DREADWOLF - Chapter 95

◈ Chapter 95:

Rain slunk into the trees and bushes as Lyra and Opal and the Orc descended down the rise into the valley. He watched them carefully from between the leaves, following their every step with his sharp eyesight, the centipedes ready to kill the skittish Orc dead at the slightest hint of betrayal, or tear into any who chose to attack them, giving time for Lyra to make her escape with Opal.

Nothing happened. The trio were left completely alone as they made their way toward the camp. They weren’t even stopped or questioned as they entered, the other Orcs flat out ignored them minus the occasional glance at the red headed Orc. They had no problem at all filtering amongst the tents and crowds.

Orcs apparently felt very safe out in the open like this without walls. That made some amount of sense for a battle loving species, the openness might as well have been a welcome invitation to attack. The human part of him thought that insanity. He’d grown up with walls keeping monsters and attackers out, how could a low leveler possibly survive without them? He supposed they probably didn’t. A low leveler either leveled up in an Orcish clan… or they died.

It seemed it was as Lyra had said, they weren’t interested in fighting her or Opal so they weren’t something they paid attention to. He watched as the trio found stalls that were part of some kind of merchant section of the camp and struck up a conversation with one of the owners.

He tensed, waiting for the penny to drop. But they simply continued to chat. They were fine. It seemed this really would be as simple as Lyra had promised.

The relief in knowing that they would be safe made him ease back, the leaves rustling over his fur.

He wasn’t even concerned the red headed Orc would betray them. The Orc had been well and truly put to heel, the centipedes working more effectively than he had even dared to hope. He felt like he was starting to learn something of how this terrifying power worked yet at the same time he felt like a child before an ancient primordial ocean, uncomprehending, unable to grasp the vast size of it, the miles deep darkest depths invisible to him.

Keeping an eye on the girls talking in the camp he lifted a paw. Darkness misted up from his pads and formed a rat once more. The rat blinked up at him. It really was shockingly life-like, a strange shadow rat with star filled eyes, its nose wobbling as it sniffed the air, almost cute, but still, not very helpful. Rats simply weren’t undiluted killers. He closed his paw slightly and the Rat fell apart becoming a misty cloud of darkness.

He needed to get better with this ability, more accustomed to it.

He reached out a paw and cleared aside the bushes and greenery, making a clear space in the foliage in front of where he sat cross legged.

Then he let darkness spill from his fur, his legs, flowing into a shape in front of him, a curled shape. He ran out of the stuff as the shape started to settle, a leg and then bird like claws appearing, a pair of curled wings flecked with constellations. After a moment it finished, then it sat up and yawned, brushing the corner of a wing over its mouth, her star shatter eyes blinking in the leaf patterned light.

A stark naked Harpy girl sat in front of him. She shifted her legs, her wings getting caught in the catching twigs and branches around her. With an annoyed expression she pulled her wings free and folded them close. Then seeing Rain staring at her she drew her knees up, tucking them under her chin and wrapping the corner of her wings around her shins.

Making a humanoid felt… weird. At least weirder than making an animal. How much of the Harpy’s awareness carried over? Was this ability creating a mind when he created predators? Or was it simply his own instinct unthinkingly commanding them to act in such a natural way?

The Harpy had found a bug on the ground and was watching it with interest, her eyes glittering as she watched it move in that way that cats did when they caught sight of movement. After a moment she darted a clawed bird foot forward and a razor sharp talon schunked down through the bug, impaling it. They both watched in fascination as the bug disintegrated and its pieces began wiggling across the ground trying to flee the darkness.

He had chosen a Harpy because they were one of the purest humanoid predators he could think of. Harpies were only two steps away from being like birds of prey, they only ate meat and they didn’t farm or use tools and they didn’t build homes, at least like a leveler knew homes anyway.

He willed her to lift her talon from the ground and she did so, blinking up at him innocently. Was she wondering why she had done such a thing or did she understand his intent and comply?

He shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He needed to know.

“…Can you… speak?”

The Harpy tilted her head to the side in question and remained silent. After a moment she ruffled a wing and began inspecting her feathers for dirt.

His shoulders fell and he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Of course she couldn’t speak, she was just a thing of shadow, some sort of golem that mimicked motions, nothing els-

“Yes?” said the Harpy looking straight into his eyes.

Rain flinched back in shock, forcing the Harpy to instantly mist to darkness, dissipating to nothing.

“Fuck.” he breathed, trying to still his pounding heart. That voice had been an ice dagger in his gut, not the least because he had instantly recognised it as being very like one of the Harpy-goblin girls he had killed in the dungeon.

He had been wrong. If the darkness was capable of copying the shape and muscle and skin and flesh and bone and motions and everything else down to the absolute most perfect detail then there was no reason at all that it could not perfectly replicate a mind.

The icy feeling in his gut only sank lower as he realised he may have unknowingly created and then killed an exact living replica of Opal.

He did not like that feeling.

Desperately trying to put what had just happened out of mind he managed to call the cloud of darkness suffusing the bush back in. This time he would not be creating something that could speak. He wasn’t sure he wanted to make something that could speak ever again, or at least for some time. There was just something extremely unsettling about making what seemed to be a sapient living being so easily.

…Best to put that to one side for the moment.

This time he tested something simpler. He called forth many smaller shapes from the mist, fish, or more specifically flat headed catfish, each about a foot long. They eased from the shadow one by one, wiggling free before flopping down onto the ground until he reached ten of them. Then slowing, eleven, then slowing much further, twelve. His head started to hurt as he tried to draw the next from the mist and then failed, the fish collapsing into mist the same as the cow he had previously tried to create. No good. There seemed to be a limit to how many ‘independent’ minds he could create at one time, fifteen if he was pushing himself apparently, including the centipedes.

That was important to know, and maybe suggested that these… things needed him to think… maybe, and maybe he could increase the number with practice.

With a wave of his paw the fish dissipated and became shadow once more, drawing back into his fur.

There was something else that needed his attention, demanded it even. Killing the boar monster had caused him to level up again. He was now a mind boggling and grandiose level 3. Okay, that was admittedly scraping the bottom of the barrel for low levelers, but to someone who had never leveled up it felt like a fortune of levels… Not that he was completely certain he wanted that fortune, it was just difficult to turn away when it was thrust into your paws.

He called the chromatic menu to his mind’s eye and checked over his name and species and lack of Class. Of course, they were the same as they had been. More interestingly his mana had ticked up to 3/3. He didn’t have a magic type Class of course so he had no way to use it, it was just a curiosity. It did suggest that every non-mage had some minuscule amount of mana but it just wasn’t usually exposed in the system for them to see.

Moving on he came to the important part. He had learned a new Skill. Another basic one, but it being basic wasn’t going to stop him from being very excited. The leaves behind him rustled as his tail waved back and forth.

[Flame]

Magic? No, that wasn’t possible outside of a Class. Curious, he focused on it and the system supplied him with the information.

Flame: A Skill to ease the starting of fires.

“I… know this Skill?” At least he thought he did, he had heard of people occasionally getting a Skill like this. It was a faster and more convenient method of starting a fire than flint and steel.

Eager now, he flipped his paw over and willed the Skill to function, triggering it. A candle flame flickered to life above the tip of his index, a small flame floating in the air. He stared at it. This sure felt like magic… He suddenly felt a lot less certain about whether it was or not, he didn’t know the deeper principles of Classes and how they worked to say for sure. Something to ask Lyra about later.

In any case he could create a flame at will and he could…

“Shit.”

It suddenly occurred to him that this wasn’t a strength based Skill, his inherent ability as a monster could not synergise with it. He had a new Skill but all it was good for was what it said on the tin: easing the starting of fires. Which in the grand scheme of things wasn’t particularly helpful.

He stared glumly at the flame and moved his paw. The flame hovered over it, drifting from claw to claw, pad to pad. He used the Skill again and a second flame appeared on a different digit. Interesting. He supposed this would make starting fires faster. Perhaps he could become an arsonist and burn down forests?

He played with the flame, finding that it was locked to his body. It could only be created on himself; he could not create an independent candle flame on any nearby leaves or branches or dirt or stones. However useless the Skill was he was still happy to have it, it was still an exhilarating feeling to use it, to be able to do things as a leveler. At one point he had half a dozen flames dancing over his paw, although he had to slow down a bit as he could feel the strain of Skill abuse starting to weigh on his mind. He even raised a shadow rat on his paw, the flame wobbling over the top of it, a candle flame hovering between the rat’s ears. This was-

His thoughts abruptly ground to a halt. The rat turned and blinked up at him with star filled eyes, the flame swaying on its head but remaining stable, glued in position.

The… Skill treated the dark as part of his body? Well, that certainly changed things.

He lowered his paw and allowed the rat to hop onto the ground. It scampered forward and sniffed at the air. Concentrating on the rat, Rain triggered the Flame Skill and a second candle flame flickered to life on the Rat’s back. Interesting. He had been mistaken, there was a synergy. Now he could set fire to a whole lot of forest at the same time, he was now an advanced arsonist.

His pondering was interrupted by the acrid smell of smoke and he looked down to find the nearby dead grass igniting as an oblivious shadow rat wandered through it.

“Uhh…” he slapped his broad paw down, smothering the fire and gasifying the unfortunate rat at the same time.

—

“So,” said Opal, “What’s your name?”

“A worthless slave Goblin doesn’t need to know,” sniffed the stiffly walking Orc, desperately trying to avoid bending his limbs.

Opal smiled as though he had just fallen into her trap.

“Okay, that means I get to name you. Hmm. How about panty shitter? It works because you’re walking like you’ve shit your pants.”

The Orc’s cheeks coloured with anger. “That’s not-! The centipe-” he drew in a calming breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “My name is Kel.” Kel tried to relax his gait but only partially succeeded, still extremely uncomfortable with the centipedes lurking under his armour, coiled around his torso and limbs.

Lyra glanced up at him as they neared the camp. “Would there be someplace we could buy a map here?”

Kel remained silent, refusing to answer.

“Snip,” whispered Opal under her breath.

The Orc flinched, a shudder running up his body. “What is wrong with you people?! Fine, yes, we have maps. What? did you think Orcs are all fight and no brains? You can’t find a fight unless you know where you are going, obviously. Why do you think we’re even out here?”

“You want to attack Lynthia,” said Lyra.

“Yes- wait, how did you know that?”

“Because there aren’t any other towns around here and this clan is on a war footing. I’ve been to Orc camps before, I know what less aggressive clans look like, this isn’t that. Well, it’s not like it matters with what happened, Lynthia is gone.”

“Oh… Hold on, what do you mean gone?”

“It doesn’t exist anymore.”

“I don’t understand, how can it not exist? We came here for Lynthia, it’s our prize, our grand fight, we’ve been planning for weeks and weeks.”

“Wolfy flattened it,” said Opal, “It’s all gone now, just a pile of rubble with nobody there.”

“I don’t believe this nonsense, that monster? That’s bullshit, bullshit.”

“Hm, well suit yourself, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Kel stared at Opal, opened his mouth to reply, then slowly closed it. The Goblin’s disinterest in fighting the point suddenly making him feel a little uneasy. What if the insane lie was true? It couldn’t be true, right?

The trio soon made it to the camp, the edge marked by the tramped earth of many Orcish feet and a horrible increase in bad smells. An Orc sitting on a camp stool trimming his nails with a rough knife barely glanced at them as they passed by, his eyes drifting lazily from Goblin slave to unthreatening sheep girl to the familiar face of Kel.

“Just as uncaring as I remembered,” murmured Lyra as they stepped between the tents, tall and muscular Orcs passing them by.

Opal paused and looked around in dismay. “Oh no.”

“What? What is it?”

“It smells terrible!”

“That is how Orcish clans on the move are going to smell Opal.”

“You don’t understand, Gobbo tribes don’t wash either! I’ve- oh gods, the baths, they’ve changed me, I notice it now.”

Lyra stared at the distressed Goblin girl wondering if she was serious.

“I’m, uh, sure you’ll get used to it?”

“This is the worst,” she groaned.

They made their way through the camp, threading through the tents and campfires and crowds. Lyra found one thing did feel significantly different than how she remembered, she didn’t feel quite as small around the seven foot Orcs as she once had. She supposed that was mostly because she had been around someone significantly larger as of late. Hard to feel smaller when you had a perspective on something even bigger.

They emerged into an area where carts and supplies had been stored, and amongst them the camp followers had made a home. The clan was after all more like a small mobile town than a straight forward military and that meant commerce.

She turned on Kel.

“Okay, so where do we go? Who do we need to speak to?”

The Orc gave her a resentful look but after a moment he jabbed a finger. “There, you can find what you are looking for there.”

They turned to see a particularly large stall, or rather stalls. The Orc running it had connected many of them together, seemingly because of the sheer over the top quantity of things they had for sale.

Lyra approached cautiously, wondering if the wonky stacks of merchandise were liable to fall on her if she breathed in their direction.

Opal was slightly less cautious, she bounded forward with round eyes, bee-lining toward a number of ornate swords that had been put on display in pride of place. They were quite high up but she managed to leap into the air, grabbing a gold hilted broadsword and pulling it down, its blade patterned and marked with runes far far less crude than the common Orcish runes. The stack wobbled dangerously as she pulled it free.

“It’s so pretty, and the balance!”

“Oih! Get your grubby Goblin hands off of that!”

She turned expecting to see a tall Orc looming over her, instead she found the air empty where she was expecting to find a head and had to lower her view significantly to find the owner of the voice. A very short Orc with a large brown braided beard stared back at her.

“Why are you a tiny Orc?”

The expression on the Orc’s face descended down through several more shades of irritation. He turned on Lyra.

“Is this your slave? I’ll hold you responsible if it does anything to my merchandise.”

“No she’s-… Look I promise she will be fine, don’t worry about it. We’re here to purchase a map.”

“That’s your thing sheepy. I’m here to purchase a sword. How much?”

The Orc gave her a distasteful look. “Lots of gold. You can’t afford it.”

Opal held out her hand. “Give me lots of gold.”

“You don’t ask the shopkeep for money! You idio-”

A long miserable groan interrupted the shopkeep’s tirade and then after a moment a red scaled arm holding a fistful of gold emerged from the bag on Lyra’s hip and dumped it in Opal’s waiting palm.

The shopkeep stared at the arm as it pulled back into the bag, his jaw hanging slack.

—

Stratothrax

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