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39- The Best Of Intentions
🕑 Added 2025-07-11 02:50:34 +0000 UTCArthur Decius- Whispering Grotto
The last two days had been a haze of desperate violence highlighted by stalwart moments of defiance in the face of the madness the dungeon had descended into. Arthur and his squad were about to attempt another rescue; a pair of low-level adventurers had fired a magical signal flare slightly ahead of them near the back wall of the first floor. He could see them perched on a rickety wooden watchtower, no doubt built by the goblins. One was firing bolt after bolt from a crossbow into the faces of climbing goblins, stopping only to reload or kick them from the tower when necessary. The other was a maelstrom of scintillating purple lights wherever her magic weaved; the goblins gazes followed as she led them in circles around the tower like the shepherd of legend.
Arthur, the twins, and Nickolia broke from the forest line into the smoldering wreckage that was supposed to be the largest goblin camp of the floor. Instead, there were tattered tents and shredded bodies sprawling across the blood-stained ground. The watchtower sat next to its mate on either side of a massive closed doorway to the next floor. The wooden lodge that was supposed to house this floor's boss sat slightly in front of it, completely engulfed in flames, as the Hobgoblin warchief directed his minions in desperate defense from his burning seat of power. Five of the all-consuming, indiscriminate plant horrors marauded around the camp, savaging anything that got near. One had obviously leveled up dramatically from the sheer amount of kills it had achieved; it held three goblins aloft at once, one in each tendril, and stood taller than Arthur.
Arthur steeled himself and roared for a charge. They had killed a handful of these beasts now; as long as they didn’t get swarmed, they could win. He led the charge, the blazing fire of the lodge streaming towards him like solar flares as he manipulated the light, washing it over himself and his companions. They hit the first Maneater like a wave of steel, the twins rattling it between their shields and holding it in place while he dissected it sword strike by sword strike. It fought back with savagery; blows tore into his arms, a tendril ripped the helm, and an ear free from one of the twins. He sliced using the power granted by the overpowering light until it was a useless quivering mess. They all heaved for a moment, covered in blood, letting the soothing light aid their wounds.
“Oh no,” Nikolai whispered. The massive Daisy had turned towards them with a single-minded focus. Before they could rearrange their defensive line, it had thrown itself through the air at them, sailing from nearly twenty strides away. It crashed straight through the half-raised shields, sending the twins sprawling, and smashed into Nikolai, roughly scooping her into its mouth with its tendrils. Then it turned to face Arthur, its thorny protrusions nearly as long as his hand. Nikolai screamed from within the maw as it held her there with two tendrils slowly twisting her apart and rocked Arthur backwards with whipping blows across his chest and face.
Arthur parried and slashed; he tried to sever the tendrils that tore into Nikolai, but with one final savage crunching twist, her cries stilled. Arthur looked on in rage at her limp form lolling in the monster's maw, an almost out-of-body detachment settling over him to hold back the grief as he battled the newest horror to grace this world.
Vraxious- Kings Road
“Alright, come here, you ray of fucking sunshine!” Vrax was chasing the still flopping, half-mashed body of the daisy in a circle for a few moments, trying to add the damn thing back to his garden so it could heal and he could help Torvald loot. Eventually he got a hand on it, and it disappeared in a dull green flash. Vrax just left the Dreadfeast to its meal; honestly, he was kind of afraid to interrupt it and began rifling through the remains scattered around the road.
All told, Vrax and Torvald looted three small sacks of coins, a handful of magical arrows (the same ones George had been using to blow holes into them), and a good amount of crafting materials from the bear's corpse. The falcon would have had some very, very valuable feathers, but, well, it got eaten.
They started trekking through the night, determined to get farther from the carnage before setting camp. The Dreadfeast skulked behind them disconcertingly loyally, seemingly very happy about the fight and carrying the leg of the mage in its hands like a dog with a bone.
They camped just short of the waystation, planning to skip it anyways after that rather violent brawl and not wanting to bring the murder-fueled baggage into the inn. Vrax took the opportunity to allocate the essence from the fight, his mind sinking into his sanctuary as his body stared at their campfire.
The world assembled itself around him much the same as last time. His creations in an endless scene of both conflict and play spaced among the flora and fauna of the Forsaken Lands. The Devourers ever curiously nudging the other lifeforms, and the daisy and lurkers trying to kill anything nearby. The lake sat about half full after the last fight. Vrax started walking towards his [Core Statue] on the lake shore, but a deep sense of foreboding stopped him in his tracks and drew his eyes towards the shadows always prowling just beyond his sanctuary’s borders in the dark.
There they stalked, brushing against the edges of his sanctuary, probing, trying always to find a way inside. Vrax didn’t know why he had something like this in his very soul, and neither did anyone else he had asked about it. He walked up closer to the boundary, focusing on the shadows he so often tried to ignore. They hungrily congregated near the border where he was standing, some humanoid, others completely alien and unrecognizable in their vague shadowed state, but all of them felt dark and opportunistic. Something changed; a lithe form flickered in the dark beyond the hungry shapes, and they turned away from him for the first time.
The new form in the dark lashed out with startling speed, splattering the barrier. In shadowed blood. The shadowy forms fell upon it as they struggled to fight off the new hunter in the darkness. Vrax couldn’t make out much beyond flashes of fang and claw; a roar flared out that wasn’t heard so much as felt, chiming within his soul with such resonance the lake rippled slightly. What the hell is happening to me? This isn’t how sanctuaries are supposed to work. Changes sure, but things don’t battle in the darkness beyond your soul, do they?
The desperate battle beyond the boundary reached a crescendo as the last two blurs clashed and only one remained standing, lifting claws high in victory. It approached the barrier, the only survivor now on this part of the border, and placed a hand slowly upon the wall of his sanctuary. A bladed hand passed into his soul as the being of darkness entered his sanctuary like it was birthed from the shadows. Vrax backpedaled as it darted towards him.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Wait…what the hell!?” Vrax shouted in startled confusion, the Dreadfeast now slithering in front of him, head cocked curiously at his outburst, the shadows that had wreathed it dripping away like sheets of snowfall in the sun, revealing savage wounds across its body. Vrax gave it a tired pat.
“Alright, go, uhh... play with the others?” Vrax said, confused, and gestured widely towards the other horrors running around.
“Am I actually just losing my mind?” Vrax grumbled to himself, walking back towards his core statue and resolving to just stay the hell away from his sanctuary walls at this point. Hey, if I ever have a run-in with a mindbreaker, maybe I can ask him what the fuck is wrong with my sanctuary while they try and break my soul! Though to be fair. Vrax looked around at the teeming life and myriad of dripping jaws and hissing acid. I really want to know what would happen if someone ever intruded onto this place…at this rate, by the time I have passed my first trial at the twenty-fifth level, this place is going to be worse than your average jaunt through one of the aberrant zones in the Forsaken Lands.
Vrax placed his hand upon the core statue, quickly gathering a wave of essence behind him. The way it lapped forward and back like a barely restrained beast was…new…hmm…. Vrax pushed it into his core, adding more channels to his mana pathways, focusing them especially throughout his hands. He needed more mana for adaptation if he wanted to further The daisy and dreadfeast. The essence hungrily carved through the statue, solidifying more routes through which he could push his will onto the real world.
Mana Capacity: 1.4
Total Mana: 143/143
Good next!
Vrax changed his focus from his mana pathways to his overall durability, imagining his skin thickening and blows glancing off with greater ease, but he only gathered a small smattering of the restless essence. He needed some defense; the damned farmer convinced him of that, but for now only some. His strength didn’t lie in his durability. He suffused his statue's skin with the concept of resilience.
Physical Defense 1.1
Without breaking the flow of essence, he changed its path to wrap around his mind, reinforcing the steel trap he had already been building, adding more layers to the walls around his mind until he was out of essence.
Mental defenses: 1.6
And that should be enough to really tell any of the luring, mind-fucking plants on the edges of the forsaken lands to go bugger themselves. Hell, I'm level twelve now, almost thirteen, but my mental defenses are damned high for my level. Let's see if Vurune wins the next mental tug of war when I level up and evolve the stigmata. A bit more into mana, and then I hard focus on evolving both [Adapt Life] and my [Stigmata] before the first trial.
Vrax took a moment to review his current status.
[Vraxious Tier-1] (lvl 12) (Unique) [Paladin Of The Cycle]
You will safeguard the cycle of life and death. Wield the powers of growth, of change, and of decay to set the world free from those who would hold it stagnant. Stand tall with weapon held high and strike down those who would fetter you. You will adapt the life of the world around you to serve your will; life leads to change, change leads to death, death leads to rot, rot leads to life, and thus the cycle continues.
[Skills]
[Decomposing Smite](lvl2)
Infuse your blows with entropy, corroding your foes and using their essence to heal your wounds. You may shape the path of the entropic energy with your will.
[Mana Cost Variable]
[Adapt Life] (lvl 5)
Change living beings to better suit your needs. Entities changed with this skill will be less hostile towards the paladin, and towards those who wear an adapted mark of the cycle upon themselves. Faster changes or changes farther from the base functions of an entity will use exponentially more mana. The more powerful an entity, the more mana required.
[Mana Cost Massively Variable] [Increased Efficiency]
[Duration Permanent]
[Stigmata Wrath Of The Grove](lvl 6)
Woe befall those that would cause harm to those under the sacred canopy of our protection. Life is a struggle. Life is pain. Life is hunger. Life is fear. Let those who threaten our beloved feel naught but the wrath of the grove until they are returned to the cycle.
[Stigmata Garden, twelve slots available]
Entities in the stigmata garden will make copies of themselves. The life drain of the stigmata garden will now affect a larger area and affect essence-bound entities that oppose Vurune’s chosen.
[Talents]
[Forest Strider]
The forest around you will subtly aid your movement based on intent, be that speed or stealth.
[Passive]
[Identify]
Reveal a living being’s name, tier and level if it is an essence infused entity.
[Mana cost insignificant]
[Hunter's Ear]
Your hearing is as sharp the predators of the deep wood, more easily discern slight sounds.
[Passive]
Improved Attributes
Mental Defenses: 1.6
Physical Strength: 1.2
Mana Capacity: 1.4
Physical Defense: 1.1
Total Mana: 143/143
The campfire resolved before his eyes again as he left his sanctuary happy with the small changes he had made and excited to tinker with his creatures for the last few days of the trip home. After that fight with the halberdier, he had also resolved to get some further lessons in close combat; his skill had consistently proved lacking, and Hope's End happened to be home to the Bloodsoaked Weaver, a rather famous bounty hunter and expert polearm fighter. The problem was she was solidly retired, and Vrax was currently on her shit list until he brought her the barrel of owed honey.
You know, I really wonder what the hell class Martha has anyway. Identify never works on her. Is she a badass crafting class twisted for combat? Or did she somehow add enchanted baking in her later years to a combat class…it's always possible she took a crafting class when she advanced to the second tier…but that wouldn't make sense; she was still actively working for the crown then…there is no way she reached the third tier and picked a baking advancement for her retirement; that would be…actually insane…
Vrax drifted to sleep thinking of honeyed buns and home.
Comments
Beeees!
Also classic dreadfeast. Killing the horrors that lurk beyond the edge of the soul before coming in haha
Beeees!
Martha up to something for sure
