grievinglands
patreon
Book 5: Chapter 35 - Intervention (RAW)
🕑 Added 2025-03-13 06:20:32 +0000 UTCSorry this took a while to get out, suffering from extreme allergies atm and I am not quite as productive!
In times long ago, there lived sturdy Ox and tireless Donkey. Both served the same master, each performing its duties with steadfast diligence. Ox would plow the fields at dawn, turning the earth for sowing, while Donkey carried harvested grain to the storage shed by midday.
One afternoon, the Donkey stumbled under a heavy load. Donkey’s legs trembled, and the weight threatened to crush its spirit. Seeing Donkey in distress, the Ox paused his own labor and quietly knelt down, allowing the Donkey to lean on him. With a grateful nod, the Donkey managed to stand and deliver the grain.
That evening, Donkey, now recovered, asked Ox why he had offered help instead of continuing his own work. Ox replied, “We serve the same master, but more importantly, we share this life. When those around us are in need, standing by is not an option.”
- The Book of Wise Tellings from the Land of Streams.
When one prays for a miracle, more often than not, it is something other than the gods that answers. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a sandstorm gathering on the horizon, whipped up from the endless dunes of the Whispering Wastes. Yet I knew it would not reach me in time to forestall what came next.
It was as helpful as the act prayer itself.
The Hydra’s breath rolled over me, and in the space where I expected liquid fire, only a lukewarm splash struck my armor, and seeped into to touch my skin. Was that all? I glanced around and saw Mer warriors shrieking as acid scorched their flesh, men of Al-Lazar clutching their faces as flesh was eaten away. Unlike Larynda and me, they had found no salvation. It was a wretched way to die.
Then I understood: the half-elven girl stood frozen, chanting under her breath. This was her doing—and mine. Water infused with raw Entropy had neutralized the Hydra’s caustic spray. Or perhaps Entropy alone had done the deed. Either way, I laughed with sudden, mad hope. We were unscathed unscathed.
The Hydra’s own incredulity, the slow lazy gaze of its fourteen eyes fixed upon me, was priceless.
Mighty as they were, these creatures were no legends; merely oversized reptiles. Absently, I scattered a few luckless Mer with my gauntleted fists, the last dregs of their lives snuffed out by Greater Drain. Girding myself to bring down another of the deep-sea creatures, I cast Heal where I could, saving a life here and there—drops in an ocean, but it mattered. I mattered.
Alas, my Mana was nearly spent, only enough left for an emergency Heal on myself. Grim tidings indeed. Another Hydra advanced, the Mer parting to let it pass, but was more wary than before. From the high Mana I sensed in the one I had already felled, I knew these fiends held Intelligence beyond that of common beasts.
Still, I squared my shoulders, clad in Adamantine, prepared to pit metal against fang and scale. Absurd, yes, but legends are hewn from the impossible. Then I heard them—great ululating cries above the shrieks of men and monsters:
“Allaha Akbara! Allaha Akbara! Allaha Akbara!” was the call.
Was this to be final nail in our coffin, or salvation come with fated timing?
The storm had arrived, and with it came the followers of the dread Avaria, the jealous goddess. The blind goddess seemed hell-bent on clashing with her sister Iasis’s followers with her own.
They rode in on manta-like mounts that skimmed over the sodden earth, crashing into the Mer with lance and blade. Their faces were veiled beneath loose desert cloth, worn over mail and lamellar, and they howled their faith with every blow.
It seemed I had my answer.
Turning on this new threat, the pack Hydras belched their corrosive breath. Many of the riders and mounts died in writhing agony, but more swarmed in to take their place, tossing small clay pots that erupted into green flames upon the monsters’ flanks.
An unending torrent of warriors poured forth, and the desert itself seemed to follow them. They, too, had dry and dusty dragons of their own—Sandfathers, Hul Abba, Earth-Dragons some named them. Though small compared to the colossal behemoth that once dragged me beneath the sands, they were the blind Guardians of the Whispering Wastes in miniature, unstoppable and fierce. They slammed into the five remaining Hydras, and beasts and dragons alike tore into one another, rending flesh and scale in a cacophony of snarls and screams.
All around me rose the thunder of war, a symphony of howling men and shrieking beasts. The sandstorm had come with them, nearly blotting out the sun and cloaking the battlefield in a haze of swirling grit, biting grit.
One of the Hydra, its scales gleaming with blood and acid, reared back and unleashed another torrent of Corrosive Breath. A handful of desert riders were caught in its path—their cries of agony drowned out by the hiss of skin and bone dissolving. Yet others leapt forward, brandishing curved swords and hurling more of those green-flamed pots. They burst on impact, splattering the creature’s hide with fire that ate through scale and flesh alike.
The Mer, relentless in their own frenzy, swarmed over the fallen riders, bulbous eyes glinting as their Coralith weapons slashed at their new enemies. They supported their god-beasts, stabbing spears into the soft-parts of a wounded Sandfather, eliciting a bellow that shook the ground. The desert worm twisted in pain, tail thrashing in wide arcs, smashing Mer warriors into the sand as if they were little more than driftwood.
A Hydra’s clawed foot came crashing down near me, sinking into the wet earth. I narrowly sidestepped, smashing my hammer into the space above its ankle. The beast roared, flinging me aside like a child’s doll, my armor scraping against the rocks of the once-ocean floor as I tumbled. My Health dipped a fraction and pain blossomed, dull and uncaring, but adrenaline spurred me on.
I rose in time to witness another Hydra coil its serpentine necks around a pair of screaming warriors, crushing them with a wet crack that turned my stomach. Thankfully, a miracle, Larynda had dodged the blow, taking shelter in a unit of our own men who had formed a defensive circle.
As the sandstorm continued to roil overhead, the desert warriors howled their war cries, spurring their mounts further into the grand melee. A Hydra finally fell, green fire scorching its flesh, even as more Mer poured in to defend their dying god-beast.
Experience points that were rightfully mine were slipping from my grasp. But, I could do nothing, pinned as I was here to defend my ward. In that mad melee there was no time to change weapons, to nock an arrow and get some paltry shared experience points from from the clash of beasts and men.
Now, there were only four of the Hydra left!
The lesser dragons of the Earth and sand were equal to the Hydras and had come greater in number. Our path to salvation had revealed itself—but victory was yet uncertain.
With Larynda secured, enconsced in a unit of steel, I finally unleashed my full fury upon the battlefield. I let Zariyah, my Vessel Weapon, fly free from her scabbard. The enchanted dagger buzzed with a razor-edged wind song, weaving through the melee like a dancer. Everywhere it passed, flesh parted and lives ended.
Faces surrounded me, twisted with hate and fear of death, men who had once despised each other for reasons long since lost. Now they stood as brothers-in-arms against a foe unlike any they had faced: the blue-skinned Mer. Humanity, for all its self-loathing, found a singular purpose when confronted by the alien, the unknown, and the unclean. We became weapon.
“Kill them all! Kill the blue-skinned whoresons—let the sands and sea run red! For the Goddess!” I bellowed, my voice thundering across the battlefield. My amplified Strength seemed to have affect even my vocal muscles, my roar loud enough now to carry over the chaos and stir men’s hearts and swell their courage.
You have gained 1 Charisma.
A smile, bitter and dark, found its way to my lips as I registered this message. My words were gospel, my hammer divine punishment.
My words were gospel now, my hammer a tool of divine wrath.
I caught sight of a Hydra surrounded by swift manta-like cavalry. Those creatures were known to me, I realized, for I had seen them when I surfaced from Iasis’ temple deep underground. That men had tamed these beasts spoke of the greatness of humanity—our supremacy. Still, they would need my help.
With my tower shield raised, I invoked Improved Dash, barreling forward and using Improved Shield Bash at the last possible moment to fling aside a Mer warrior wielding an azure Coralith axe.
You have learned Shield Crash (lvl.1)
A better bargain, I thought, to buy revelation with the blood of my foes than with my own. I tore the sea-green tendrils from the Mer’s head, relishing the gurgle in his throat. Their “hair,” as I had suspected, was how they breathed. But my amusement was cut short as the Hydra snapped up a manta cavalryman and his mount in a single vicious bite, gnashing at flesh and bone like a rabid hound.
I vowed to save whom I could, smashing aside anything that dared stand between me and my target. With my unnatural Strength, technique was irrelevant—precision was a trifling concern. Only the will to strike mattered. Coralith armor or flesh and bone, all crumpled the same beneath my hammer. Only resolve mattered as I carved a bloody path to aid the riders in slaying the god-beast.
At times like this, I dearly wished for an area-of-effect spell with raw destructive power. Greater Drain was invaluable for its utility, but even used in conjunction with Overboost, its damage remained mediocre.
But still I reaped a harvest of death. The Mer began fleeing from me, whether from my Improved Entropic Aura or the sheer terror I embodied, I did not know. One more fallen Hydra, one last pillar fallen, and they would rout and we would drive them back under the salt waves.
My Health was full, my Stamina still robust, though Mana hovered at half. One of the Hydra’s many heads swung toward me, jaws snapping with murderous intent. I was ready. Dismissing my Mimic shield, I brought my hammer down with both hands in a single savage arc, sidestepping just in time.
A solid crunch rewarded me, though I missed its eye and only slammed into its cheek. Even so, I could not help a dark thought: I was but a man, hammering away at a towering titan. Even without being able to see its Health, I knew the damage I inflicted was trivial and would be regenerated soon enough.
I needed to do something more permanent and debilitating. It was time to see how stack some damage-over-time abilities on the grand beast. Rome was not built in a day, and this beast would not be felled with a single blow.
The manta cavalry continued to circle the monstrosity, their riders letting out ululating, whooping cries as blades and flames joined the fray. I decided then and there that I would not be outdone.
I struck again with Entropic Strike, sheathing my weapon in the deathly essence of the universe. Where it landed, scales parted in an explosive burst, black lines seeping from the wound. With my other hand, I raked its hide using my Manticore Claws—armored fingers biting deep, the toxin spreading beneath the surface.
In retaliation, the beast spewed its Corrosive Breath once more, a vile greenish liquid splashing across us. My Entropic Aura blunted the worst of it, so though it stung, it did not burn. My fellow men, weaker than I, writhed in agony on the ground or fell from their mounts. Had I been like that once—so frail and afflicted by the human condition? Yet I felt only pity, not scorn. I would be their vengeance, chosen by the Goddess.
Again and again, I lashed out with Manticore Claws and Entropic Strike, draining my Mana in the hope that stacking damage-over-time would bring the creature down, hoping that damage-over-time stacked in the first place and was not simply renewed with each application. The Hydra raked me in return, a glancing blow against my pauldron. Adamantine held firm, though my Health bar still dropped.
Three of its heads lunged for me, but my flying magical dagger pierced an eye, forcing that head back. Another head came in from the right, and I dodged aside. The third, I blocked by summoning my Mimic Shield, a spiked wall of unnatural wood and metal that blocked its snapping jaws. A smack of my hammer crunched against its skull.
We danced with the seven heads, I and the men not too debilitated to fight. Eventually, like woodsmen hacking away at a stubborn tree, we felled the fearsome beast. It let out a final snort, expelling Corrosive Breath as if in a last farewell, before crashing down. I received the notification of its demise even as its tail continued to twitch reflexively.
You have slain a Sea Hydra. 113 experience gained.
You have gained 1 Constitution.
As expected, the amount of experience was paltry, but the gain in Constitution was worth more than all the lives lost this day. At least to me, for organic gains to my physical attributes had become increasingly rare. The cost had been high, lives spent in the sand and the sea, but for me, that single point in Constitution was worth the sacrifice.
It was the Hydra’s death—the thunderous impact of its body hitting the ground and the final twitch of its massive tail—that had sealed their fate.
The Mer forces began to break. Slowly, at first, it was pockets of their ranks backing away, filled with hesitation. Then entire swathes scrambling for safety back to whence they came. Their once-fierce war cries turned into ragged pleas or muted gurgles as they slipped back into the water or stumbled across the sand. Some of the manta cavalry pursued, cutting down the slower stragglers as they fled. The disciplined majority remained behind, though tension still crackled through the air.
The leader of the desert warriors, for it was clear by the deference that the others gave him, urged his manta forward, the creature floating in an undulating motion that should not have been possible. The figure then leapt down, the sand crunching beneath his armored boots.
Without a word, he knelt, head bowed, and presented a longsword to me. I watched blood and ichor from the dead Hydra trickle in dark lines around us. The stench of burned and charred flesh clung to the wind.
I gazed upon the storied sword, aware of all the forces that had conspired to bring me here. This day was mine, and those who had fought alongside me would share in its spoils as I saw fit.
“Praise be to the Goddess! Lord Gilgamesh, I have come as you commanded,” declared a lilting voice I had not heard in a long time. As she unwrapped the headscarf around her helmet, a shock of red hair fell about features that were ageless and eternally beautiful.
