Vraxious- Crucible Hamlet

  Vrax was still intently listening to the knights' conversation nearby, trying to look inconspicuous by absentmindedly adapting the small pot of flowers in the center of their booth. Anyone who looked over would just see a druid doing druid things, well, unless they actually saw the tiny smiling maw on the flower now or how its petals were really close to acting as manic wings.

  The knights were still debating sharing a school as a bargaining chip to entice the “New Sovereign” into letting them operate in his lands. Vrax had never realized how damned competitive the knight orders were; he knew there were a lot of them but not that the big ones more or less pushed the smaller ones out at every opportunity.

  From what he had gathered, these four people were the actual leaders of different knight orders. The standouts being Dorn, who was in charge of the honest-to-gods boots-on-the-ground culling of the hell-maw rift. That poor bastard could barely get any recruits, and the ones he got either got strong real fast or died immediately. And the lady Phillis, who seemed to run some kind of hybrid magic and swordcraft school for people with unique classes and rare talents.

  I really shouldn’t...we need to be in the dungeon in the morning… Vrax looked over at their table, his mischievous smile hidden under his cowl. Oh fuck it, they have wound down anyway. It sounds like the three non-bitchy ones are in agreement, and Geneva will have a stroke anyway when she finds out the only nobility is Duchess.

  Vrax stood up and wandered over to the knight’s table. “Pardon me, may I join your table?” he asked in an almost bashful voice. To their credit, three of them immediately hit him with identification talents.

  Rogar spoke first. “Boy, I saw your mount. You sure as shit ain’t no low-level ranger. Mind telling us who the hell you really are and what the fuck you want?” He said with more than a little hostility. Dorn leaned in such a way that he could draw his sword unimpeded, and Phillis had the slightest tinge of flaxen mana flickering over her like a storm cloud.

  Vrax held his hand up defensively. “Please, I mean you no harm. It’s just the topic you were discussing. I work for the new lord and may be able to aid you, at least with some basic information my lord won’t mind you knowing as long as you don’t share.” Vrax said, channeling his best servant performance. Jonathan’s inability to hide a chortling laugh certainly didn’t help sell it.

  Phillis eyed him. “I don’t think a word you just said is true, but sit and tell your tale. Where is the new kingdom, and who is the new lord, first of all?” Vrax sat down and waved for the waiter to bring him another wine.

  Geneva was surprisingly the first to speak again. “Please, if you...serve this new lord, somehow, tell me of the noble houses.” That elicited a groan of annoyance from both Rogar and Dorn.

  Vrax smiled and graciously accepted his wine glass from the waiter. “I guess just Duchess Phobos, really; she doesn’t have any kids yet though.”

  Geneva frowned. “I’m...unfamiliar with that lineage, and I have a very comprehensive knowledge of the major houses.

  Vrax shrugged. “Ehh, it’s new.” Jonathan choked on his ale a few tables over, and even Stereos had to stifle a laugh.

  Dorn looked at Vrax hard. “Where is the kingdom? You speak to us with far too much casual ease and no fear.”

  Vrax smiled with an evil toothy grin. “The Forsaken Lands.” He let the words really settle in for a moment, enjoying the faces the knights were making. Geneva scoffed, thinking him a drunken jester at this point. Rogar chugged his ale and shook his head, obviously not taking him seriously. But Dorn held his gaze, eyes locked on Vrax, before creeping towards his tattered cloak and the bits of ever-thirst cape barely visible by his feet.

  Dorn really focused on his eyes, looking for something Vrax didn’t understand. “Why?” "Was all he said." The others looked back with surprise at how seriously Dorn was taking Vrax.

  “Because it’s the New King’s chosen home, now I have a question for you…answer honestly; it’s more important than you think. How do you feel about Rembrand and his order?”

  Rogar sneered “Fucking pricks.”

  “A necessary evil,” Geneva said diplomatically. Phillis chose to remain silent, but her body language showed agreement with Rogar.

  “They have watched my men cut down by the dozens by horrors beyond what should exist in our realm and done nothing but guard their fucking noble charges on a sightseeing tour.” Dorn said with astonishing venom.

  Vrax looked at Dorn specifically. “The Paladin of the Forsaken Lands is going to get along with you great. Now if you will excuse me, I have some dungeon delving to prepare for.” Half the table went rigid at his very blatant implication of who the new king was.

  Rogar set his beer down stiffly. “He was fucking joking, right?” Rogar looked at Dorn, who had a slight grin on his face. “The crazy monster tamer who’s been at fucking war with the goldies? Really?”

  Dorn looked at Rogar “No, I think that was very much not a jest.”

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  Vrax smiled as he headed upstairs for the evening; the knights' table behind him had exploded into conflicting conversations. Well, I sure as fuck know one knight's order that's getting an invitation to do as they please in my lands. The crazy bastards from the Abyssal Guard—they will fit right in, I think.

  The next morning they all set out for the dungeon; everyone was heavily laden with gear as they stepped into the ambient glow of the fungal forest. Jonathan had two separate halberds and a very healthy-looking potted plant across his back. Vrax also carried a potted plant and his normal gear. The potted plant being the gently wriggling Spriggan hidden under a sheet. It wasn’t at all thrilled to have the sun hidden from it on and off the last few days, but Vrax didn’t want to risk carrying it openly out on the roads.

  Torvald had a few new projectiles he had bought that he was looking to try out and see what “felt best.” A small stout throwing hammer, A few ultra-dense round balls made of some kind of enchanted metal, and finally the gnarliest-looking javelin. Vrax had ever seen the thing had a bladed tip that spread open two hand-spans wide when you threw it and a weighted enchanted core. Vrax could barely even lift the thing, much less throw it. Torvald said it was normally for leviathan hunters and shot from a ballista.

  As they trekked forward, Vrax uncovered the Spriggan and let it look all around curiously. Vrax was trying to focus on how deceptively cute its creaks were instead of Jonathan's bitching about the improvement he made to the horses. “Why, like, Nutmeg was such a sweet horse; now she had this giant evil-looking symbol on her ass and fucking fangs. I really didn’t want to have to worry that my fucking mount might gut me if I bring the wrong grain.”

  Vrax waved dismissively. “Oh hush, Nutmeg is happy as can be; she’s almost twice as fast now and still technically an omnivore.”

  Jonathan waved his hands angrily. “She ate grass yesterday! And grain and maybe an apple as a treat! I saw her chomp down a fucking rat going for her grain this morning!”

  Vrax darted up some of the dense mushroom-like foliage to both scout and escape the conversation. They were blazing through the first floor so far. It was mostly a contest to see who could kill the goblins dumb enough to cross their paths fastest.

  The Nightmare conductors were absolutely everywhere here, lurking in colonies of over ten to a tree sometimes. A few let Vrax and Stereos pet them happily. A group of four even hitched a ride on Torvald’s shoulder after he offered them a generous handful of nuts.

  Vrax was like a specter overhead as they went forward seamlessly, weaving into and out of every organic growth in utter silence, his talents fueling his brazen leaps and dives. His party below could barely keep up and only saw him because he let them. Suddenly the goblin camp from before lay ahead; they skirted through the long river’s edge this time to avoid a fight that wasn’t really worth the essence.

  They hadn’t seen any daisies up until they snuck by the camp, and Vrax immediately knew why. The camp was a bloody battleground once again, nearly half a dozen daisies versus over a hundred goblins. Spells and limbs were flying nonstop as they crept by. Vrax sneaked a quick closer peek; one daisy near the edge was running full tilt, simply snatching goblins with tendrils as it went, dragging them behind itself. Its maw was literally overflowing with corpses. Gods, they didn’t get any less terrifying.

  They slowed finally as the river running through the fungal forest led to a camp against the back wall. A pair of goblins wandered from the nearby brush straight into Jonathan. He bisected one with a short, sharp motion that ended with his leaping back mid-slice. He was about to dash forward and finish the second when the Spriggan let out a loud, hungry mix between a squeak and a growl and flailed on Vrax’s back.

  “The hell?” Vrax said, trying to look over his shoulder at his antsy passenger.

  Beside him, Torvald had gone slightly white. “Oh fuck, Vrax, put the pot down. I think it’s hungry.” Vrax set the armor pot down, and his eyes widened in surprise as well. The spriggan was struggling against its own body, trying to pull a decidedly humanoid chunk of itself free from the rest of its tree. There was a low buzz, and suddenly the spriggan ripped free in an impossible ripple of white and green magic, taking steps with its newly born legs.

  Holy shit, does it want to hunt? I mean, a level four goblin is about as good as it’s going to get. The sight was bizarre. A beautiful, wholly white tree tinged with marbled swirls of green stood whole where the Spriggan was a moment ago, and next to it the Spriggan took unsteady, swaying steps towards the goblin. Its head tilted side to side as its claws pushed farther out from its bark.

  The goblin screeched something in a gibbering tongue before charging straight at the little Spriggan, spear leveled straight ahead. The Spriggan unsteadily reached a clawed hand straight out in front of itself and made a fist. The goblin's next footstep was into a small but wickedly sharp tangle of thorns that had ripped free from the sandy shore of the river. Its foot caught, and it went straight down onto its face with a dull thud.

  The Spriggan made a series of happy creaks and did a small excited wobble, looking back at Vrax for approval. “Uhh… Good job, little guy!” Vrax gave a weak thumbs up, not sure what the fuck was happening. The Spriggan wobbled towards the goblin as it struggled to rise. Getting right above its struggling form.

  The goblin pulled its foot free with a pained yelp and dived onto the surprised Spriggan, digging its spear into the little guy's shoulder mercilessly and driving it to the ground. Vrax was already running forward, getting into range to smite the little fuck's head off.

  The Spriggan let out a horrible rasping sound as its first word scraped angrily from it: “MINE!” It said forcefully towards Vrax before taking its claws and shoving them all the way up to the knuckles into the goblin's eyes. Roots shot from its fingers, drinking the blood of the goblin visibly. The spriggan forced its way to its feet, slowly driving the goblin down to its knees. The Spriggan's sap-dripping wounds began to knit closed as it drove its claws deeper and deeper into the screaming goblin's face.

  Finally, with the crack of bone, the claws tore the goblin's skull apart from the eye sockets. The Spriggan creaked out a dark, satisfied noise before falling onto its prey like a starving man and scooping up handfuls of goblin into its tiny mouth.

  “Holy fucking shit,” Jonathan let out quietly.

  Torvald looked at Vrax with an expression somewhere between disbelief and anger. “That thing has been riding right next to my important bits for days! Days! What if it had gotten hungry and tried a nibble!”

  Vrax walked up to the Spriggan and gave it a slightly fond pat. “Good job?” he said, unsure, trying to ignore the slurping sounds it was making. “Man, I need to get a book on parenting or something.” Its gore-coated visage turned towards him happily, proudly handing him a dripping handful of what was probably a lung. “Oh, uh, thanks! I’ll probably save that for later.” Vrax said weakly, slowly putting the handful of still-warm goblin bits into a jar at his side.