Vraxious- Forsaken Lands
Vrax looked at the hole in his palm with a pained cringe. He trudged away from the river in the rough direction of town, making sure to skirt the Crystalline Forest. His smite had staunched the bleeding mostly, but it still hurt like hell. He downed a good gulp of a potion and poured a bit on the wound in his hand and the small hole in his side. The armor was noticeably starting to slowly regrow over his injuries. At this rate it would repair itself before he made it back to Hopes End. Vrax stopped midstep, a realization hitting him like a bolt of lightning cast from the gods above. The betting pool! Oh gods above, it’s going to be madness when I show up; half the town will turn it into an event.
It had started as a joke something like five years ago when Vrax had already passed up several alchemy-related classes and a handful of uncommon combat ones. The barkeeper Rafael had bet the guard captain that Vrax would end up with a crafter's class instead of a combat class. Cedric had taken the bet in a heartbeat, to the bemusement of a dozen patrons; it had spiraled into an overtly complicated life of its own since then. Categories were more defined, odds were placed, and a truly concerning amount of gold had been put towards it over the years. Vrax didn’t know what the whole pool was up to, but it had to be over one hundred gold by now, a staggering amount over what started as a joke between friends.
When he got to town, he would have to navigate that debacle before he and Torvald could go to the nearby dungeon. Oh, and he still owed Martha a keg of fucking honey. But she could stuff it for now; he wanted to get a couple of levels under his belt before he attempted that idiocy. Vrax had covered a good deal of ground over the last few hours. He was roaming a far different route than he had taken to get to the Grove. He actually hadn’t traveled this far southeast before; he had a few more leagues before he returned to familiar terrain.
The land here was surprisingly sparse. Patches of wildflowers strewn about in a haphazard rainbow of color. A tree every dozen or so strides. It felt oddly whimsical. The way the butterflies alighted on his arms as he wandered through the flowers. Vrax skipped his way deeper into the field of flowers, intent on inspecting a truly magical-looking specimen, amazingly dignified in the size of its leaves. He reached towards its eyestalk with a smile. Fucking wait!
Vrax forcibly tore himself from the veil of carefree energy coursing through his body. The resplendent rainbow flower in front of him looked at him with a disappointed gleam in its eye as he stepped back.
“Enough with the mind control bullshit!” Vrax threw his spear with Smite active. It cleanly sailed a stride through the air, popping the flower’s eye like a rotten orange and melting halfway through the stalk. Immediately the field of flowers for a hundred strides around him dulled. Whatever magic was enforcing its beauty was severed. Well, I guess Smite works if I activate it before I throw the spear. Good to know. Vrax was lucky that worked; he had just reacted.
[Fairy Field Tier-1] (lvl 12) Slain
Vrax felt a slight surge of essence enter him, not as much as he would have expected for a level twelve foe, but he knew much better than most that levels were nothing more than a rough indication of something's strength. A level five Forsaken wolf was a dangerous, slightly magical beast that could be slain even unclassed with luck, skill, and preparation. But something like a level five troll probably couldn’t even be kept dead by someone without a powerful offensive skill thanks to its regenerative nature and deadly brute strength.
This fairy field was a great example of the imbalances in nature. It had a powerful hypnotic effect that drew him in from far away, but once shaken free, the creature was nearly harmless and an easy kill. If he hadn’t shaken free from its effect, he probably would have climbed into its damn mouth with a smile, though.
People's classes were just like beasts; a good build was more important than raw levels. Vrax felt quite good about his starting toolbox, especially [Adapt Life]. If he used that cleverly, especially with prep time, he expected to be able to hit above his weight class. Mana was going to be a problem, though. Even changing the mushroom had been prohibitively mana expensive. Changing something like a Devourer right now might not even be possible. Unless he was willing to chip away at it over a few days. His mana pool was fine. The average was almost exactly one hundred for most people that didn’t have a mage-centric class. So he was ever so slightly above average. He already knew where his first essence was going to go. Well, after mental resistance, by God, that was the first upgrade he was going to make.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Vrax rooted around in the rapidly wilting field of flowers for a few minutes. If this had damn near gotten him, he was certain there were at least a few skeletons decomposing around here. His search was rewarded when he found what would best be described as a people compost pile. With a grimace he began the grim work of sorting through human remains that had been jumbled together and half digested.
There were some ruined armor pieces. A once fancy sword with gold trim was bent at an odd angle and half melted by the creature's stomach acids. Oh, look, it ate some noble's, kid; they tend to have some shiny stuff.
Vrax sorted through the half-rotted silks of the young noble's clothes. Pulling out and setting aside the chunks he thought belonged to the noble. He ended up with a small bag of coins and a conspicuously pristine ring. It had the slightest touch of teal light leaking from its plain stone band. He couldn’t tell if it really was magic, but Ulsine in town could inspect it for him. Putting on possibly magic items without knowing what they were was often a bad idea.Vrax pocketed the ring and the gold, continuing his way towards the fort. He could make it before nightfall with his increased speed. He began daydreaming about what the dungeon would be like. He and Torvald had talked for years about their first dungeon run.
Dungeons was a catchall term used for a place where magical power gathered to such an extent that it began self-perpetuating, changing the very environment around itself. Attracting or, in some cases, creating monsters. Often it was either the lair of a truly powerful magical beast that didn’t immediately eat all its new neighbors. Other times it could be an artifact of mythic proportions that monsters naturally were drawn to. And very, very rarely it could be a sentient dungeon. Magic itself is given form, and will crystallize into something tangible. Sentient dungeons tended to forge the very landscape around themselves to their own ends. Often times that end was simple survival. Other times its motivations and desires were almost unfathomably alien.
No matter the source Dungeons were national treasures that entire cities could base their economy around. Sentient dungeons, if they could be tamed or at least worked with, could become resources that kingdoms were based around. They could also be the doom of anyone near them if left unchecked for too long.
The dungeon in Hopes Path, the large city to the west of Hopes End, was a famous, if small, sentient dungeon. The town had sprung up around it hundreds of years ago. Eventually a knightly order academy settled there as well. Vrax didn’t know the details, but the town that became a city had had an arrangement with the dungeon that had served them both very well for nearly three centuries now.
Hope's Path had blossomed in the shadow of the nearby dungeon. It was a true gem on the outskirts of the kingdom. A bastion of adventures and swords for hire. It was by far the nearest city one could expect to find honest-to-god magic shops and enchanting services. Sure, most towns had magical odds and ends. In Vrax's hometown, alchemical magic was shockingly common for a town that small. Half of that was due to Feldwin and Vrax keeping the local alchemists bursting at the seams in rare reagents. But in Hope's Path, you could get truly wondrous things made if you had enough prestige and a staggering amount of coin.
Swords that caught aflame with nothing but mana and will easily enough. Bags that held unfathomable amounts within dimensional pockets? Common on every street corner. Even things like bound elementals that would fight alongside you could be found if you searched hard enough. Vrax pulled himself from his musings as the tip of the broken fort tower came into view.
Arthur Decious- Kings Road
Arthur spurred his horse on, struggling to keep up with the fast pace the paladin commander had set. Riding horses was only touched upon in his prior schooling as a paladin; it would be a required skill. He and five other novices were following behind along with another dozen newly graduated members that would be participating in the crusade.
They were on their way to Hope's Path and the dungeon situated on the outskirts to test themselves in real battle. To make sure they understood what life-and-death struggles were like before the order simply fed them to the meat grinder of The Forsaken Lands. Arthur was unbelievably excited to test himself in the dungeon. Daydreams of the power he could wield with another twenty levels under his belt made his focus waver, and he had to rush to keep up with the paladins ahead once again.
While his immediate future promised adventure, past that they would be basing themselves in a hive of scum known appropriately as Hope's End. It was one of the most dangerous towns in the entire kingdom. The kind of place people went to hide from their crimes after a life of violence. The people there hated the church and the duke. Always simmering at just shy of open revolt. Never giving the duke quite enough reason to call upon the king's aid in putting down rebellion.
There had been several unsuccessful attempts over the years to tame the town's rebellious nature. It was easier said than done, however. That place attracted dangerous men and women. Your average town that size would have guards on the low end of the first tier. Most would be combat classes, but a few would be crafters or even some farmer classes that had focused heavily on their core, making themselves formidable even without combat-focused skills to back it up. The captain of the guard might be high tier 1 or, in a city, even tier 2. That wretched place had guards of only pure combat classes that were fiercely loyal to the town and not a single one below the fiftieth level. The guard captain himself was an upper-tier-2 monster of a warrior. Famous as an adventurer before he retired. That wasn’t the worst bit, however.
The town was dotted with powerful figures of dubious loyalty to the crown. All hiding with like-minded monsters like vermin. And the “cleric” the de facto mayor of that place. An excommunicated member of Arthur's own church. A paladin who had strayed from Rembrand's teachings. No one knew how powerful he was now, and that was a very dangerous wildcard they would all have to navigate. That town would be as dangerous to him and his brothers as the forest would.