Vraxious- Hopes Path- Dungeon outskirts
Vrax and Torvold had grabbed lunch in the guild tavern; it was horribly overpriced, but both of them were too busy enjoying the new sights and sounds and trying to eavesdrop. After that, they had headed straight out of the city to make sure they reached the tiny hamlet that sat practically on the dungeon's entrance before sunset. The hamlet had a reputation for random monster attacks. Vrax wasn’t sure if they came from the dungeon or were just things drawn to the mana-dense area, but either way, he didn’t want to be fighting mystery monsters in the dark the day before what was supposed to be his dungeon tryout.
On the three-hour walk there, Vrax pulled out a lurker mushroom. He was sure he could do more with these now; he hadn’t even really pushed the limits of his mana with them the first time. The daisy was still heavy in his pocket, but he couldn’t do anything with it right now; he would let it loose in the dungeon and see how the almost foot-tall daisy did, though. Alright, lurker mushroom, more of a deadly trap than anything else. The obvious change would just be to add more tendrils. That seems kind of meh, though...an extra grab would be good. What would be better would be someway to deal with natural armor. Vrax thought back to the many acidic plants within the forest that he had to oh so carefully skirt around.
With a flex of effort and mana, he willed an organ to form inside the cap of the lurker mushroom and then created pathways tracing through it to the tip of each thorn. It was an arduous and slow process, taking him nearly two hours. Trying to do it while avoiding potholes and keeping on the road certainly wasn’t helping either. Torvald just stayed far away from him, occasionally browsing through the guild charter.
Finally, Vrax was satisfied that he had successfully created fluting for the acid. He checked his mana.
Mana: 30/122
Meh, probably enough for this bit. He spent the rest of his mana to slowly add a waxy coating to the outside of the mushroom; it naturally already had one, but he focused on making it thicker and covering every inch. It would be a bummer if the Lurker mushroom melted itself the second it started making acid.
Mana 1/122
With a gasp, Vrax cut off his adaptation. He had just a few more handspans to change on the tendril, and then he would try and get the acid gland functioning. That would have to wait, however; the hamlet was coming into sight. And more pressingly, there was a battle occurring on the outskirts of the town; a merchant cart was being harried as it galloped up the road towards them, almost overturning as it careened around a slight bend, bouncing violently over a pothole.
A single ray of pure orange fire shot straight up from the cart before forming an eye-shaped gateway in the sky with a flash of burning ozone and smoke a dozen strides above the cart. A bird wreathed in fire too bright to even make out specific details descended violently from the tear in reality above the cart. It looked like the merchant's guard just unleashed one hell of a summon. It seared downward, aiming at something behind the cart. It impacted the ground, and a wave of fire dozens of strides wide radiated out, turning the nearby meadow to smoldering ash. Vrax lost sight of the cart in the wall of fire for a moment, then it burst free from the inferno unharmed, a shimmering orange barrier keeping it safe from the hungry flames.
“Holy hells, how strong do you think that mage is? Tier-2?” Torvald asked, looking at the blaze ahead of them with awe.
“Probably high Tier-1. I’ve seen tier-2 spells, and they are even more ruinous than that.” Vrax gestured to the scene before them. The bird of prey streamed upward from the inferno; something in its talons writhed helplessly before being dropped from a very deadly height with a sickening impact.
Vrax and Torvald stepped off the road, weapons out, as the cart tore by. The mage stood on the roof, brows furrowed in concentration, an orange cape billowing behind him. He gave them a friendly nod as the bird in the distance detonated with enough force that Vrax had to stab his spear into the earth as a handhold, gale-force winds whipping into him.
Whatever had been attacking the cart certainly wasn’t anymore; the cart slowed down quite a bit past them, and the mage cupped his hands around his mouth. “Sorry about that! I think I got them all, but watch out for any more Gibins.” With a wave to them, he slapped the top of the cart, and it began a more normal pace towards the city.
Vrax looked at the blast zone ahead of them, slightly dumbfounded. “Welcome to the dungeon, I guess…,” he said to Torvald and started walking forward.
“I fucking love it here!” Torvald shouted enthusiastically, hurrying towards the hamlet.
When they arrived, the town guard had barely even bothered to peek over the small stone walls at the still smoldering field. One man in light leather armor atop the single watchtower had a bow strung and an arrow nocked, but he looked incredibly at ease, giving them a friendly wave as they approached. “Welcome to Crucible, newbies!” the affable man shouted down at them as they passed through a pair of wide gates. Into the hamlet, it was quaint but packed. Two inns sat dead center, facing each other. The one on the left was a fine three-story building that looked more like a manor than anything else. Well-dressed butlers were ushering men in fine armor inside from a carriage. Another servant almost fell over themselves rushing a newly polished ax to a man walking from the doorway towards the dungeon in the most obviously magical armor Vrax had ever seen other than his own; the silver metal was highlighted by magma-like seams along all the joints, and the ground itself sizzled slightly with his steps.
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“Well, that’s got to be the inn for the nobles, lords, and rich folks,” Vrax said, gesturing at the finery on the left.
“And that one is for the muck slingers like us.“ Torvald said, happily gesturing at the building on the right, as a man was bodily thrown through the swinging front doors, rolling to a stop facefirst in the road. The inn on the right had a roughly painted sign dangling on a partly broken chain; the lettering painted in a dripping, eerie red said, “Ain’t dead yet, Inn and Tavern.”
The area around the two central taverns was an eclectic circle of buildings pushed up against the city walls. A few scattered homes, some stone, one wooden, and one that looked to be made out of layered melted bone. The bone home was directly against a large store with massive plate windows proudly displaying monster talons, skulls, and what appeared to be bone weapons. The artistic scrawl above the door read, “Monster bane, monster bits, and things to kill them.” Monsters Bane wasn’t the only store; a general store, as well as an apothecary and healers' hut, were all scattered about.
Vrax pulled himself from his immediate desire to go check out what magical wares were available here, but without the funds to purchase anything, he would just be torturing himself, so he followed Torvald up into Aint Dead Yet. He looked around trying to get acquainted; they would probably be here for a decent amount of time. His eyebrows drew up at the circular glass cage that dominated the center of the tavern area, taking up over half the floor space. It was bare save for a sandy floor stained with many different hues of blood. All the tables were arranged evenly around the cage, and a few rows of benches curved around the cage right up next to the glass. Above it all, an illusionary aurora twinkled in the air, casting the tavern in icy blue and grey hues.
“Is that a fight pit in the tavern!?” Torvalds shouted out in sheer, unbridled enthusiasm, drawing scattered chuckles from around the room. Torvalds' vast volume upon immediately entering had managed to draw the attention of most of the patrons. Some looked mildly disinterested, most slightly amused, but a few looked at them like new prey. Vrax knew that type; he had needed to elude a few in the Forsaken Lands who didn’t see him as anything other than an easily disposed of payday carrying rare ingredients. But he wasn’t as helpless as he was before. As Torvald started excitedly prattling with the innkeeper, Vrax focused in on the most malicious-looking figure.
A man in the farthest corner with dark leathers and a pair of short swords was eyeing Vrax up and down, his gaze lingering far too long on his spriggan sapling. Vrax stopped shortly inside the doorway and turned to directly hold the gaze of the man in the corner. The man raised an eyebrow at the fact that Vrax had immediately noticed him, then his gaze became slightly concerned as Vrax withdrew the jar with the daisy inside it from his robes slowly without breaking eye contact. It was going wild inside the jar, scraping against the glass and hissing violently at every nearby movement. The man went back to his drink with a mutter to himself.
The innkeeper, a man more scar than skin, stood between two towering shelves lined with liquor and cups, a small bar between him and Torvald. His attention pulled from Torvald and over to Vrax and the writhing horror in his hands, “Hey, new blood, no summons unless you are in the pit!” He gestured at the glass coliseum.
“Ah, yeah, of course.” Vrax said, putting the jar back in his bag, hoping he had at least made the rogue in the corner not consider them a free meal with that bizarre display. Torvald was already animatedly trying to sign up for a fight.
“Whoa, whoa, ya fucking mountain. Ya need ta be level ten first. Then just find another fucker sorta in your level range that feels like getting beaten within an inch of his life and come talk to me. Love the attitude though, that kinda zeal will carry you far if you don’t die before the third floor,” the man explained, a slight lisp escaping occasionally, probably from the considerable scar tissue on his neck. The innkeeper’s name was Killian, and he happily answered their questions about accommodations and healing services nearby.
The inn wasn’t cheap, but with Torvald’s winnings, they would be good for a few days before they would either need to make some money from the dungeon or camp outside the city walls. A prospect neither of them felt was terribly wise considering the introduction to town they had seen. Torvald had graciously been funding the journey so far since Vrax was still pretty solidly broke after the market debacle.
They clambered up a small staircase and piled into a very modest two bed room on the second floor. They each had a washbasin and a chest. A single table sat between the beds. Other than the window, there wasn’t much else to the room. It was clean and functional, and honestly, that was all they needed. Torvald gave himself a halfhearted scrub with his washbasin, surprised to find that the inn had sprung for heating enchantments in the basin so they at least had hot water.
Vrax waited till Torvald was solidly snoring and pulled out the lurker mushroom. The tendril was uncomfortably looped across his bed in the confines of the room. He focused in on the mushroom. He only had one more adaptation to make. His mana was topped off, but he knew this one would be costly. He imagined an eerie acid that glowed a lime green; he had seen its like before dripping from the maw of a Myconid ravager as it tore into a forest wolf. He poured his mana into the mushroom, hoping to emulate that same very dangerous substance.
A lot of things happened at once. Vrax’s mana practically fled from him; he used so much of it at once, nearly causing him to topple over from the sudden dizzy spell. The lurker mushroom accepted the changes and began secreting the vibrant acid from its thousands of thorns. And Vrax's bed started melting dramatically. With a curse, Vrax willed the mushroom back into his garden and quietly cursed to himself, wondering how much a bed cost, as it slowly sizzled with foul-smelling smoke as it sank in on itself, the acid dripping through the bed and most of the frame before losing some of its potency. Well, goddamn, that will definitely help against the tougher bastards. Torvald didn’t stir even as the bed loudly clunked, splitting into two halves. Fuck.