- Garok.
“Trying is the first step towards failure.”
– Saying from Illthis, Empire of sloth.
For something purported to be near-mythical, finding the dungeon core proved to be a rather simple task. Simply follow the constant, invisible pull. So, despite the winding, darkened tunnels of the dungeon, no doubt built that way to confuse adventurers and lead them to untimely deaths, the Cleric soon found himself in the Core room.
Nothing fancy, this one. Just a grey stone pillar with a circular sphere on top. Didn’t take a genius to see that was the core. That, and the obvious Wurm lair he had just passed. Well, he had to get it over with.
Forcing down the growing feeling of wrongness and distress as he approached the core with long, measured strides, the Minotaur hefted the claymore above his head, mentally blocked out the urge to throw the weapon away and swung with all his considerable weight. It hit, cleaved through the sphere and shattered it. There. That was how it was done. Almost instantly, the pressure vanished from his mind, followed by a shovel of dread running down his spine.
What in the name of the Three was that?
Nothing good, by his reckoning. The light that had been coming from within the cracks in the ceiling faded within minutes, leaving the dungeon in total darkness.
After that, he wasted no time leaving. Where before it had been mostly silent, with a sense of tension as he made his way through the uneven tunnels, the dungeon now trembled with activity. He could feel it in the air, smell the monsters moving from afar. More than once, swarms of fleshy, bloody spider-things skittered past him on the ceiling, not bothering to stop for him.
The monsters were all going one way: out. Without the pull of the core to hold them in place, they were fleeing, leaving this unnatural habitat. He did the obvious thing and followed. Instead of trying to navigate the darkness by himself, he picked a swarm of spiders and followed them by scent, moving through the darkness, stumbling on some dead carcass now and again. He could wander down here for days in these tunnels, even with his experience with mazes. But these creatures relied on instinct and different senses then he. They knew the way out.
It took him nearly an hour of stumbling through the sheer darkness of the tunnels, dirt beginning to fall around him as he stomped after the smell of leaking blood the spider-things gave off, but he finally found the light. He welcomed it. Years of dwelling the Maze of Lamath had given him a healthy appetite for sunlight, strangely enough. Unlike other minotaurs, he had never fully adapted to move through the dimness of the maze.
So, when he finally broke out of the crumbling hole in the ground and into the light, leaning against a tree from his near stumble-sprint through the last half-hour, he was more than relieved. Although it appeared to be filtered through haze that smelled of old smoke, it was still sunlight. The dungeon was obviously collapsing in on itself, and, judging by the trail of broken undergrowth before him, he had been far from the first to leave.
Before he could think on it further, another piece of wizard’s paper appeared before him, all but smashing itself into his face, demanding to be read.
[You failed. Of course you failed. One simple task, and you proved too incompetent to do even that. Let that sink in to the tiny head of yours. Oh, but you didn’t just fail, you deliberately ruined an investment, sabotaged an interest, wasted valuable time and money. Now, if there is one thing we cannot stand, it is things that can’t follow orders. Know then, that by biting the hand that fed you, you have sealed your own fate.
You are a traitor to your kind, and will be hunted by other Boss Monsters.
Do not look to the humans, minotaur. A bounty to make kings tremble with greed has been placed upon your head, and all made aware. You will have no friends upon this or any world.
You are the maker of your own fate. Know that]
Well, that sounded angry. Still, it did not bother him overmuch. He was used to being hated. Disliked, despised, ignored or outright hated. It mattered little to him. In the Exiled Kingdoms, his race had always determined how people would treat him, not he himself. Mercia had an open bounty on his head, and regularly sent their operatives to attempt to collect it. Only in Illmara was he welcome. The minotaur race was hated, and with good reason.
Still, the ramblings of some wizard’s apprentice hiding behind their master’s desk, orb and spells did not frighten him. Far from it. If anything, it only made him more determined.
Another piece of wizard’s paper appeared before him, this one at a moderate distance.
[You have been forcibly granted the Title: Rogue Boss Monster.]
Reading it, he simply accepted the fact and swept it aside. The first sender following through on his or her threats. With that out of the way, he heaved himself away from the tree and carefully examined the area around him.
Behind him was the gaping maw of the dungeon, a darkened hole in the side of a small hill, yellowing grass growing around the entrance. Directly before him was a stand of trees, all which seemed to be in various states of decay. He failed to recognize their species, but the peeling, greying bark and shriveled leaves told him something was wrong. The knee-high grass around him was yellowed and crumbling within thirty strides outwards. As were the small bushes, random tree sprouts and weeds everywhere. All drying up and crumbling. The whole thing smelled of rot.
Some effect of the dungeon or the destruction of the core?
Further out from the obvious rot was a near-solid wall of trees, none of which he recognized. Not that it came as a surprise. Forests were not his strong points. One would think that years of navigating a maze would leave him some sense of direction when such an area, but it had not. He was more comfortable with stone around him, not wood.
The dominant species of tree seemed to be tall, thick specimen with their leaves high off the ground, although there were many which looked to be covered almost entirely in green needles instead of leaves. What a strange place. The mana in the air tasted thicker than almost everywhere he had traveled before, indication that not many creatures used mana here.
The cries of the wildlife were muted, as if heard through water. Many of the sounds he had come to associate with forest, such as the near-constant chatter of goblins or the howls of frost wolves were missing, not that he expected the white wolves to be in a forest this green. The grunts and crashes that would indicated trolls were also absent, and thank the Three for that. Still, the sounds were almost completely different from what he knew.
The forest did not look artificially made, and he could think of no one that would go to such lengths. The variety and age differences in the trees said as much. Some young and growing, some old and either proud or bent, some dead and fallen against others. Weeds grew everywhere, logs had been trampled underfoot by the stream of monsters and creatures that had poured from the dungeon before him.
So, he really was on another world, then. Try as he might, he could not think of any location in the Exiled Kingdoms that looked like this, nor could he think of any other sane explanation for this.
He let that sink in, feeling the creeping feeling of dread in the back of his neck. He was lost. In the middle of nowhere, on a foreign world. He had rations, but was no great hunter in the forest. He had been more interested in learning of the undead and their weaknesses once he had escaped the maze, not looking for game trails and setting snares.
He had to look for some signs of civilization, such as roads of any sort, or, failing that, markers used by hunters and travelers. Who knew what strange beings inhabited this world? For all he knew, there was no civilization, just monsters. Perish that thought.
Leaving the crumbling hole behind him, Garok strode forward, putting up an air of confidence he didn’t truly feel, hooves stomping sticks underfoot, sending loud snaps through the woods around him. If anything was here, they would hear him coming from half a league away. Gazing over the recently-flattened trails extending in almost every direction, he shouldered through the trees and began to follow the largest one.
He was lost within the hour. The trail, if that was what it could be called, split multiple times, forcing him to randomly chose one path to follow. More often than not, he lost it entirely in the dense undergrowth, low-hanging branches, bushes and grass obscuring his vision. At those times, it was by pure luck that he found it once again and continued on.
In his stubbornness, he finally found himself without a trail entirely, as the monsters that had made it slipped away into the foliage. Damnit. He was lost. Still, he pressed on, moving for what felt like hours, forcing his way through the dense trees. There was one sad, hard truth in all of this.
Minotaurs were not made for forests. They were simply too big. The forest surrounding the maze was an exception, as it had been forcibly made minotaur-friendly by decades of inhabitation. The others? Not so much. The trees were too tightly packed, the brush underfoot perfect for stumbling and the endless shades of brown and green confusing to his eye.
But still, he slogged on, breaking branches and heaving aside small trees in his wake. More often than not, he had to stop entirely to work his shield out from whatever bush or tree it managed to get caught on. It was a harsh, mindless march, having to use brute force to get anywhere.
Suddenly, by animal instinct, he froze and hunkered down beneath a particularly gigantic tree, one with a leafy canopy and moss growing on the side. His mind screamed of danger, fur standing on end, trembling with anticipation. Garok didn’t know what was coming, but he had learned to trust his instincts the hard way.
Then, he heard it. Distant, hollow thrums from the hazy sky above him. They were slow, methodical, and growing louder with every passing breath. Dread stroked his spine, and an invisible pressure sank onto his wide shoulders, forcing him to crouch even further. His thinking slowed to a crawl as he pressed himself against the tree, craning his neck to peer into the descending fog.
The minutes passed at a glacial pace, his pounding heart and the sweat running down his back making it very clear his body knew the danger that was coming. By now, the hollow sounds from the sky were powerful enough to shake the trees around him, sending a dead, partially-fallen tree before him tumbling to the ground. The wind was picking up, and fog crept over the world around him, turning everything into a grey haze.
Slowly, the Minotaur awkwardly drew the claymore on his back, discarding his shield and holding it with both hands, tip angled into the sky. He did not stand a chance against something this powerful, he knew that. Still, he would not go meekly to the darkness.
Above him, the fog stirred, whirling around something. The cleric caught but a glimpse of what passed overhead, but that glimpse burned itself into his memory.
It was colossal, larger than the dragons of legend. Its shadowy body was vaguely humanoid, in that it seemed to have a torso and arms. The rest was obscured by the fog, but he made out some of what he could see. It wings stretched longer than he could believe, parting the clouds around it. Wings seemed to be an inaccurate term. They looked like flat, blocky arms stretching from the side of its body, spreading into gigantic fingers along what looked to be a flat, round palm. They rose and fell slowly, methodically.
The sight of the creature froze Garok solid, every muscle in his body locking up at once. In that moment, he felt like nothing but prey. Not a Minotaur, not a cleric, not a warrior. Prey.
Then it was gone. The Minotaur crouched, frozen as the wind slowly died down and the fog lifted around him. It took a long time before he stirred from his spot, muscles cramped and aching. He shook himself, gasping for the breath he had forgotten he held.
That thing was powerful. Far more than anything he had ever witnessed. Whatever it was, why it had come this way, he did not know, and was perfectly content with that. The less he thought of it, the better.
Once he felt safe enough, he began to move, setting a harsh pace, going the way the monster had come. The more distance he put between it and him, the better. He had no deathwish, and largely preferred his current occupation and status of living. Dead and in the belly of some carrion eater held no appeal for him.
After a while, he blessedly broke free of the accursed undergrowth. One second, his hooves were brushing aside grass and stomping through dry dirt, the next, he stumbled onto some sort of black road. Turning his head to either side, he noted it ran perfectly straight to either side of him, uniform in its shape and appearance. Along either edge was a white line, with yellow rectangles running down the middle.
From the side he had just emerged, the forest grew right up to this road, branches hanging overhead. On the other, there was sand. Here and there, some hardy plant grew, and rocks lay everywhere. A desert. With a road right down the middle of these two colliding environments. It was strange, though. Despite a light breeze, no sand blew onto the road, and no leaves had fallen either. Unnatural.
Still, he was glad to be free of the tight spaces that came when traveling through trees. To his right, the road stretched on, with nothing in sight. The left, however, was what seemed to be a large town. He could see the buildings from afar.
Although, why was there no wall? Monsters roamed these parts, he knew that much. What sort of people did not erect walls to defend themselves? Truly a mystery. Dismissing that, he elected to go there anyways and see if he could not get a feel for the area. Maybe even acquire directions to whomever the most powerful mage was in this country. Then, he might see about getting home. If not, well, he was a Cleric, and this was a whole new world. Adventure would be waiting for him. People to help, monsters to slay and women to woo. That, and if the Three were generous, perhaps people had never heard of minotaurs here. One could hope.
As he stomped along, his eyes were drawn to the road below him, fascinated. Why, it appeared to be a single, uniform sheet of rock or something similar. Perfectly level, with nary a bounce or crack to show where slabs of stone had been fitted together. What sort of wizardry had made a feat such as this possible? Even the greatest mage in Thuram would be hard-pressed to replicate this feet. Fusing so much rock together with such uniformity would take precision, power and control in amounts unheard of.
A thought crept into his mind, making him narrow his eyes and squint at the distant buildings. Perhaps these people were so powerful that they did not need walls to defend themselves. If they could make something as great as this, they would no doubt have many other ways to deal with any potential problems. Perhaps his search for a powerful magus was not so distant..
The town was in ruins. That much became obvious as he drew nearer. There was smoke coming from it, most of the buildings seemed to have suffered severely from fire and other causes. It seemed recent, if the slightly faint smell of blood was anything to go by. He found that it often proved to be reliable.
This was all theorized from a distance, of course. His sense of smell was far better than his vision or hearing, so he could not reaffirm those details through other sources.
The cold feeling in his gut increased along with his pace, now. Sight told him that his nose was not being tricked, and some faint sounds came from the town. Perhaps someone or something was still there. Either way, he could get more information.
The first building was halfway collapsed in on itself. Much of it was charred rubble now, but giant gashes where the material had been rent in two were still obvious.
The next was in a similar state, and nothing but wood was left of the latter one. To either side of the street he strode down, buildings large enough to house nobles or wealthy merchants were piles of glowing cinders or burnt shells. Evidence of what they had been could be seen from other things, however. How large an area had been standing on, the space between houses, the mage-made roads leading right to their doorsteps, the sheer size of each pile or rubble or burnt husk. Whoever had lived here had been important, if he went by the standards he was used to.
But did they truly apply here? On another world?
He would soon find out.
Through the other scents, he caught a whiff of something familiar. Humans. Two of them. They smelled..like they were fighting. Sweat, some blood, a metallic smell coming from one of them, as well as a bitter, acrid scent he could not place. An ear-splitting boom drove nails into his ears, and Garok bit down hard as the sound shot through his head.
What in the name of The Three was that?
It came again, and he nearly clamped his arms over his ears. Three above, this was one of the loudest, most painful things he had ever heard. Something was definitely here.
Setting off at a near-run towards the damned sound, he regretted it a heartbeat later when yet another blasted boom shot through his skull.
Teeth ground together and shield before him, the Minotaur slowed, then rounded a corner, pressed to the side of a blackened building, wary of any danger that might present itself.
The scene it found was confusing. A battered heap of metal lay on the ground in the center of the mage-road, and a human cowered behind it. The cause of said human’s cowering was obvious. A beast it had never seen before was lazily floating through the air, aimed at the boy.
Yes, aimed. From his vantage, it looked vaguely mushroom shaped. But it was made of fists. A circular ring was the base of the thing. From the inside, bunched together and spilling out, were easily a dozen clenched fists, all piled together, rubbing against each other, extended in the same direction. They were of various shapes and sizes, but all were clenched, and seemed to extend outwards from the ring. As they neared the center of the amalgamation, they extended further, forming something resembling a spearhead. Each fists seemed to jostle the other, trying to get ahead of the one before it. Yet all were completely still.
He could not make sense of it, no matter how hard he tried. Its coloration was a dirty gray. There were small, wispy clouds circulating it, for some reason. The entire thing was as large as his center mass. Why and how was it floating in the air? Magic?
As he watched, another human appeared. This one had dark skin, and held some sort thick, grey stick aimed at the fist monster. She appeared from behind the pile of metal, and the resounding boom that followed her arrival nearly made his eyes cross. By the Three, why was her wand so infernally loud? He assumed it was a wand, for it fired some sort of projectile at the monster.
Which seemed to fade away, allowing whatever that was to pass through it. Another boom followed, this on hitting just as the monster’s coloration returned. It hit square in its center, ripping a hole through it, and the fist that had occupied said area. As Garok stumbled away from the street corner, shield up, the fist it had hit was violently ejected from the ring.
The human dived back behind her metal, and the one still cowering there covered his head. The ejected fist, free of the ring and flying so fast the Minotaur could scarce see it, hit the black metal, and rocked the entire pile. It vanished, leaving yet another fist-shaped imprint on the already savaged sheets of metal.
Shaking his head, the Minotaur stumbled upright, hating the sound that wand made. No single thing should ever be so loud. It was then that the human noticed him. And raised the wand she was holding towards him.
Garok did the only sensible thing he could and ducked behind his shield.
