Rune Seeker

Hiral stepped out of the dungeon first – the others each nervous about what they’d find – only to spot…

… a massive hammer swinging straight for his face.

Energy burst off him in a wave as Right emerged from his shoulder, a purple-flame fist in a semi-solid-solar-gauntlet smashing across to blast the hammer-strike out wide. At the same instant, from the leg on Hiral’s other side, Left came out low in a sweep to kick the feet out from their attacker. Hiral, for his part, thrust forward to strike with a whomping fist covered in Impact and Expansion.

Crack, across the room in an instant, the assailant – a Troblin by the looks of things – hit the stone wall hard enough to send fractures spiderwebbing out. Dazed from the blow, along with its sudden flight and more sudden stop, it lifted its head to find Hiral right there.

The Greatsword of Amin Thett came up, over, and down in its fallen-star form with the inevitability of the setting sun, Gravity warping the air around it, and the fight was over before it even began. A second more and there wouldn’t be anything left of the Troblin beyond a dark stain on…

“STOP!” a familiar voice shouted – likely starting at the instant the Troblin attacked and finishing as Hiral’s sword swung down – and Hiral changed the flow of power into his weapon. Down became up. Heavy became light. Death became… a chance.

The massive sword halted just in time to rest against the Troblin’s forehead, a line of thick, viscous, green blood bubbling slowly out around the wound. Eyes wide, the little monster looked up at Hiral, and Hiral looked back down at it.

This close, it wasn’t a normal Troblin at all. Though it couldn’t stand any taller than his waist, it had arms and shoulders that would’ve made the Troblin Duke and Lord proud. And it definitely didn’t skip leg day. In each hand, it still held a warhammer with a head almost as big as it was. And, most noticeably, its skin hung in patches, bone visible in places underneath. Blue glowed in its irises, and ran in luminescent lines down its cheeks.

This Troblin was dead.

“What did we just tell you, Bash?” a second voice said – this one very similar to the first. And also very familiar. “Don’t smash anything that comes out of the portal.”

“Don’t smash mean smash,” the buff Troblin said, eyes sliding to look at who had spoken before moving back to Hiral. “But you smash better.”

“This a friend of yours, Wule?” Hiral said, stepping back and removing the sword from the Troblin’s head before looking over to see the healer walking in his direction. And, as soon as he saw the man’s face, he couldn’t help but smile.

“You could…” Wule started, only to get tackled by a bamfing Seeyela. He barely kept his feet before Seena and Yanily reached him, and then it was only his brother, Nivian, who kept them all upright. The tank didn’t even have a chance to speak before he got pulled into a B-Rank group hug that would probably crush anything C-Rank or lower.

Hiral gave one more look at the Troblin. “No smashing,” he said sternly, then took a Rejection-powered step to join the others. Nivian and Wule didn’t even try to extricate themselves when Hiral joined the hug, and gentle sniffles echoed from somewhere within the crowd. Probably Yanily. Guy is a softie.

To Hiral’s sensory domain, the Troblin got back to its feet, though it left its hammers where they lay, and three other people within the room moved. By the feel of them against his constant field of minor Rejection, these weren’t Troblins. One of them had the familiar feel of a lizardman Wight Blight-Ranger – complete with the bow in its hand, though it smartly didn’t draw on them. Another was a person like Hiral, and while he couldn’t feel any obvious weapons, they seemed to be wearing… a top hat? And had a mask with a large beak in one hand, while the other held some sort of glass vial.

And the energy coming from within that vial was nothing friendly. Like the ranger, this person stood ready to act, but was holding off on actively doing anything for the moment.

That just left the third and final form. From everything Hiral could tell, it was a woman sitting in the far end of the room and… knitting? Only her hands moved, while the rest of her was perfectly still. Not even breathing, though that made sense considering everybody other than Wule was undead.

Another long sniffle within the group-hug, and then a shift of bodies, brought Hiral’s attention back to what was in front of him.

“It’s really you,” Seena said, standing in front of Wule and Nivian, a hand on each of their arms. Tears ran down the party leader’s face, and she wasn’t the only one, with Yanily and Seeyela trying – and failing – to look strong behind her. Even stoic Drahn was all teared up.

Hiral didn’t bother looking towards Left and Right – he knew just how bad they ugly-cried when they got going.

“I’m so glad you’re both okay,” Seena continued. “You are okay, aren’t you?”

“We are,” Wule said, patting Seena on the shoulder. “Maybe better than okay. We just reached B-Rank in the dungeon there.”

“B-Rank?” Hiral asked, then turned his attention to Nivian. “The hunger?”

“Under control,” the tank said, his voice having that same otherworldly echo to it as before, like Nivian spoke through a thin, metal tunnel. Blue flames swirled within his eyes, and the lines running down his cheeks looked brighter than ever. But he didn’t have the same tenseness on his face, like it was taking everything in him to stand still.

“That’s fantastic!” Seena said. “I knew you could do it.”

“I’m glad one of us did,” Wule joked. “It was pretty hit or miss there for a while. A lot’s happened between when you got on that Disc of Passage and when we found an unexpected tent waiting for us outside the dungeon.”

“Glad you hung around and didn’t run right off again,” Seeyela said.

“Me too. We honestly weren’t sure it was you when we found the tent out here,” Wule said, thumbing over towards where it had been moved to a corner. “But, who else would it be?”

“Thank you for waiting to find out,” Seena said. “We should’ve left a note or something, but we got so caught up in finding the wild dungeon…”

“We were the same way,” Wule said. “We were so close to B-Rank, and this was the first wild one we’ve seen since the Palace of Creeping Death, and the first wild one – period – for the rest of the group.”

Seena leaned slightly to the side to look at the four others in the room, then back to Wule and Nivian. “That’s why you left our party? You found your own?” There was an odd twinge to her words, like she was unexpectedly hurt to learn Wule and Nivian were grouped with somebody else.

“We had to,” Wule said, his eyes going to the side in minor embarrassment before meeting her gaze again. “The city was a madhouse after you left. Literally chaos in the streets as Ur’Thul’s control broke down.”

“Sounds like you have a lot to tell us about,” Seena said.

“We do,” Wule said, then shared a look with Nivian. “Before any of that, though, did you make it back in time? Is Fallen Reach – are our families – okay?”

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“We made it back in time,” Seena said.

“From the look on your face, it’s not quite that simple,” Wule said.

“It’s not, really,” Seena said. “There’s a lot to get into. We’ll need to sit down for it, and… is there any stew?” she asked, looking at Nivian.

“Always stew,” Bash said while gently poking the carapace armor of Seeyela’s leg.

The tank just nodded his agreement, but didn’t say anything.

Seena waited another moment to see if Nivian would comment, but his mouth didn’t even open, so she went back to Wule. “And, the others, like this guy?” she thumbed towards the Troblin. “Do you want to introduce us? Uh… they all talk, don’t they?”

“Some too much,” Wule said with an exaggerated roll of his eyes and looked over at the wight. “Others,” he turned to the Troblin, “just smash first and talk later.”

“Smash good,” the Troblin said. “Talk waste of smash time.”

“This is Bash,” Wule said. “He’s the first one we met up with – and why we decided to leave your party. He doesn’t talk much more than when we first met him, but the fact he talked at all stopped us from killing him.”

“Pfft,” Bash said. “Woulda smashed you. You lucky.”

“Something like that,” Wule chuckled, and Hiral noted only one twin was doing most of the talking. Nivian had barely moved from beside his brother, his face never changing. Maybe he’d beaten the hunger – or at least pushed it back – but it wasn’t like everything was magically okay again.

He had basically died to save the rest of them from the Urn of Ur’Thul.

“Anyway,” Wule continued. “Bash here was a Troblin slave before the Urn spread its magic across the city. He’s got a Rager class like those Draugr Ragers we fought. You remember the ones?”

“Ugh,” Hiral groaned. “Like the Hulking Behemoth?”

“That’s the one,” Wule said, pointing at Hiral. “Knew you’d remember that one.”

“How could I forget?”

“The concussions you got?” Yanily offered, and Hiral couldn’t really deny that.

“Yeah, that was a lot of healing,” Wule reminisced. “Back to Bash though. When we found him, he was hip-deep in Troblins trying to kill each other. Again, I guess. After Nivian, uh, calmed him down, let’s say, he agreed to join us.”

“The hunger didn’t make that harder?”

“I have an ability that helps me control Nivian’s hunger enough to stop him from eating the others,” Wule said. “And, the undead have a kind of pack mentality – they listen to the strongest.

“Which is Nivian.”

“Me smash you someday,” Bash said to the tank, then started looking at the others like a curious puppy.

“Don’t mind him too much,” Wule said. “He’s harmless. Unless he’s smashing. Which he won’t do now. Right Bash?”

“Uhn,” Bash replied with zero commitment. At least his hammers were still next to the wall where he’d dropped them.

“As for the others,” Wule said, waving the Wight and top-hat-wearing person over. “This is Igwanda,” he pointed at the Wight. “You can probably guess her class.”

Igwanda looked the party up and down, her blue-flame eyes finally stopping on Drahn. “You shoot?” she asked simply.

“Uh, yes?” Drahn said.

The Wight walked right up to Drahn, staring down at him slightly as she stood over six-feet tall. “Show me.”

“We’re kind of…” the tracker started.

“Show me,” Igwanda interrupted.

“You… should probably just go,” Wule said. “She has a fetish for bows.”

“It’s not a fetish,” Igwanda said smoothly. “It’s a healthy affection. Bows are beautiful. An art for war.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Drahn said, somehow perking up. “I’m so glad somebody else finally understands!”

Igwanda reached down to gently stroke her bow with the tips of her scaled – and somewhat rotted – fingers. “Yes. So, show me how you touch your bow.”

“And please do it over there,” Wule quickly said, gesturing for the two to head off to a far side of the room. “That takes us to Politet here.”

The man with the top hat stepped forward, eyes narrowed as he looked at the group. He still had the vial of something foul in his hands, and now that Hiral was looking at him, there were dozens more vials strapped to his body. The man was a walking alchemy shop. And from the looks of the burns and other damage to his skin, he’d had some mishaps over the years.

“Politet has an interesting class, with a lot of buffs and…”

“Stop,” Politet said. “You may trust these people, but I certainly do not. You will not tell them my secrets.” A smooth motion brought the strange mask up to slip under his hat – some kind of large bird’s face, with the beak still attached. “Is that understood?”

“They’re good friends…”

Politet stepped towards Wule with the vial in one hand, while his other went to a flask near his shoulder.

Then Nivian was between them, glaring down at the man in the mask. Cold, solar energy leaked off the tank, manifesting as blue flames along his armor made of bleached bone. More than that, with every second that passed, the energy seemed to condense around Nivian, hardening as it took shape. What that shape actually was, though…?

“Fine,” Politet hissed, stepping back, and his hand came away from the vial. “You’re the leader – for now – so I’ll follow. If one of them betrays us though, it’s on you.”

“They won’t,” Nivian said simply, though he let his building solar energy fade before anything actually formed from it.

“Bah,” Politet said, spinning on his heel and heading to a corner of the room opposite where the two archers fawned over each other’s weapons.

“He’s not such a bad guy,” Wule said, then shook his head. “No, that’s a lie. Politet is only with us because Nivian is stronger. He’s tried – a couple times – to take over leadership, but it hasn’t gone so well for him. Pretty sure he has some kind of ultimate skill he’s been holding back though.”

“Can we trust him?” Seena asked quietly.

“For the most part,” Wule said. “He knows we keep each other alive, and he won’t do anything directly against Nivian. Just, don’t eat or drink anything he gives you. He’s a kind of alchemist, and his potions have all sorts of buffs and debuffs. And the debuffs are nothing pleasant.”

“Got it,” Seena said.

“What about the last one over there?” Hiral asked, pointing at the distant woman who still hadn’t moved a muscle, besides her knitting.

“Gran, you going to come meet our friends?” Wule called over.

“Busy,” a raspy voice said, hands never stopping.

Getting a better look at the woman, she wore a deep-red cloak, the hood completely covering her head and face, while lacy cuffs of fine black thread adorned the wrists of her fast-moving hands. A dress of a similar red-and-black motif covered her legs and feet, and obscured whatever stool she had to be sitting on.

“C’mon, Gran,” Wule said. “These are the friends we told you about. I’d like you to meet them.”

The hood shifted, like the woman had ever-so-slightly turned her head. “The ones from before?” the voice – Gran – asked.

“Yeah. I’m sure you’ll like them,” Wule said. “I’ll rub your shoulders later if you come over…”

That got everybody to look oddly at the healer.

“You’ll understand,” he said out of the side of his mouth.

“More of a threat than a promise coming from you,” Gran said, though she sat up a bit straighter, and her hands stopped moving. Another second, and the woman pulled the needles and whatever she was working on into her cloak. “Fine. Show me these friends you’re so proud of.”

Then, in a move that made Hiral question how reality worked, the woman simultaneously began to get up and cross the distance to stand in front of them. It didn’t seem at all like her legs moved beneath her dress as she got closer, and it took her almost the entire thirty feet to stand up straight. Stranger still, there was no stool left where she'd just been sitting.

Is she… floating?

Reaching out with this sensory domain, Hiral gently pushed it under the edge of her dress to see if her feet were touching the ground, but her head immediately snapped up to look at him.

“You getting fresh with me?” she asked from within the hood hiding her face. Only a pair of glowing blue-and-red eyes – along with the telltale blue streaks down her face – were visible within the shadows.

“I… uh…” Hiral stuttered.

“Looks like this girl here is a bit jealous at that,” Gran said, her hooded face turning to look at Seena. “Hah, been a long time since I broke hearts. Don’t worry deary,” she said to the party leader, “he’s not my type.”

“Gran, don’t tease them,” Wule said.

“You’re not nearly as fun as you think you are,” Gran said, gliding over – really, were her legs even moving under there? – and looked up at Wule from within her hood. “No wonder your brother is more popular with the ladies.”

“He is not,” Wule said, scandalized.

“Sure, then why are you always reading them books?” Gran shot back. “If you were good with women, you wouldn’t keep your nose buried between those pages. It’d be buried…”

“Gran!” Wule interrupted, color running up his neck.

“Just proving my point,” Gran said, then turned again to the party. “The boys here told us lots of tales about you all. I’m curious to see if you live up to them.”

“You’ll get your chance,” Nivian said, and everybody looked at the quiet tank. “You’re joining their party.”