Osamaru Ta
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(AS) B2 - Lesson 58: "How To Catch Your Dragon."
🕑 Added 2024-10-05 20:03:54 +0000 UTCThe primary Expedition Party leadership — Robert, Maggy, Garrelt, Bert, and various team leaders — sat at one side of the massive longhouse table. On the other side sat the village leadership — Boarslayer, Elder, Weaver, Dr Maria, and a few other senior members, along with a hidden Alpha.
Standing at the far end of the table was Antchaser.
“That’s about it, really,” he finished.
He was the last to give his report to what had naturally formed into a joint council of sorts.
The room fell into dark silence as they digested the news. After a long moment, Robert stood and made his way toward the end of the table. He folded his hands behind his back and frowned as all eyes turned toward him.
He locked eyes with each person in turn before addressing them as a whole.
“Grave news indeed. And at the worst possible time, I believe. I’m glad that our companions,” he nodded at the peach-gathering team, “had the foresight to collapse the tunnel behind them. Even if it was a waste, in the long run.” The expedition leader sighed and shook his head.
Boarslayer sneered and leaned back in her chair, her arms folded. “Better than letting those bastards sneak past all our defenses. Can you imagine what would have happened if they’d hit us from behind while we were recovering from the drake hunt?” she said.
Robert nodded his head. “Yes, that would have been rather unfortunate,” he said, before narrowing his eyes. “Though… I’m unaware of these ‘defenses’ you’re speaking of. Could it be the village was already aware of the coming bandits and was hoping we would deal with them ourselves?”
Boarslayer flinched, though she refused to break her gaze from Robert, who glared back. Antchaser sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose while Elder and Weaver exchanged nervous looks. The tension in the room spiked as both sides at the table muttered to their companions.
It was Dr. Maria who broke the stalemate. “Stop your nonsense, boy. We all know how Icefinger operates. There was never a chance he was going to let this slight go. And that was before the possibility of capturing a dungeon all for his own.”
Garrelt threw his head back and laughed. “Ha! She’s got you there, Robert,” he said, earning a glare from the man in question.
Robert turned to look at the old doctor, a deep frown on his face as if contemplating something. After a moment, he sighed, stood straight, and rubbed his temples.
“I will admit,” he said, “my team had discussed the possibility of another bandit attack in private. But it was decided it would be best to keep such knowledge to ourselves so as to prevent panic in the village.” He nodded at Dr. Maria in acknowledgment. “I see now our fears were unfounded.”
Robert then turned to the group and spread his hands wide.
“While this new development is certainly an issue, I don’t believe it should affect our current plans. With the tunnel to the cavern collapsed, our scouts estimate that whatever force Icefinger has sent won’t arrive in less than six days.” His gaze swept over the gathered goblins and Adventurers. “That means we have four days at most to deal with our drake problem and stabilize the dungeon.”
“As for how we’re going to do that,” Robert held his hand toward Weaver. “Mrs. Weaver, would you kindly update us on how the wine press construction is going?”
The elderly goblin pushed back her chair and stood before making her way to the front. Alpha mentally checked out as she did, turning most of his attention to other projects.
Maker above, he hated meetings… However, as an AI, Alpha had the distinct advantage of being in multiple places at once.
——————————————————
Antchaser stretched in his seat, working out the knots in his still-recovering joints that had developed over the last few hours of sitting. The meeting had ended a few moments ago, but Dr. Maria had insisted he stay behind so she could give him a once-over. To her side, Boarslayer hovered like an overprotective hen, her arms folded and her ever-present scowl plain.
The old doctor pulled her hand away and patted him on the shoulder. “You’re recovering well, young man. Say what you will about that crazy lady who captured you, but she knew her anatomy. Other than some small micro-fractures that’ll heal within the day, your bones are unharmed. Most of your tendons and ligaments took the brunt of the damage.”
She stood and brushed off her robes, then pointed at Antchaser. “That said, I’ll still be a day or two before you’re fully healed, even with my help. No heavy lifting or the like until then.” She then whirled and pointed at Boarslayer. “That means you’ll need to work with the trap crew today. No complaints. We’ll need everyone in top shape for what’s coming.”
Boarslayer tsked and turned her head away, though she said nothing else.
Antchaser wasn’t sure why she had stayed behind, but he was glad he wouldn’t be the one digging this time. The woman might grumble sometimes, but when push came to shove, she would do what she had to.
The three of them made their way out of the longhouse and through the bustling goblin village.
For better or worse, the tension between the goblins and the expeditionary party had slowly faded over the two weeks the Halirosains had arrived. So many of Adventurers putting their lives on the line in defense against the termites, had gone a long way in earning back some of the trust that Bosco’s men had so thoroughly defaced.
A few Adventurers still gave the goblins odd looks from time to time or preferred to stay in their small groups, but the more outgoing and friendly of them could often be seen intermingling with the villagers or helping where needed. The sight gave Antchaser hope their plans were worthwhile. If they could get more of the Adventurers, and thus Halirosa, to see them as people, rather than just someone to push around, it would go a long way toward the village stepping up to the negotiations table as an equal.
The three soon exited the newly repaired gates and made their way to the expedition camp. Antchaser and Garrelt, as the two senior ‘trap experts,’ were to set up the actual trap portion of their plan.
However, as they neared the command tent, the sound of raised voices gave them pause.
“What are you insinuating?” Garrelt’s muffled voice bled through the thick cloth flap of the tent.
Antchaser, Boarslayer, and Dr. Maria paused at the entrance. They could hear the almost feral growl in the scout leader’s voice.
“I’m not insinuating anything, Garrelt,” came Robert’s strained voice. “I’m only pointing out how strange it is that this woman, who you claim to have worked with before, could snatch the goblin away from right under your nose.”
The three outside the tent exchanged a look.
“Hey now, Robert,” came Big Bert’s much calmer voice. Antchaser could almost imagine the large man standing between the two as he attempted to disarm whatever argument they had walked into. “He already mentioned she was using a strange artifact. Garrelt is skilled, true, but we both know that no one can account for every scenario.”
“Y-ya, that’s right,” Maggy said, showing she was also present. “It was blocking even my divination spell. A personal artifact that can do that is powerful.” Despite her words, Maggy’s voice was hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure who she should really be supporting.
Maybe seeing he was at a disadvantage, Robert’s voice became calmer. “Fine. I’ll grant that is a possibility. But as this expedition team’s leader, it’s my responsibility to consider things from every angle to ensure our success. On multiple fronts, there have been some rather worrying… developments lately that have me worried.”
“You… do you think there’s a spy in the expedition?” Maggy asked, almost in a whisper.
Robert let the woman’s words hang in the air for a silent moment.
Garrelt suddenly tsked, and the sound of footsteps approached the tent entrance.
The three listening from outside quickly stepped away, just in time for Garrelt to push his way through.
The man paused, his eyes wide as he glanced between the goblins and doctor, as if not expecting them. He blinked, then walked past them as if remembering what he was supposed to be doing.
Without looking back, Garrelt waved them to follow. “Come on, let’s get this bloody trap set. I’m done here.” He then walked deeper into the camp.
Boarslayer and Antchaser exchanged a glance, the former shrugging before turning to follow Garrelt. Antchaser sighed, a knot forming in his stomach, and waved to Dr. Maria as she entered the command tent.
As the flap fell shut behind them, Antchaser locked eyes with Robert. The expedition leader frowned, but Antchaser caught a glimmer of something unsettling in Robert’s gaze — a cold smirk that sent a chill spiraling down his spine.
——————————————————
Two Hours Later, Near the Wine Press Site.
Garrelt and Antchaser stood beside a small sand-topped table in the small clearing. From there, the two men directed their team of workers — plus one Boarslayer — to clear the forest area between the still-under-construction wine press and the river. Close enough, the Mud Drake could smell the wine, but not so close it could easily escape if it got skittish.
The plan was to lead the drake toward a storage area where several dozen goblin-sized barrels of the spirit wine would be stored. A few leaky barrels falling into the river should be enough to draw the drake’s attention.
Once the drake was good and drunk, it would be led deeper into the forest with the promise of more wine. Once there, it would hopefully be smashed enough to fall for literally the oldest trick in the book.
Antchaser stared down at the diagram of the trap before him, frowning. He looked up at a grinning Garrelt, then back down at the diagram, then back up at Garrelt.
“It’s a pitfall…” Antchaser said flatly.
“Ah!” Garrelt held up a finger as he spoke. “Not just a pitfall.” He pointed to the literally hundreds of sigils and array signs lining the inside of what amounted to a giant, solid stone cup. “This design has been refined over hundreds of years of drake hunts and has been proven to work against almost every species. Provided we get them drunk enough, of course.”
Garrelt leaned over the table and dug a small pit into the sand. He then placed a small replica of the giant stone cup into the hole and covered it with sand. Several tiny sand barrels appeared on top.
“The idea’s simple. Our drunk friend will be lured close.’ A tiny drake made of sand rose from the tabletop and wobbled toward the trap.
“Where they’ll fall into the stone basin,” the tiny sand drake suddenly charged toward the barrels. As it reached them, the top of the pitfall collapsed, and the tiny drake fell into the cup.
“Once inside, the array and runes will put the creature into a deep sleep. From there, we seal it up,” a stone ‘cap,’ slid on top of the mock-up trap, “and an Earth Mage or Cultivator can lift the entire thing out.” The sealed stone cup floated out of the pit.
Garrelt shrugged. “From there, the drake, cage and all, can be transported safely to its destination, directly to our Dungeon Core friend.
Antchaser had to agree. It was a rather ingenious solution, if rather… simple. He had been expecting some kind of elaborate array system designed specifically for drakes. Instead, what Garrelt suggested was little more than a giant stone box filled with sleep-inducing arrays on the inside and spirit sense-surprising ones on the outside. Sure, it was almost useless to a typical hunter; if you had all the skills necessary to make it work, you could do far better things with your time. But then again, no one hunted drakes alone.
Finally, Antchaser sighed. “Never thought I’d go back to digging pits…” he said, mostly to himself.
He jumped when Boarslayer’s voice spoke from behind him. “I knew you’d always be a Pitdigger. Can’t escape your true calling, little man.”
Antchaser whirled and glared at the large goblin woman grinning down at him as if daring him to try the violence his eyes threatened.
Before he could, however, Garrelt raised a brow and asked, “Pitdigger?”
Antchaser exhaled, his shoulders sagging as he turned back to the table. “That… was my first name,” he said, muttering slightly.
“Oh?” Garrelt asked, a slight chuckle in his voice. “How’d you get that?”
Antchaser paused, then asked. “What do you know of Deep Tribe naming conventions?”
Garrelt wiggled his hands back and forth. “Not much, if I’m honest. I know names are more important to you all than on the surface, but that’s about it.”
Antchaser nodded, then ran a hand through his hair. “For those of the Deep, a name is more than just a name. It’s how we fit into our community. It tells others not just who we are, but what we are and what we do for each other. Our First Name, in particular, is chosen by the village as a whole. It’s… more complicated than this, but —” he circled his hand in the air as if stirring his brain and trying to find the right words the surface man would understand, “— in effect, once you hit adulthood, the community will pick a name that suits your personality, skill, and actions up to that point. Get good at throwing a spear, and you might be named Spearthrower. If you like to tell stories in the longhouse, you might earn the name Storyteller. Don’t bath enough, and your first name might be Stinkyfeet.”
Garrelt raised a brow at that. “Stinkyfeet? You jest. I think I’d have remembered — or smelled — someone like that around the village,” he said with a chuckle.
Boarslayer joined the conversation, though she didn’t laugh. “I miss Stinkyfeet. He was a good chap. A shame what happened to him. On the bright side, that big ol’snake choked to death, trying to swallow him. Gagged all the way down.” She raised an imaginary mug in the air, as if toasting a memory.
Garrelt, wide-eyed, turned to Antchaser, who nodded. The scout leader shook his head before asking, “So, Pitdigger?”
Antchaser nodded again. “That’s right. I… wasn’t the best hunter. So I improvised.”
Boarslayer huffed and folded her arms. “Cheated is more like it.”
Garrelt threw his head back, laughed, and patted Antchaser on the shoulder. “No shame in that. A good hunter knows how to use the tools given to them. I would love to hear the tale of how you got your current name someday. One of the best parts of being a hunter is getting to brag to other hunters about the insane stuff you’ve done,” he said with a wink.
At the man’s words, Antchaser turned to Boarslayer and smirked. The larger goblin woman only sneered back.
Garrelt then turned to Boarslayer. “What about you? Why were you named Boarslayer?”
Boarslayer puffed up her chest as she spoke, “That’s my Second Name! I earned it after killing a [Bronze Spirit] boar spirit beast that was destroying the forest in our last cavern, while only in [Iron Body] myself.”
Garrelt whistled. “I’m impressed. Killing a Spirit step beast while still building your body might not be the same as jumping realms, but it’s something to be proud of, nonetheless.” After all, [Bronze Spirit] was when Cultivators — and spirit beasts — began to use Spirit Energy more directly.
Boarslayer’s chest puffed out even more as she nodded and grinned.
Garrelt grinned alongside her before tilting his head. “Though if that was your Second Name, what was your first?” he asked.
Boarslayer deflated slightly and looked away.
Antchaser laughed. “It was Rockpuncher. This fool thought it was a good idea to try to break a boulder with her bare hands the moment she broke into [Stone Body]. You can guess who won.”
Boarslayer’s face flushed red under her bark-colored skin, and she slammed a fit into the smaller goblin’s gut, bringing him to his knees, before storming off.
Despite the pain, Antchaser continued to laugh as he grabbed at his stomach.
Garrelt shook his head, but soon he was laughing along.
