Astore already disliked the dwarf warrior that had been sent as the bodyguard of the Ashenvale diplomats. He seemed hung over, overly obsessed with alcoholic beverages, and smelled of poorly-washed dog, with a side of stale beer and piss. But the other diplomats were far more pleasant company.
It seemed like there were more elves among the rebels than initial intelligence had suggested, but they were also entrusted with surprisingly important positions, seeing as the whole movement had, as far as he had reasoned, been a violent overthrow of Elven authority.
The Ashenvale representatives were a very diverse group of people. There were humans and elves, dwarves and even half-orcs. The fact that the rebels seemed to have strong ties to the merchant clans of the dwarves had come as a surprise. The dwarves were averse to causing a stir and being party to political situations. The fact that a overseer had accepted the position as a neutral observer and legal arbitrator of the whole political situation was… impressive, and spoke well of the seeming political stability of the rebels.
But beyond the dwarves, the Elven emissary chosen by the rebels as their representative was quite interesting, as well. The woman had all the bearing of an elven noble, but didn’t radiate the sort of natural disdain that the politicos of the highborn often had. Perhaps she was more similar to himself rather than other highborn? Born of noble blood, but with the misfortune of being the second born? And even if so, how’d she end up among rebelling slaves? He’d have to inquire about her situation at some later point.
The half-orc woman that seemed to be the provisioner of the Ashenvale representatives was an interesting one, too. Her dialect wasn’t the same as those spoken in the capital, or its’ approximate cities, meaning that the woman was either an immigrant, or an import from just before the uprising. Either way, she was fairly charming, in a crude yet almost motherly way. In a sense she reminded him of the serving staff in his family’s manor.
Lastly, the two Humans of the group were pretty much exactly what he’d expected. They were a man and a woman, and of the two, the man was by far the more interesting one. For one, he was referred to as “dragonslayer” by the others, yet he seemed to take no particular joy in the title, and its’ usage seemed to be more playful and friendly than meant to exalt or deride him. There was another thing that Astore needed to learn more about. Was the man really a slayer of the holy beasts, or was it a title earned in some other way?
Over all, there was much that Astore wished to learn before they returned to the isles.
“You look troubled.” Giousué had come up from the center of the procession where he had been happily chatting away with the Ashenvale emissary.
“Not troubled as much as contemplating our company. You’ve talked to their emissary. What can you tell me about her?”
Giousué laughs softly. “An interesting woman, indeed, that Eyla.” he clears his throat. “Well. I can tell you that she’s a noble’s bastard, and close with several of the senior figures in the Ashenvale leadership. Beyond that, I suggest you speak to her yourself. She’s quite a pleasant sort.”
“Ah.” That did explain things. “You can tell the others we’re setting up camp for the night on the next hill.”
Setting up the camp was a quick and efficient affair. With no palanquins, great processions of soldiers, great pavilions or large number of horses to feed and water. the camp was quickly set up with two larger tents, the handful of horses were secured, and a campfire started, all within the hour.
Astore had just finished setting up the Navine party’s tent, when the noticeable odor of the dwarven warrior stung his nostrils.
“Looks like rain is coming.” The dwarf’s presence was rather distasteful, but it didn’t serve to make enemies among the ranks of a new ally, Astore reminded himself.
“Aye laddie.” The dwarf agreed as Astore turned to face him. “Ye donnae need te worry about it. This be a good spot for camping. High ground’s good fer not gettin’ our packing all soaked.”
Astore nods. This was, of course, part of why he had chosen this location for their camp. Autumn was already upon them, and with it, the rains were more common than not. It had been mere luck that they’d managed to find dry ground to set up camp on.
“Tell me, uh, Ghergon was it?”
The dwarf nods. “Aye.”
“Why is it that the leader of Ashenvale sent you as the leader of the diplomat’s guard?”
The dwarf quite crudely wiped his nose with the back of his wrist. “Because he trusts in me skills, lad.”
“I see. Do you expect much trouble on the way to the harbor?” Astore probed. If the rebels didn’t have as good control of the woods as you’d expect a city to control their backyard, that’d be good to know.
“Nay, lad. It’s what’s coming after tha’ e’s worried about. ‘Sides, there’s a demon in these woods, huntin’ those who want us ill. ‘S why ol’ Johann decided to let ye in.”
It seemed like the rebels didn’t trust them. At all. Not yet, at least. Astore didn’t blame them. He wouldn’t have been quick to trust if he was in their place, either. “A… demon, you say?”
“Aye. Wodan o’ tha wild hunt. Uther mashed ‘is gob and made ‘im work fer ‘em. Funny story, actually.”
Astore just stared at the dwarf in disbelief.
“You.. uh, you’ve bound Wodan to protect your forest?”
“Nay, lad. Not ah. Them lot has.” The dwarf motions for the rest of the group.
“So, you don’t consider yourself one of them?”
“Nay. Ah’m retired. Jus’ doin’ some favours fer free alcohol.”
“Retired? You don’t look too old, sir dwarf.”
“Nay, ye donnae get old huntin’ fer dragons. Ah’ve pushed me look far enough.”
“Oh.” A dragonslayer? A real, living and breathing dwarven dragonslayer? He wasn’t like the mythical warriors that Astore had heard stories of while growing up, not in the least. He wasn’t a great warrior clad in shining armor, and his looks screamed everything but heroism.
“And, ah, what of the one they call the dragonslayer?”
“Ach, him? That be Bertrand, the laddie who shot a dragon Thru the noggin with a ballista. ‘E’s a good lad, and one hell of a fecker with a crossbow, but ‘e don’t think ‘e’s worthy of tha title, so now it’s a runnin’ joke.”
“Dinner’s ready!” The voice of the half-orc woman rolls through the camp as she beats the side of the cooking pot with her ladle.
“Talk to ye later, laddie.” The dwarf gives Astore a slight nod before heading off.
It seems to Astore that appearances don’t seem to do the short man any justice. And he really needs a bath. And plenty of soap.
The dining arrangements were… rustic. But it was a significant step up from what they’d eaten on the way in. As much as he hated to admit it, Astore himself wasn’t much of a cook, but neither Giousué or Massima were experts in the topic, either. So despite the simple nature of the food, Astore ate heartily.
Before the dinner had time to fully finish, the rain had started falling. It was quite a heavy rain, indeed, so Astore had been happy to retreat to the tent.
The drops of water were pattering on the enchanted sailcloth that made up the roofing of the tent, now, but the interior was completely dry. Sitting down on his bedroll, Astore removed his cuirass. “And the others, will they manage to stay dry?”
Giousué nodded. “Yes, I believe so. Despite comparatively lacking magic, the people of Ashenvale are a inventive sort. Apparently they treat their tents with wax, making them entirely waterproof.”
Astore nodded. “Wax, you say? Ingenious.”
Giousué nods. “Yes, ingenious indeed. In the short time since they liberated themselves, they’ve made great strides in non-magical science. I believe that if we manage to set up proper trade between them and us, we’ll both profit greatly.”
“You’ve already managed to get quite attached, haven’t you?” Astore laughs.
“You have to admit, they’re quite impressive.”
“Well, yes-” The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a distressed neighing from the horses outside.
“Damn beasts, what’s got them all riled up…?” Astore got up and made for the exit, stepping outside. The experience immediately went sour as the rain soaked his tunic through and through in seconds and hindered visibility.
He turned towards the horses, and saw them pulling at their restraints and bucking.
“What the hells…?”
“What’s going on out here?” From the other tent, the humans emerged, short swords drawn.
“I don’t know! Help me calm the horses! Get some lights! Gio, lights, dammit!
Astore was joined in rushing towards the horses by the two humans, and it seemed everyone was aborting their sleep preparations to help out.
He heard Giousué cast his spell, and a dull blue light flowed through the camp, illuminating the immediate surroundings. Astore grabbed the reins of one of the horses, and held firm while raising his hand to touch the side of the horse’s neck.
“Easy, boy. Easy. You’re safe here, it’s oka-”
“Astore!” Giousué’s voice had jumped up a few octaves in panic.
“What th-” Astore snapped around, and saw what looked to be a small hill in the middle of the camp, where there had been none before. For a second, it was merely a looming mass, then it roiled towards them.
“The fuck is-” Then the thing crashed into the Ashenvale emissary, and engulfed her legs.
“OOZE!” realization came upon him immediately, and even as the humans ignored the panicking horses to run to their comrade’s rescue.
“Gio! Do something!” He already knew that the swords wouldn’t do anything to the creature. It was a gelatinous mass. Blades would be entirely useless against it.
“I’m a magician, not a miracle worker! Get something to beat the damn thing with!” Gio snapped back.
Astore tried to figure out a way to fight the damn thing. It was difficult, with the current conditions. What was a ooze even doing up here? Their natural habitat was underground, in caves, sewers and the underdark, not the middle of a bloody forest.
“You! Humans! Pull her out, or the ooze will eat her! Gio! I want lights on that damn thing!” Astore roared. Where the hell was the dwarf?!
Suddenly, a plume of fire came out from the side of the ooze, and burning liquid landed on it. The ooze recoiled, and in the orange light of the fire, Astore could see Ghergon, carrying what looked like a previously hooded lamp, and a bottle of liquid.
“Lads! Ahm’ gonna distract it! Get Eyla out!” he bellowed, before taking a big swig from the bottle.
A second later, he spit the fluid at the beast, using the flame of the lantern to ignite it. That… had to be some seriously potent alcohol. But it seemed effective, as the slime seemed to turn its’ attention towards Ghergon instead of the elf it had grabbed.
One of the humans grabbed the elf by her wrists, and dragged her clear of the ooze, but she was unsteady, her legs seemingly injured from the corrosive nature of the monster.
“I thought you said you had a demon hunting things like this!” Astore shouted at the dwarf.
“Aye, lad! Maybe he took the day off?!”
Demons don’t take days off, damnit.
“We need to bash the thing! Cutting it doesn’t help!”
“Aye lads! Get some fahkin’ clubs!”
The male human was carrying Eyla away, now. But the ooze… despite the Dwarf hurting it, it instead started to surge after the elf. That… that was weird.
“Here! Use this!”
The other dwarf had emerged from the Ashenvalian tent, and threw a heavy, metal-capped rod at Astore, who caught it.
Leaping up to the side of the creature, Astore swung the club-thing into the ooze, and could see it ripple and recoil as it shuddered from the impact.
“Over here, you pile of snot! Chase me!”
Astore made to swing again, and could once more hear Giosue chant. He felt his weapon vibrate and thrum with power, and as he slammed it into the ooze, it reacted like it had been hit by a charging horse.
Thank Helios the rod is inlaid with Bronze. Even if the enchantment was temporary, it was the edge he needed.
The ooze now surged towards him, and Astore lept back. He’d angered it. Good. Now they could get the wounded out-
The Ooze stopped its’ charge towards him, and followed Eyla again! What in the fiery hells was going on? That’s not how the oozes are supposed to act!
Stumbling in the mud, Astore starts after the creature again.
An arc of lightning coursed through the air, striking down into the ooze, and causing acrid smoke to billow into the air as the gelatinous mass of its’ body is seared by the charge.
“I SAID.” Astore roared at the top of his lungs, “FOCUS ON ME YOU FUCKING SLIMEBALL PIECE OF SHIT!” He lept, hoping that the creature’s indifference towards him could be used as an advantage. With reckless fury, he slammed down into the creature, with every fibre of muscle and all the weight in his body.
The ooze went flat to the ground, splashed out over the muddy hillside.
Gasping for breath, Astore struggled to reclaim his feet on the ground that now was some sort of unholy mixture of ooze, mud and water.
His clothes were ruined. Drenched in mud, and full of holes where he had come into contact with the corrosive substance of the ooze, and by now his stamina was wasted.
The very ground he stood on roiled as the ooze started to reform.
“Not again…”
“Ey lad! Get outta there!” Ghergon shouted.
“The ooze-”
“Aye! Ah’ve got a handle on it! I need ye te move before both’a us blow tha feck up!”
“Wh-”
“MOVE.”
Astore moved, scrambling downhill, away from where the ooze was rising up again, just as he could see some small slimmer of light arch through the air, landing flat in the middle of where the ooze was reforming.
A moment later, there was a flash of light, and his ears were ringing like the cathedral tower on coronation day.
Astore stumbled, and felt foul ichor splash all over him. There was a burning sensation where it touched his skin.
“Tough fecker, eh?”
The Dwarf’s voice was barely audible over the ringing of Astore’s ears, but his firm grip around Astore’s arm still pulled him back onto his feet. “Ah donnae think tha’ ooze will be gettin’ up again.”
The dwarf was wiping the ooze off of Astore with rags torn from his shirt, with no regard for the structural integrity of the garment.
“N-no… I. I don’t think so, either.” Astore said, with a glance at the scorched patch where the ooze was previously reforming.
“What in the hells was that?”
“Ah that? Tha’ was a Blastin’ powder bomb. Nifty lil’ invention o’ the people from Ashenvale.”
“Magic?”
“Nay, lad. Science.”