Potato Nose
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Marked Chapter Nineteen
🕑 Added 2020-06-23 00:45:05 +0000 UTCI emerge from the fetid water and wipe the runoff from my eyes. It smells terrible. My first view of the valley is a field of muddy browns with scattered greens in spiny jags that make them look not at all touchable. Thin, nasty weeds stick up from the murky water, surrounded by tiny bugs that flick the surface of the water into unsteady ripples as they go about their bug business.
The air at the mouth of the cavern is so humid I feel like I could chew it. It makes the heat feel a lot worse than it probably is. The multitude of strange birds, insects, and amphibians fill the air with the sort of noise that you hear on nature videos. Something small scurries away from my feet at a run, and I almost jump.
"Nothing here is much danger to you so long as you do not attempt to eat it," Nax says from behind me. I hadn't even noticed her emerge from the water, which is kind of alarming considering she's her normal size now. I suppose, being a water dragon, she WOULD be really good at that sort of thing. "None of the predators are large or organized enough to attempt to kill a human." She bares her teeth in a completely unsuccessful approximation of a human smile. "And nothing with any instinct for survival would attempt to attack you while you are with me."
I nod weakly. Even if she's friendly, she is flat out terrifying. I check my haversack; the interior is clean and dry, much to my relief. To cover my reaction, I pull out a jug of water and upend it over my head, washing off the silty residue and washing away the grit and stink. As I do, I stutter, "So, uh..."
Naxylotriam understands my incoherent babble somehow. "We will be progressing by air until we reach the edge of the valley; the Nargashu clan occasionally has straggler hunters pursuing prey in the area, and I do not advertise my presence here as a dragon. While I am posing as a human adventurer, you will address me as Mistress Nella."
I nod, listening attentively as I mop my face off with a corner of a robe from my haversack. When I'm as satisfied as I can be with the effects of this attempt at cleaning off, I pull on my wig; I may not be able to wear it back home, but it's safer to wear here. Nax doesn't want anyone seeing my dragonmark, and I know from experience that this works.
Nax arches an eyebrow ridge at me, but doesn't mention the wig. Instead, she says, "None of the powers of the mark of hospitality are particularly dangerous, except when perverted, which a few assassins have been known to exist who do so. I do not think such twisting of your mark's purpose is within your nature, though. As such, when we camp for the night, it is safe for you to experiment with your newest power." She reaches over and scoops me up in her claw. I can't help but yelp as she does so. "I will carry you until we reach the destination wherein we will march on foot."
This close to her, I see a large sack strapped to her arm. At my glance, she comments, "Tools of the adventurer's trade. Equipment, the expected magic items of a spellcaster of my ability. Traveling food supplies, although with you along, conveniently superfluous." Then, my stomach drops into my shoes as she LAUNCHES. There's no other way to describe it; she just leaps straight up. At the peak of her leap, there's a loud, sail-cracking sound as gigantic wings flare out, catching the air, and I'm buffeted by the wash of her wingbeats as she translates her leap into a forward momentum.
And we're moving [i]fast[/i]. The ground beneath us recedes quickly, grass and water and shrubs and mud turning to a blur as I look down. It's dizzying. And it's right about now that my wig flies off. Nax notices this, and briefly looks over her shoulder with something of a snort, but we only veer from our path slightly before she levels out. A few words and the wind eases, a little too late for my wig, but still greatly appreciated. "Thanks."
"When we reach our destination, you will need to use your Clothier's Closet and acquire more conventional garb. Once we have had opportunity to disseminate your imported designs, your more customary clothes will be fine to blend in among the common races. I will guide you in what you should wear."
"That makes sense. I need a new wig anyway." For a moment, I can't think of what else to say. Still, I need to think of something to help me resist the impulse to look down. "So... you're an adventurer. What's my cover story, then?" I ask.
"You are a student I am taking under my wing-- heh-- to experience the wider world. Were you of a sturdier stature I would dress you in armor and pose you as a warrior but none would believe such about a waifish thing like you. When we travel as two humans, we are a much more inviting target than if I were myself-- but it also draws much less note from the reckless, the greedy, and the self important. And the various governments, which are characteristically all three."
I know that it's supposed to be darkly humorous, but the notion that even a dragon has to be cautious to avoid unwelcome attention makes me nervous. "I thought a dragon came and went where she pleases."
"Until we reach a great age, such an attitude is dangerous; by the time we reach the age where it could be considered accurate, caution and care are habit, and still useful. The world has a way of culling those who are both careless and arrogant." Her head remains directed forward, but her right eye glances down at me. "A wise lesson to take away from this world, if you learn nothing else here."
I look out over the valley behind us; we've left most of it behind, sludgy fens that seem terrible empty. I look back at her. "Are you lonely here?"
"Not especially." She doesn't elaborate.
I don't press the matter.
A minute later, we land, and Nax sets me down on shaky feet. She looks at me expectantly, and I check my mark for my new power-- before I stop. "Uh-"
Nax looks at me curiously, half poised to do whatever it is she does to look human. "Something is wrong?"
"... My powers are recharged already."
"That is impossible." Nax seems almost disgruntled at my announcement. "Dragonmarks recharge once every twenty four hours, the same time every day."
"Well, I don't know what to tell you, because I have all my uses back!" I protest.
"That makes no sense whatsoever!" Nax snaps. "Did you miscount them before?"
"No! Four Manifest Minions, three Summon Sustenance, two each of Clothier's Closet and Magnificent Mansion, and one each of Re-energize and the new one I haven't tried yet. And I used a Closet and a Mansion earlier, and they're both [i]back[/i]."
"This is an oddity," she says after a few seconds. She changes to a human form and starts pulling things out of her bag. "It will require more testing. I want you to expend your Unseen Servants completely. Then, we shall depart, and discern how long it takes for them to recharge. Monitor your mark as we walk."
"And the use of the Closet for me to get local clothes?"
"And that, yes. I especially want to know if depleting a power completely alters the amount of time it takes for you to recharge."
---
We're already on the march again for a while when all the powers recharge, and by my phone-- which, as I display it to Nax, catches her interest quite intently-- it's been almost exactly an hour. It turns out that walking overland without the benefit of roads is tiring, and doubly so when much of the march is through dense, soft marshland. I take the moment to refresh myself, but I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be REALLY sore tomorrow.
"Remarkable. You have said there is no magic in your world; I wonder if the necessary compensation for that dearth is responsible? With so much magic available here compared to your Earth Bet, perhaps it enables you to make greater use of your powers here." She eyes me thoughtfully. "And necessitates ensuring you are guarded even more than before. Any house would want you for that oddity alone, as would any of the governments."
I sigh, but don't respond otherwise, instead saving my breath to clambor over a small, weed choked mound of mud to avoid detouring around it and wading through what promises to be grungy water, knee deep if not worse.
"Do not fear. I can and shall keep you safe." Nax moves easily, completely comfortable in this humid, muddy hell. Part of it is that walking staff she has, equal parts decorative and functional, shod artistically on both ends in metal, as well as a grip in the middle. I don't know if it's a wizard staff or a more conventional weapon, but she uses it deftly to avoid any holes or roots. "If no other course presents itself, I will reveal myself to safeguard you."
I snicker suddenly. "The dragon guards the princess from the knight?" I snark.
"Are you of a royal lineage?" she retorts. "Or is that a cultural reference I do not understand?"
"Cultural," I confirm. The muddy slope churns down into ankle deep muck, but as I poke with my stick in front of me, it doesn't appear to go any deeper than ankle. "We have old fairy tales and bed time stories of brave knights fighting dragons to rescue kidnapped princesses. Here, the knights are likely to try and capture me, and it would be up to you to rescue me. Just a weird little... thing."
"A humorous parallel, I agree," Nax says, scuttling up the next mound of loam and weeds, before stopping. Her free hand rests on the pouch at her side that she warned me about, the one containing what she referred to as foci and components. She calls out loudly, "We are travelers, seeking no conflict and with no wish to intrude on your business."
I follow her to the top of her mound, with much less grace and skill, and see a jarring sight: a REALLY big man, with green skin, the sort of build I associate with professional wrestlers, and large tusks protruding past his lips to frame either side of a vaguely piglike nose. A wide, conical hat much like an Asian farmer's hat covers his head, with coarse, somewhat stringy hair dangling down over massive shoulders. His vest is coarse, woven fiber, and leaves his upper arms bare, while thick leather bracers cover the outsides of his forearms. He's wearing pants, of a sort, loose fitting leather trousers that go barely past his knees, where they're bunched up around what I can only describe as boots with built in stilts.
He replies to her in a hard, guttural language. It sounds like half the words originate in his chest rather than his mouth, and he gestures exaggeratedly with his open hand. During one especially expansive wave of his arm, I see peeking from behind his back what appears to be a large axe made entirely of wood, even the blade. He's got some kind of bow at the ready in his other hand, but not aimed at either of us and no arrow on the string or in hand.
"We take no responsibility for disrupting your hunt; we did not know you were here." Nax's voice is firm, unyielding. "We owe you nothing."
The stranger's response is louder, and if I'm any judge, angrier. I stage whisper to Naxylotriam, "I can give him food for today, to make up for what his hunt lost. It's not like I have any other use-"
She shushes me, and stares at the stranger fully. After a few seconds more of eye contact, he aborts, and drops into a crouch, watching us angrily.
"Goughmor clan," Nax says, not talking her eyes off him until we lose sight of him past the mounds of the fens. "He is bowfishing for bog eels, and our presence makes little difference to them when we have gone. He would not hesitate to take what he could off our dead bodies if he believed he could subdue us."
"So he's what, a bandit?"
"Not precisely. The Goughmor believe that interference by outsiders and the foolish trust of the Gatekeeper tribes have despoiled the Shadow Marches. They would not see it as banditry, but as another aspect of hunting the land while ridding themselves of a nuisance." She puts her staff into the bag she'd had with her, and pulls out a different one. "I had not expected to see Goughmor clansmen this far west; this time of year their travels usually take them along the winding of the Zarash river. Bog eels are plentiful this time of year across the Crawls so I can not imagine why they would be this far from the river and its fresh water. That is over a hundred twenty miles from here at its closest approach."
"So what's a bog eel?" I ask.
"They are the tadpoles of certain species of horned dire frog that are nearing maturation. By early to mid summer, they have stored up a great deal of fat but have not yet begun to absorb their muscled tails. There is good eating on them and they are far less likely to bite off hands than an adult dire frog."
I don't know whether to be fascinated or grossed out. And then there's the moderately alarming idea of a gigantic frog that can apparently take hands off. I make a note to myself about watching my surroundings for anything vaguely amphibious. "Are the adults common?" I ask.
"Only in the spring. After spawning season, they hibernate deep in the mud til autumn, when the heaviest rains have turned most of this region into a pond of various depths. As the rains recede over winter, they hunt and fatten up until the spring storms make the bogs muddy enough to lay eggs."
It's at this point that, distracted by Nax's narrative, I misstep, and my ankle turns. My footing slides out from under me and I fall into an awkward half-splits, barely catching myself from tumbling into the slimy mud of the fens. Spatters of mud slop up onto my chin and left cheek, and as I carefully get my feet under me and stand up, I can see my left arm is coated in mud almost up to my elbow. Some of it has gotten under the collar of my blouse and is trickling a slow, cold trail down my sternum.
This is horrible. "So, where are we headed?" I ask, as much to take my mind off the cold, gritty feel of my sleeve and chest. "And how long will it take us to get there?"
She looks back at me and tries unsuccessfully to stifle her snickering. "You look positively miserable. Here." She mumbles something while gesturing with one hand, and abruptly the mud and grime covering me vanish. At my suprised look, she adds, "Prestidigitation. A fundamental spell that makes life bearable for the average spellcaster, and provokes jealousy, irritation, and scorn from those unable to use it." She smirks. "Which, for some, is as much a motivation to make use of it as the comforts it provides."
"Thank you. It was getting into my... well, not bra, but the bodice part of my top." I sigh. "I never knew how lucky I was to live in a city with roads everywhere..."
"Ordinarily," Nax says, turning and continuing her pace, leaving me to follow along behind her as best I can, "an adventurer would have a horse while travelling the wilds, but the marshlands provide too many ground hazards that cannot be easily seen. A horse would break a leg in these conditions, and either require magical healing or mercy killing." She shrugs. "Magical conveyence is an option for some, but this is a new experience for me, and I do not have magical items to fly us both."
"And for obvious reason, we can't just dragon fly to wherever we're going, especially not with the, uh..." I stumble on my words instead of my feet, for once. "You know. That guy back there."
"The orc bowfisher. The Goughmor."
"Yeah. Him." I lose my train of thought. "Wait. Orc? I thought orcs were, like, evil."
"No more than any other race in the world. Some are ill intentioned, many immoral, most are simply trying to live their lives. Orcs are remarkably easy to get along with so long as you do not violate what is theirs, far moreso than many races, elves especially. The Tairnadal in particular are known for going to war on any pretext, or occasionally none."
I wonder if this is what the other side of Lord of the Rings was like? I mean, the books tell it from the side of the elves, humans, and hobbits. And history is written by the victors, as the saying goes. Objectively, this suggests the ethical considerations of both Middle Earth and its politics of the same were a lot murkier than they were portrayed.
And this is a completely useless speculation. That was a fantasy story, this is a real place with actual people who each have their own desires and motives. Most of whom are just trying to live their lives.
Put in that perspective, I feel a bit of sympathy for that orc guy back there. "What was his name?" I ask nobody and nothing in particular.
"Who?" Nax replies, looking back at me.
"Sorry. Just thinking out loud. Wondering what that man's name was back there. The orc man."
"Who can say? He might cheerfully loot our corpses, but would be even happier to never see either of us again. The intrusion of the houses into these lands, including and especially House Tharashk, has caused no end of disruption to ways their kind have honed over many thousands of years. Watch your step here; the mire is webrooted."
"Uh... web root?" I ask, watching the ground intently.
"Loosely interwoven brush roots," she clarifies, poking at what looks like another mud mound, but at the prodding sinks into the muck with a squishing sound and a torrent of bubbles around the edges. "They create the illusion of solid ground on the surface of the water but when weight is put on them, your foot will slide between the roots and entrap your limbs. Panicked thrashing can entangle arms as well as legs, and it's not unheard of for the unwary to drown in them." She points off to the sides, where several wiry looking bushes flank the fake mud mound. "These bushes here spread by their root systems, but sometimes fail to sprout in a bundle of runner roots. Those are usually where webroots form, covered and concealed by accumulations of dead leaves, reeds, twigs, and the slow wash of mud that covers them."
I take careful note of the bushes. Do we have anything like this back home? If so I've never heard of it. "You were saying about the intrusions?"
"The real trouble comes back to the passage of time," she continues as if she'd never stopped. "Nothing exists forever, not a culture or a climate or a person nor his people. The orcs of the Shadow Marches are, whether they like it or not, moving forward into the now. House Tharashk might have been born of the clans and tribes but like all the houses they are transitioning into an organization whose first priority is its own power and wealth. Their isolation could only remain as long as nobody from the outside wanted what they had, and if it had not been dragonshards it would have been something else. A wealthy noble deciding they liked the flavor of bog eels, perhaps, and their courts following the fashion."
She doesn't say anything more for a while, as she continues to trek through mud gracefully while I stumble along after her attempting to keep up. Without her words, it's harder for me not to notice the sounds around us, the buzzing calls of insects, the splash of water as small animals battle or evade one another for survival. But soon I realize that solid ground is becoming more common, the sloshing and splashing less, the climbing over mud mounds rarer.
The sun isn't yet at its zenith overhead when we reach what could arguably be considered the end of the marshes. The ground has a shallow but still distinct rise to it that brings it up above what I'm guessing could be considered the regional water table. the thorny bushes and sludge are becoming sparser, with larger, deeper rooted plants and even trees. The ground is still damp, with some puddles here and there, but it's not the almost-endless-mud we just finished trudging through. I can't help but think with a bitter tinge of disgust that back home this area would all be converted to prime farmland while they tried to figure out a way to drain the swamps.
"We'll take a break here," Nax says. "Go ahead and use that new power of yours."
I focus on the new power, and tug on it. It's slow; the power seems to resist, or maybe just requires more focus to use, than any of the others thus far. I can feel it taking shape, though, and my mark heats slowly as I concentrate. I'm not sure how long it takes but I feel it complete, and there's a tiny tremor through the ground as the power takes hold. When I open my eyes, there's a huge thicket, dirt peeking out between the lowest leaves.
"Hidden Lodge. Interesting. And somewhat underwhelming," Naxylotriam comments. "But still, a useful respite for us here. Come, let's enter."
I nod, and wobble slightly. While I was standing still, my legs took the opportunity to cool off and starting to walk again gives me a cramp in my left calf which I fight valiantly to ignore. I limp to where I think the door is, reach into the thicket, and pull it open.
The interior, in contrast to the appearance outside, is much more inviting. Soft grass covers the almost perfectly level floor; above us, several cleverly levered wooden beams support the roof. The center of the room has a long table with a padded half back bench on one side, and a thick, plush futon on the other. A third of the way along the back wall, a grated firepit and chimney rests, with one normal sized bed and one enormous pool flanking it.
Nax looks around, clearly pleased. "I see you took me into account when you crafted this shelter. Considerate of you."
"I think it sort of did that on its own," I admit. "Still... make yourself at home?"
