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PW Chapter 24: The Aftermath of a Surge
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 08:26:13 +0000 UTCThe water soaked through the clotted blood and caked-on sweat from the painful day. Astrid had done her best to get the worst of the filth of a day spent fighting a surge off herself, but there wasn’t any way to reliably get it all off in any reasonable amount of time and water, and Grom had said that there would be clean water in the morning, no matter what.
Holding a well-worn rag in hand, Astrid rubbed her arms. The dirt was slightly lighter than her skin was naturally, and seeing her mahogany skin return to its natural color helped to wash the worst of the agony of the day away. Now that night had fallen and some support come from other entrances, the forced movement and adrenaline faded, leaving Astrid alone with the hollow of painful memories and experiences.
Guinevere and she had spent a long time consoling each other. Though a hurt, hateful part of her wished that Guinevere had blamed her, had given an outlet for the self-hatred, as she calmed down, Astrid was glad to be an avenue for the heartbroken woman to find solace. There weren’t any real words shared between them, but once Astrid had taken the time to get out of her armor, they’d sat together, holding hands and mourning the needless loss of life. Once the dam had been broken, Astrid didn’t weep only for Bertrand, but for Petr and the nearly two dozen other delvers who’d died in the surge.
Somewhere inside, she wanted to accuse Eleah for her faulty reporting, but instead, Astrid let herself languish in the constant tears and company. The warmth of someone else whose pain was worse than her own helped pull her from the worst of the self-pity. Instead, she allowed herself mourning, heartbreak, and the void of emotion that comes from witnessing heartwrenching sobs. In that emptiness, she eventually stood and finally smelled herself. It was horrible.
Though she’d removed her armor, her gambeson was still on, and the quilted garment was soaked through with everything that carrying a disemboweled man would have soaked someone with. The stench was a reminder of her failure, and Astrid suddenly needed to get out of it. Even so, she was in the middle of the inn, and some 60 people were milling around. Though comfortable getting changed in front of others when needed, standing in just her breast wraps for an extended period of time was far from something she was willing to do.
She could go get a tunic from upstairs and get changed, but the idea of putting one on while she was still so dirty was almost as bad as staying in the gambeson itself. She could wash, but there was the possibility that she’d need to go back out to battle, and sleeping in the filth was worse than being awake in it.
“Reporting.” An unfamiliar voice came from outside. Pulled from her thoughts, Astrid looked at the door, where a man and a woman stood. Both wore light armor, leather with small studs. The woman had a crossbow across her back while the man had a bandolier of blades strapped across his chest.
“The Flechettes.” The woman said, thumping her hand against her chest.
“Five Blades.” The man added.
In her exhaustion, it took Astrid a couple of minutes to realize, but as soon as she could, a faint smile colored her face. Her eyes still burned from so many tears shed, but parties with names meant only one thing—Iron delvers. At Iron, delvers were strong enough to be known by others. They fought in more dangerous Dungeon entrances, and they saved villages and could be called by Magistrates, Elders, and other leader Classes to take care of problems beyond small things like the tiny, weak Dungeon entrance these new delvers had struggled with. As such, they needed party names.
Astrid hadn’t heard of the Flechettes or Five Blades, but that didn’t really matter. They were Iron, and while she doubted that they were, individually, as strong as Grom and Stark, two full parties of five Irons would be enough to get this overrun part of the Dungeon under control. Grom called the two forward, and they stepped with a confident surety into the room.
“Thanks for coming so quickly. Did Stark speak with you?”
“Yes, sir.” The man answered. “The surge… changed? That’s about all I understood. There was no notable surge at Ogre Point, so we two parties were sent here. No more could be spared, just in case anything changed. I’m sure you understand.”
“Of course.” Grom nodded. “I’m Grom, but now’s not the time for this conversation. There are a couple people who were out there because they didn’t quite understand what a surge entailed combined with our information being faulty. When last I saw it, the surge was spitting out level 10 Bosses. That’s nearly a 100% growth, so it’s more than any of the local delvers can deal with. I suspect there may be some measure of continuous broth, but there shouldn’t ever be enough of the monsters around to pose any real threat to you. Do you have any questions?”
“No, sir.” The man answered. The woman, the representative of the Flechettes, shook her head.
“We both went ahead of our parties.” She explained. “It shouldn’t be long before they arrive, and we’ll run directly into the area. Do we have an estimate on how long we’ll need to be out there?”
“I wouldn’t trust any estimate we get right now.” Grom answered with a shrug. “According to our Dungeoneer, the mana isn’t acting the way that it should. We can give you her suppositions, but when the mana changes, there’s nothing much we can do.”
“That’s fine.” the woman shrugged. “We’ll do what we came here for.”
“Good luck.” Grom nodded. “You need any supplies? We have most minor potions.”
“We’re fine.” They both shrugged off his offer and then walked out into the light.
“Alright, everyone.” Grom announced. “We have backup. I can make sure that everyone in here is safe for the next couple of days, so don’t worry about that. With two full parties of Irons out there, the surge will be pretty quickly brought under control. If you have anything that the delvers here need to deal with, let me know and I’ll get someone on it. If not, I can provide a meal for you, and somewhere to sleep. We don’t have enough beds for you all, but we can keep the weather away if you want it.”
Half a dozen of the villagers immediately walked towards Grom, the man concerned about his daughter the first to arrive. Grom walked to his office, gesturing for the people to follow him as he went. They fell in line, only barely containing themselves long enough to get into the office to start making their demands. Now that she didn’t have any pressing need to go out and kill more monsters, Astrid made the decision to eat enough to keep her stomach quiet through the immense bath that was next on her to dos. When she stood, though, Guinevere kept hold of her hand.
“Thank you.” she whispered, her eyes too red to tear up any more. “I wish you could have done more, but it’s obvious you did what you could. I’m sorry…” her voice caught, and Astrid stayed where she was, waiting. “I’m sorry you didn’t start off on a better foot. My Bertrand was a good man.”
“I believe it.” Astrid replied. “He was smarter than most people around here, if you’ll forgive me for saying.”
“Oh, he knew it.” she grinned. “We never understood how he ended up as a Labourer instead of a Scribe, or even a Wizard. Loved books.”
Deciding that getting herself clean wasn’t that pressing, Astrid sat back down and listened to Guinevere as she talked about the good parts of her husband. The way he cleaned the floor every morning and night. His willingness to help others, even at his own detriment. His constant work ethic, and happiness to serve. The arguments they’d had over their inability to have children. The sweet comforting he’d always provided when she felt lost.
Eventually, Guinevere’s head sagged, and she fought to stay conscious. Astrid had used Quick Recovery whenever it’d refreshed over the past hours, and that combined with its passive allowed her to be nearly back to peak form by the time dinner came around. She helped Guinevere as she ate, Moira having come as well at some point to sit on Guinevere’s other side. The three women took their quiet meal, and once it was done, Astrid made a quick offer.
“If you’ll take a look at my armor sometime in the next day,” she said to Moira, “I’ll lend you two my room for the next day. You can share my bed, and though it’s too small for me to share with someone, I wonder if you two will fit. I can pass out down here, I’m sure.”
“I don’t need your bed.” Guinevere insisted, though her posture argued otherwise. “I can stay down here.”
“Consider it my last apology.” Astrid forced a small smile. “You’ve hated how I keep apologizing for failing, so this is my last one. An opportunity for as good a night’s rest as we can offer.”
Moira nodded at Guinevere, and the Apothecary caved in. “Alright. Thank you, Astrid. Your apology, though unnecessary, is accepted, and I hope you don’t feel the need to do so for my sake again.”
“Thanks, Guinevere.”
And that brought Astrid back to her bath. She’d thought over the conversations she’d had with people since she’d come to Schteld, of the weak relationships she’d been able to cultivate. It’s been an uphill battle, given the accusations she’d earned of being short-tempered and violent. It wasn’t really her fault, but she didn’t have any close friends through all this. Now, almost half of all the delvers around here were dead. She’d seen Petr’s corpse, though she didn’t pay it any attention. She’d been there for Bertrand’s death. A handful of full parties had been entirely slain by the monsters as they’d swarmed from the Dungeon and spawned overground.
Her hands shook. Death was always close for a delver. All it took was a single moment, a single monster to attack at the wrong second, and then you were dead. There wasn’t really anything you could do about it, either. It was the life that they’d chosen. Now that reality was thrown in her face, that a single bad call, even if it wasn’t hers, could mean death.
The water had long since gone cold and her fingers were pruney. That was enough of a sign for her to get out. Astrid changed into a comfortable tunic and pants, staying out of her nightclothes since she’d be sleeping in the inn’s common room instead of her private one. As she walked out, she saw Grom waving a couple of the most insistent people from his office, promises about further opportunities to talk coming tomorrow. When he saw her, he gestured for her to come to him, and she did so. They didn’t walk into his office, just the hallway, as he spoke quietly to her.
“I’m proud of what you did here, today. I’m sorry you weren’t able to save Bertrand, but getting him to share his last moments with his wife is as good of a consolation prize as I imagine you could offer.”
“It doesn’t feel like I did much.” Astrid shrugged. She felt hollow after all the emotions she’d wallowed in through the afternoon, and though a part of her thought she should be feeling more now, she just didn’t.
“I already said what I did.” Grom clapped her on the shoulder. “I stand by it. Plus, I hear you saved your entire party and most of another.”
“Couldn’t save Petr.” She felt petulant saying it.
“No.” Grom agreed, sighing. “I’m sorry about that. Every delver who sticks around for more than a couple years has people they almost but couldn’t quite save. Might be a party member, might be in a surge, might be a special assignment given to the party as a whole. But every delver sees death, and not just monsters. Most people don’t see it until a lot later than all you here, but everyone sees it. You hanging on?”
“I’ll live.” The words stuck in her throat for some reason.
“Ok.” Grom nodded slowly. “If you wanna go home, I get it. Sorry to see you go if that's the case, but I’d understand. If you need a reference or anything—”
“Why would I leave?” Astrid asked.
Grom let a slight smile cross his face. “I suppose I should have had more faith in you. But we’re losing another half of all delvers, I’d guess. Maybe even more, but I can see in some faces who’s shipping out in the coming days. Wondered if you’d be one of them.”
“I’m sad, and I feel like I failed,” Astrid retorted hotly, “but I’m still a delver! I only just barely got started!”
“Then I’m glad to hear we’ll have you around.” Grom nodded. “Your participation in the surge, doing what you’ve done, will effectively strip all probationary effects from you. Once it’s all over, you’ll be free to join a party if you want. If there’s one that fits your expectations. But I don’t know if you’ll be able to find any that can stand beside you.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Astrid asked.
“I get the feeling that things will change markedly through the upcoming days. If you’re still chomping at the bit like this, I’d guess that you’re not going to have any trouble with getting back in there, and will want to have a busy of days as you’ve had thus far. Even those who stay will slow down. Most of the people we have here are, frankly speaking, relatively weak-willed. They’ll be too afraid to delve the way they have until now, and especially not like they did right before this. There will be at least one party that has six delvers, thinking the additional reduction in experience is worth the safety.”
Though she disagreed with the thought of doing as much, Astrid also understood why these people were so afraid. She could feel that fear herself! If she came across another level 6 warg, even if it wasn’t a Boss like the one she’d fought, then she’d die. Even so, she wanted to delve as repeatedly as she had been. Level 2 was halfway through, and that level 3 would be basically the halfway point to level 6. Not counting that the required experience points would continue to soar higher and higher until she couldn’t believe she thought a couple thousand was a lot.
“I guess I’ll have to see.” Astrid shrugged. “Who do you think it staying?”
Grom let out a long, controlled breath. “Lariche’s party probably will, though Matthias is a little shaky. Svana’s got something specific she’s wanted to do, so she’ll stick around. I’ll guess that she’ll want to work with you for a time, given the success you saw today. Maybe Tobias can get his head out of his own arse long enough to manage that, but who knows. That may be it for a while, if I’m honest.”
Astrid felt her jaw drop. There’d been at least 20 people who survived, and a mere eight were going to stick around??
“So, I suspect you might spend time delving by yourself, even if there are others who’ll fight alongside you sometimes. Maybe you’ll be a floater, go with different parties?” Grom slumped against the wall. “I don’t know what else to tell you. That’s just… how it is, I’m afraid. Now get some rest. I’m sure your bed is calling your name loud enough you can hear it.”
Instead of giving an explanation, Astrid just smiled and nodded. Grom went down the hall towards one of a half dozen rooms over there, and Astrid didn’t care to ask what was there. Instead, she went up the stairs to peek into her room. It’d been long enough that it was no surprise that the two women were snoring softly in her bed. Both seemed to be whimpering about something, but even so, their sleep didn’t get too interrupted. Instead, as Astrid gathered up the materials necessary to tend to her armor, including its stand, they seemed to settle into each others’ embrace and fall into deeper sleep.
Once she got back into the inn’s main room, Astrid set up her armor on the stand to get it cleaned from the filth of the day. Dozens of people were laid out on the ground, sleeping, and she quickly decided against starting the in-depth, noisy process of cleaning the armor indoors, where she’d bother people. Instead, she carried it outside, placed the stand somewhere that she could see it in the moonlight, and set about washing the caked viscera and gore from the armor that’d saved her life. She mourned the loss of her helmet, but there wasn’t anything she could do about that. It’d been long since lost, and she wasn’t going to get it back. Instead, she looked more closely at the one she’d been given by Grom, investigated which parts had been the most uncomfortable earlier, and set about marking them. After all, Moira was sure to help her, wasn’t she?
“You doin’ alright, girl?”
Lost in the monotony of cleaning her armor, Astrid found her steps faltering, taking her by surprise. The exhaustion from the day couldn’t be held off by Quick Recovery any longer, and whoever’d spoken had approached entirely without her noticing.
There stood a man she didn’t recognize, wearing heavy armor something like Grom’s. He pulled off his helmet as she watched, and a plain face greeted her. In the moon, she couldn’t see much more, but he looked like a regular man she’d have seen on the street. She was so tired that she swore she could see mana glowing around him in the moonlight.
“Just cleaning the armor.” She shrugged. “Haven’t really had the opportunity to, yet, today.”
“You’re a squire?” He asked, confused.
“No, it’s mine. Just filthy from the day.”
“Ahh. You’re one of the rookies from here. So, I’ll ask again, you doin alright?”
Astrid sighed. “Not any good answers to that question.”
“True enough. I’m sorry about the mistake, for what it’s worth.”
“Not your fault.”
“No, but I could have been here. We’ll take care of it. Know that not a single one of them will escape.” Somehow, he spoke with more certainty than she would have expected.
“Pretty confident for an Iron.” Astrid shrugged, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. “You one of the Five Blades or the Flechettes?”
The man’s face quirked in a smile. “No.”
“Didn’t know any more parties showed up.” Astrid said, her tired mind finally catching on to what was happening. The two parties hadn’t returned. They would be there for a long time yet, but he was saying he’d take care of it. This wasn’t another Iron delver. When he told her the name of his party, she nearly fell to her knees.
“Aleksandr of the Golden Fist.”
The premier Adamantium-tier party of the Bulwark, serving directly under the Duchess.
Comments
No_Creative_Name
I've edited the first one to have him be a Laborer. Thanks again!
Silerus
Hi, "“Oh, he knew it.” she grinned. “We never understood how he ended up as a Labourer instead of a Scribe, or even a Wizard. Loved books.” A mention of his as a Laborer here again.
