off. The flesh wasn’t nearly as knit together as his side even though he dumped more venom into the wound. His muscles were injured to the extent it hurt to raise his arm above his belly. He gently poured on the last of the venom and rewrapped it as the numbing effect kicked in.
His injuries weren’t as bad as he thought they were. Aside from the bruises all over his body, which he felt with each minor movement, his arm was the biggest worry. Even if the skin and flesh healed, the muscles in his arms had degraded to the point he couldn’t raise his arm above his belly without slight pain, much less shoot a rifle.
With a rough plan in mind, he checked his pocket watch. The glass of the watch cracked in the fall, which made the already beat-up piece even worse. Night would fall in a couple more hours, so Verlon decided to rest through the night and then move in the morning. He settled into the tree as best he could and wasted the last of the daylight sketching the turtle-like gargantian and making notes about its odd behavioral pattern.
He struggled to sleep last night. He could hear a large amount of something moving below him the entire night and the occasional screech of pain. It was off-putting to sleep mere feet away from monsters, but nothing noticed him as he burned the last of the Wardger candle.
Verlon awoke early in the morning. He ate and washed himself up as best he could before mentally preparing himself for what was to come. Untying the rope, he stiffly worked his way down the tree. His limbs were a wrong heartbeat from locking up entirely thanks to his poor resting position over the past few days.
It took longer than he cared to admit before he finally touched the soil and the real challenge began. He was all too aware of the forest’s dangerous nature as the trees were razoroots. The fresh blood and severed limbs scattered about the forest floor proved that fact. Fresh flesh was entwined with ancient bones as they fed the land like fertilizer.
The cause of the limbs was in the name, the roots. Every razoroot tree had long spindly roots that sat upon the surface of the soil. They didn’t look it, but each one was sharp enough to cut through flesh and bone like they were butter. Only behemoths like the turtle gargantian could stomp around the forest without fear.
Their nature was well known among the beasts of the Graviton Highlands and only smaller critters called razoroot forests their homes, so he wouldn’t have to worry too much until he neared the edge of the forest.
Now that he thought about it, the tide of beasts the other night probably ran through after being intimidated away from their usual stomping grounds by the earth-clad turtle. Nothing made prey flee for their life like the presence of an abusive, overpowered predator.
He moved carefully, stepping over each root and double- triple-checking his footing with each step he took. A cut-off ankle would guarantee his death in his current state. Or really any state for that matter. Every move caused the crunch of bones underneath his fully charged boots. His pace was steady and constant. He didn’t allow the steadily declining density of roots to get to his head as he moved.
It took an hour to move a quarter of a mile to the forest’s edge. It was a terrible pace, but allowed him safety as he moved along to the edge. The sun soon began to shine through the trees as he exited the razoroot forest.