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PW Chapter 17: Different perspectives
🕑 Added 2025-05-28 07:32:06 +0000 UTCTwelve years before
“You’ll get right up and you’ll kill the bastard that challenged you, that’s what you’ll do! Victory before death and blood before affection!”
“Victory before death and blood before affection!”
The echoing voices of the little ones brought a fierce smile to Hrackthan’s face. They said the right things, and that was a good step, though the mere words weren't worth the blood in his smallest toe without actions. But here they were. Their sixth summers had passed, and it was time to learn why the Hordes were called Bloodshot.
“Stand!” He demanded. The children immediately obeyed, and Hrackthan looked at their Instructor. Her scarred face was schooled into impassivity. The test hadn’t begun in truth, and her evaluation depended on what came after this. The two long, deep scars on each cheek testified of her previous successes, and if she’d completed this fifth stint as an Instructor, she’d be brought into his tent to offer her warmth and expertise. To become a Hordemaster’s concubine was among the highest of honors any one of the Hordes could achieve.
“Now. Are you hungry?”
Every child’s face broke into a wide smile. They hadn’t been given breakfast, and each cheered.
“Great!” Hrackthan’s face cracked into a genuine smile. “You’re already paired up. The one who wins a fight against their partner gets to eat. No rules, just don’t kill!”
This was the moment. The deciding factor on if this was a successful—
One of the children, her bright golden hair flashing in the sun, whipped around and smashed her knee into her partner’s belly. He fell to the ground, wheezing, and she stood on his back, keeping the lad down as she asserted her dominance. As if she served as the flame to incite the blaze that devoured the rest of the camp, every other pairing burst into movement. Without the element of surprise, most fights took time to build to their conclusions, but it was obvious which of the children had the taste for blood. They knew what was important, and the look in their eyes was apparent as they struck down their foes.
Yes, the Instructor knew what she was doing.
“What is your name, Instructor?”
“I am Buli.” She bowed her head in genuine respect. Yes, she would be a good addition to his harem. Her teeth and ears were as pointed as they should be. Hrackthan never noticed beauty in an individual, unless they’d already entered his considerations to enter his tents.
“Very well, Buli. Ensure the deserving are fed the losers’ portions as well. The golden-haired girl, does she have an aspiration?”
“Berserker.” Buli raised her head just enough to move her eyebrow to demonstrate her own disbelief.
“They all do, at first.” Hrackthan shook his head in disapproval. “She isn’t mindless enough. Fierce enough, though. She will aspire to Warrior, Commander, or Assassin if she must.”
“As you command, Hordemaster.”
“Come to my tent for your marking when the meal is served.”
Buli allowed a true smile to cover her face. The sharp, jagged teeth were complimented by her sharp ears, and she licked her lips in excitement as she spoke, “As you command.”
***
The long bloody line down the center of Buli’s face dripped her precious blood to the ground before her. As a sign of ultimate appreciation, Hrackthan caught several drops and lapped them up. True Iron Blood. Nearly Steel. A true Instructor indeed. Seeing his receiving her blood, Buli went to untie her top, but before she could offer herself, Hrackthan raised a hand.
“There are duties to attend to first. We have a Seer, but he is unwilling to do what is necessary to allow himself to see the Dungeon’s path and future. He refuses even to research its past. There is much disciplining that will be necessary for our Turki.”
“As you command.” Buli replied. “I will need only a week to convince him of the necessity of the blood to be spilt.”
“Good.” Hrackthan purred the word as he reached a hand out to caress Buli’s ears. “Our Seer will learn much under your guidance. There is a surge coming, and this horde will take of the Dungeon’s blood in waves.”
Ten years before
Ssthandren stirred. It’d been… a year. A good year. Where had the days gone? Good days, they were. Calm. Good rain. Their body creaked as they pulled himself out of the soil. As the roots pulled into their legs, the Verdant Walker reached their awareness out to the nearby trees. None had attained sapience, much less sentience, but that was to be expected. The siring of more of the Verdant Guard’s people always took time. For now, though, their rest was at an end.
A bird and a squirrel nesting in the highest of their branches began to panic as Ssthandren moved. They sent a pulse ov mana at them, welcoming them to stay, but to no avail. They were startled, and if they wished to escape, then they deserved to be granted some small measure of peace. It was what Ssthandren themself would want if their environment decided it wanted to change like that.
The more they moved, the more naturally the feeling returned. Every time, coming out of a long photosynthesis was an adjustment. Perhaps others of the Verdant Walkers could more easily spur themselves into action, but Ssthandren had happily put over half of their Skills into retaining their identity as a tree, first and foremost. As an errant ogre with an axe stepped through the forest, looking to fell something, Ssthandren remembered why they had forced themself to maintain some of those first Skills and continue to upgrade them.
A knot of wood grew into existence on the trunk of the healthiest tree near the ogre, and it was far from intelligent enough to notice it or realize just how important that knot was. Even if it had, it’d long been consigned to feeding the forest. Now at the Steel tier, Ssthandren’s bark and branches burst out of their Skill-borne growth of wood. The tendrils ripped and tore through the beast, and it squealed in terror as it was swiftly dismembered and its body was pulled underground in key locations that currently lacked nutrients.
This aspect of their duty complete, Ssthandren continued on their path. They’d been stationed here in this part of the Sanctuary because of their strength and ability to keep accurate time. For that, they needed to find… there.
Sending their consciousness forward with a pulse of mana, Ssthandren attempted to rouse Whoorl. The Root Prophet didn’t stir. Ssthandren had known that would be the case, and had arrived at the location several days in advance of the actual deadline. They continued their efforts, slowing down as night fell and the sun stopped giving her wonderful energy. Another day, full of sending consistent, uncomfortable amounts of mana to the Root Prophet. They did not stir on the second day or through the second night.
The third day came, and Ssthandren sent spikes of discomfort to Whoorl’s mind. After the third surge of pain, their subject woke. Without a warning, Ssthandren found their mind lost in a deep, dark hole, no hint of the sun in any direction. They fought to keep themselves controlled, but the panic of being lost in an inhospitable, dealy location set Ssthandren’s leaves to trembling. Before their roots began questing into the ground without their approval, Ssthandren was yanked out of the dark prison and returned to their body.
I was lost in the paths of the Deepest Roots. Thank you for your assistance.
Ssthandren creaked their acknowledgement. The fluttering of their leaves served as a gentle remonstration to the Root Prophet and their violent waking.
Was my waking as involved as it sometimes is? Whoorl’s query came.
As always. Ssthandren replied. It is time for the surge. What have you learned?
There is much to be found in the Deepest Roots. There shall be a surge, and its denizens many…
Ssthandren forced their roots to stay in their legs. This was a time to listen, as the Prophet was speaking.
Seven years before
Krizzick’s lance speared through three of the centaur raiders at once. That was enough. She hauled back, keeping all three still-living monsters trapped. They flailed at her helplessly, but she merely flew away. Their clubs and blades turned from the chitin armor that decorated her face and torso, and though eyes were a common weakness in every living being, Krizzick’s were nearly as armored as the rest of her body. As her wings carried her and thousands of kilograms of monster onward, the Hiveguard made her way towards her goal.
The Grubmother was near, and she would be able to tell just which entrances of the Dungeon the surge would extend to. From above, the interim hive nearby was visible, and Krizzick fluttered down to one entrance. She was known by sight, and the drones gestured for her to enter without offering any comment or delay. She strode with purpose, as the beasts needed to retain life until the Grubmother reached them. That their resistance was flagging bore some semblance of concern for her, but there were three, one was bound to survive. And if not, she could be more careful with the next load.
Through twisting corridors of waxen paths, she wove her way, and each of the other inhabitants of the hive made way before her. As an Adamantium Hiveguard, her every movement was more important than anything that dared to interrupt her. Thus, when a drone stepped in front of her, blind to her advance, it was trod underfoot, and she didn’t care to know if it survived. When finally she arrived at the Grubmother’s quarters, Krizzick dropped the centaurs on the ground before the Mother before prostrating herself.
“That one is dead.” The Mother said, kicking one. Two drones entered and carried it away without a word. “These two will suffice. Rise, Krizzick.”
She did so and looked at the Mother. This wasn’t one she was familiar with, though she bore all the signature markings of one of the Mothers—an immensely large body, over three meters tall and twice as long. Different from the Hiveguards, the Queen and her Mothers retained the beautiful form of their forebears, the bees. Even now, the Mother’s abdomen was twitching and being tended to by another dozen drones. Specialized grubs popped out of her every so often, their purpose to lay claim to different sections of the Dungeon.
Now, though, it was time to watch and be enlightened as the Mother performed her miracle. The Grubmothers of the True Queen’s Dominion were among the Queen’s greatest resources, and to witness one communing with the mana of the world was a blessing. Krizzick watched as the Mother stepped between the two barely still-living monsters and, with a gentle movement of her legs, plunged a foreleg into each. Lumps traveled up her legs, and the monsters thrashed as they were filled with the eggs.
These grubs were intended explicitly for use for Dungeon seering, and they devoured enough mana-rich flesh to ensure they could enact their purpose. A mere minute later, they burst from the centaur’s bodies, and the Mother gently gathered them in her forelegs before carrying them to her mouth. There wasn’t any need to chew, and the Mother didn’t. Instead, she just took the grubs back to where they had come from, to gain their knowledge and then recycle the material that made them into another grub. This Mother was made for grub producing, and Krizzick was overwhelmed by the need to worship her as she worked.
As the Hiveguard lay prostrate on the ground, the Mother digested the information that had come to her. Despite her head’s pressing against the ground, Krissick could still see the Mother as she contemplated what she learned. Finally, as she nodded slowly, she said, “Yes. The surge is upon us. This will only be a moderate opportunity for the Dominion to grow, but there will be no great threat posed at this time.”
Krizzick listened without moving at all, taking mental note of each precious word that echoed in the chamber. Once the Mother was finished, she would leave the hive and take her words to every entrance that would need to prepare. Until then, she would enjoy the blessing of the Mother’s guidance.
Three years earlier
“That is Feline victory!” Called the judge, and half of the combatants on the field groaned, cried out, and screamed in protest. Or maybe in pain. Losing was always a painful affair, and the Kin made it especially so. Mira pushed off the wolf she’d pinned and gave him a strong kick for good measure. There were countless fools that thought of her as a good target. Ocelots were smaller than most of the feline kin, but her fangs remained sharp and her claws remained weapons.
Beyond that… nobody understood. They thought she was like one of the human’s “Dungeoneers” or the Barbarians’ “Seers”. No. A Manaseeker watched mana, and all of mana. They didn’t merely witness its effects on the Great Bounty below. Yes, Mira could see Skills moving to activate in others’ bodies, and she knew how to counteract them before they even thought of it. This fangless freak had thought he could overpower her? Id didn’t matter that this was an all-Steel match, he didn’t think about that. She had half a mind to whip around and kick him again for good measure, but she decided against it. She’d stuck her foot’s claws into his ribs, and they’d cut just enough to remind him that retractable claws were ideal.
“That was a brilliant grapple there, Mira.” Kiri said. Mira’s guard was always so positive, but, then again, it had been a brilliant grapple. Turning his weight into what was dislocating his shoulder was a brilliant maneuver. Fortunately, the rest of her kind hadn’t disgraced the Feline name. Hissed threats and warnings filled the air, most of which came from the Canines. Good, the mewling of the loser. It wouldn’t suit her people to debase themselves like the silly Canines.
“Yes. Now, I believe it is nearly my time to make the presentation? There should be a blessing coming soon, should there not? If not…” Mira ground her fangs as her fur stood on edge.
“Yes.” Kiri bowed her head as she raised her hands in a conciliatory fashion. “You are needed here.”
“Good.” Mira nodded as she strode directly to the judge of the contest. He was one of the Ursine, shoulders broad and fur thick. His snout was long, and his fangs revealed themselves as he issued a warning growl. Mira didn’t listen to him. His mana didnt’ stir, and neither did his body, even though he wanted to look imposing. None of the Kin would dare to challenge a Manaseeker, even if she was flouting some of the tradition.
“I am ready for my presentation.” Mira declared. She didn’t wait for a response, turning to address the whole of the assembled Kin. Pachyderm, Canine, Feline, Ursine, Mustelid, Rodent, Lemur and more all looked at her with genuine respect dripping from their posture and excitement on their faces. It wasn’t a surprise, really. After all, the Great Bounty was upon them, and each of the families and individuals wanted to get an opportunity to hunt, to kill, to grow, and to feast.
With all eyes on her, Mira opened her senses to every aspect of mana, and she pushed her awareness into the ground below. Vast rivers of mana filled the earth, though none of the other foolish races truly saw them. Most of her own people couldn’t, but they had the Manaseekers, those who could see mana in it’s truest, honest form. The Kin were the sole creature that could seek out the blessings of the Great Bounty. Mira felt her muscles all contract involuntarily as the Bounty spoke and she echoed it aloud.
“Orcs and greater wargs, level 18, growth of 4. Trolls and ogres, level 31, growth of 7. Goblins and lesser wargs, level 4, growth of 1. Slimes, level 15, growth of 3. Giants, level 98, growth of 18. Drakes and kobolds, level 73, growth of 13. Wyverns, level 102…”
Mira continued speaking, the ecstasy of the massive, swelling ribbon of mana speaking through her making her eyes roll back. A part of her took note of the giants and wyverns, which wouldn’t pose a particular threat to her, but could provide some much-needed experience. The escalating penalties applied for each upgrade of rank frustrated her, but Mira supposed it was necessary to ensure that the cubs and other younglings could gain levels. They would, eventually, become adults, and then they might be worth keeping around. Until then… well, there were plenty of things that Mira could play with. Particularly those wyverns…
