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[The Distinguished Mr. Rose] Chapter 72: Flight of the Thunderbirds
🕑 Added 2025-06-18 01:00:04 +0000 UTCThe dim light of the morning suns softly trickled through the mist as the expedition, cautious in their steps and tout in their nerves, tram
The dim light of the morning suns softly trickled through the mist as the expedition, cautious in their steps and tout in their nerves, tram
The dim light of the morning suns softly trickled through the mist as the expedition, cautious in their steps and tout in their nerves, trampled through the brown sludge of the Misty Wetlands. The environment here was much different than of the plains; for there was no grass, no trees or fields, nor the foliage they had been accustomed to seeing.
They could not see much of anything, to be more accurate. Their sight was shrouded no farther a pace by the heavy mist wafting about. Those toward the back had disappeared into but faint shadows; and the people nearby locked arms, so that they would not lose one another. The slow trudge, the splash of mud, and heavy breaths exhaling in unison: those were the only signs of life, a comforting reminder that the group was not alone amidst this vast and humid swamp.
Lucius stuck close to Sir Renaud and Maugris. The two Peers were stern as ever, prepared for this sudden change, and they soon directed orders to be spread toward the back. The paladins all huddled close, so it took no time at all.
“The priests will deploy the thunder web around the perimeter. No intensity: keep the charge dormant, lest we exhaust ourselves before we encounter the mire dwellers,” Renaud said. “Only set the web alight upon Sir Maugris’s call.”
Lucius found the new directions quite curious. It appeared the expedition was foregoing their previous stratagem of blinding their enemies; instead, the clergy with their robes and staves of jewels released a faint electric current onto the ground that quickly spread far into the mist. This array followed them as they continued forth.
For a while there was little commotion of note. Sir Renaud stoically marched with his trembling cane as usual; and yet, Lucius felt a mild dread emanating from him. The man was not complacent - far be it. He anticipated every slight, prepared for the worst that could happen—this and all he theorized while working the muscles he had in brain rather than body, for it was all he could do.
It was a curious sight to Lucius, watching this frail man act as leader. The gentleman had watched him very closely over the course of their voyage thus far; and it was so that he noticed an ‘unfamiliarity’ in him that was not present among the other paladins. That unfamiliarity was, to put it plainly, a lack of experience. He walked with a stagger unused to the slick of mud. Every small patter of rain annoyed him, whilst the others behaved no different. It was not surprising: The paladins were likely used to endearing the elements. Such was inevitable for those serving in the military.
But Renaud was not like them. He tried to hide it, but that frown of his was a sheltered one - of a fortunate soul who never needed to dirty himself in the ways of the laborer, or a soldier, or one who was simply poor. His muscles, though thin, were nonetheless bright in color from the tonics and herbs he no doubt obtained from wealth. Even his face was without scar.
And yet, for all his signs of luxury, his hands held a different story. They were worn, bruised, and bloody. Large calluses bulged from his palms that looked no different from the blade-wielding paladins behind him. Those calluses spoke of a sightless effort - a desperation to resemble that which he could never be.
Renaud was a fascinating study. Because for all his bravado, he was afraid. The thought of disappointing the expedition, of encountering monsters, of that ever looming possibility of death: he feared it, so much so that his eyes shook with every passing second. He was far away from the home he knew, deep in uncertain territory. He tossed aside the comfort and riches beholden to him in his homeland, all to disprove a stigma that, truthfully, mattered little compared to the influence he wielded.
Was it courage, or delusion that allowed him to persevere now? That despite his chattering teeth and sweaty brow, he carried on, stubborn in his will. Lucius desired so deeply to pry into his head - to draw out the truth obstinately buried under his yearning for glory. But the seed required more nourishment. This was not the place where it should bloom.
And so, Lucius patiently waited. To rush would only risk spoiling the beauty of what could possibly be.
It was in the middle of these ruminations that Lucius suddenly stopped, turned his head, and gazed out toward the mist.
He felt it: the same pressure as before. Something was trailing them.
Sir Maugris stopped as well, and a fierce light enveloped his eyes. “They are here, Renaud,” he said.
“Below or above?”
“Below.”
“Mm, took longer than I thought. How many?”
“About one hundred in number. They hide below the mud.”
“Either the Peluda or a colony of Lou Carcolh… this shall be simple, then. Let them approach. Do not give the signal until my word.”
With his order, the expedition came to a halt and assumed a defensive position. Maugris forewent the typical spell of protection; he focused only on tracking their unseen foes skulking beneath. Sight was unnecessary here, for their ears detected what eyes could not amidst the mist - a slimy, gurgling, wet squelch leaking through the mud. These things were different from the group’s beastly assailants of before. While the so-called Tarasques were savage and instinctual in their manner of hunt, the wriggling stalkers underground were methodical: slow, cold, and unfeeling.
Lucius considered sending a signal to his fellow players, to bid them prepare for combat. But he decided against it. The system gave no notification of a mission after all. Whatever oozed toward them, the paladins would be more than enough to fend them off.
Although, after a moment the gentleman began to have his doubts. The dripping noise grew louder. He could hear the sludge giving way. But despite the encroaching threat, Sir Renaud had still yet to give his command.
“Renaud… they will soon descend upon us,” Maugris said, his voice rising in unease.
“Not yet.”
“All one hundred are within range. If you do not let me send the signal now—”
“If I say to wait, then you will do so, Maugris.”
Renaud stood inflexibly in his decree, no matter how his fellow protested otherwise. Maugris frowned and uttered a sigh; but he nonetheless obeyed and kept his stern vigil.
The sounds, one by one, multiplied in intensity.
“A little more.”
Soon, a faint shadow appeared in the mist. It was not of a person, or creature; but rather something thin. An obscured silhouette, swaying in an unsettling manner as if to mimic the movements of a man.
“Closer…”
The priests gripped onto their staffs, knuckles turning white from strain. The shadows drew nearer. The expedition swallowed in unison as their foes slithered forth, and finally revealed themselves.
It was not a man that appeared before them. No, it was a swarm of countless, countless wriggling tendrils: feelers that poked and prodded the air whilst searching for prey to latch on. They all sprouted from the mud: the true bodies hiding where neither fangs or claws could reach.
Those feelers pointed at the expedition now, and with a snap, lunged directly for their throats.
“Now.”
Without a moment to waste, Maugris slammed his sceptre down and, with a chant, unleashed a surge of force that blew away the surrounding mist. For the first time, the expedition could see far into the wetlands, as well as the creatures that surrounded them. The priests required no other signal. They prayed to their God, the Almighty above, and called upon Their wrath, which manifested as a wide electrical current that scorched the underground below and shocked their squirming adversaries until the things were left with no other choice but to emerge, screaming, out into the open air.
It was then that Lucius saw the strange, slimy bodies from which the feelers originated. They were a grotesque mixture of mollusk and serpent, eyeless, with the head of a snail, a long twisting form, and dripping in a clear gloop that gave their every movement a slippery texture.
That gloop would ordinarily prove advantageous for beings that wriggled in the muck. But when faced with electricity, it only served to incinerate them alive, trapped by their species’ own design. It paralyzed them—tore away at their malleable flesh.
“So it was the Lou Carcolh, after all,” Renaud mused to himself, watching the serpentine slugs quiver from pain. “How fortunate. If these things are here, then we need not worry about encountering the Behemoth.”
The proceeding cull went by smoothly. The remaining Lou Carcolh were all stunned and huddled close due to Renaud’s delayed signal. The combat paladins strode forth, and they threw a great volley of javelins and spears. The slugs had no defensive hides nor shells unlike the Tarasques. They were powerless as the metal pierced straight through their flesh, dispatched from a safe distance. This was no longer a battle - but a slaughter.
As a result, Lucius implored the good Renaud to allow the players participate in the elimination. The man had no reason to refuse; and so it was that his fellows picked off the weakened slugs and obtained a few extra points of experience.
Mili blasted them with her guitar; Marco burned them alive with his gauntlet; Nicholas the bomberman, well, threw bombs that tore out a large chunk of the earth (as well as the slugs); and even the chef, Anthony, participated with interesting culinary-based skills that involved summoning a comically large cooking pan, which he smacked his enemies with.
By the time they were finished, all one hundred of the slugs were thoroughly taken care of. The things bled green. Their organs were green, too. Corpses littered the wetlands around the group, and soon, a rank stench began to rise up from their spoiling remains.
The expedition had emerged victorious once again, and without a single casualty. Sir Renaud did not relax, however. If anything he seemed even more at edge, and he commanded for them to set off immediately - a nervous shadow swirling around in his eyes.
“Whatever is the rush for, Renaud?” the wizardly priest asked, surprised by his fellow’s sudden haste. “The Lou Carcolh are the dominant hunters here. We need not worry about encountering any other creatures, with the colony slayed here.”
“Perhaps that rings true for those of the earth,” Renaud replied, scowling, and increased his pace. “But you forget who the true apex predators of the wetlands are, and those fetid spoils release now their favorite scent. We cannot stay here. If we do not move—”
A large screech of thunder from above brought Renaud to a quick halt. The man sighed, rubbed his face, and then turned around.
“... I did not want to encounter them not so soon,” he said through clenched teeth. “But so be it. Extend the shields and pass the order: slow flashes, three repetitions, extreme intensity. We cannot allow ourselves to endure their barrage for long. Even if the priests must strain themselves, this fight must end here.”
Maugris nodded grimly, and he quickly set out to fulfill Renaud’s commands. Meanwhile, Lucius approached the man, curious about the sudden situation.
“Your voice is dire, my friend,” the gentleman said.
Renaud shook his head. “Such is only natural. The thunderbirds shall soon descend. Those things are at least susceptible to blindness, but they are an unpredictable beast.”
“Would you like us otherworlders to lend aid?”
“... We shall see.”
The mission notice had still yet to appear, but nonetheless Lucius felt a prick in his gut. Instinct, a six sense, however one called it… it bid him now to prepare himself, and so he swung back toward his fellow players and warned them to be at the ready. Marco, Mili, and Harper saluted him with a casual wave, expecting the danger to be no different from before, but the gentleman’s stiff expression soon alerted their worries. This was serious.
As Sir Maugris finished relaying orders, the curious metal domes affixed to the carriages began to move. They spread out, widened, and extended the lightning rod higher up until the top had completely disappeared into the mist.
All the while, a thunderous roar gradually crackled around them: louder, even louder. But strangely enough, the sound almost felt… alive, as if the storm was a living, breathing entity, one with a cruel and calculating intelligence.
The air filled with static. The mist turned dark, and the once-light drizzle soon crashed forth in a relentless torrent. Lucius and the two Peers quickly took refuge under one of the metal domes; but the rain was inescapable. It flooded the dirt, rising, until all they felt below their knees was water.
“Oh, goodness gracious,” Lucius muttered, distraught by his soggy clothes. “I just had these dry cleaned.” Well, his skill automatically dry cleaned his clothes for him at the end of every day, but it was still a great travesty to be reduced to such an improper state.
Before he could wring out his sleeves, a deafening boom smashed into the lightning rod just above his head. The force sent many a paladin stumbling over, but despite a few odd shakes and shivers, they remained relatively unharmed. It was the anticipation more than anything else that disturbed them.
“Why have the priests not acted?” Renaud grunted, his body surprisingly stable despite what just transpired.
Maugris closed his eyes and concentrated, before replying, “... Some fell over after the attack. Do not worry. They are safe.”
“Why would I worry over a bunch of fools?” he snapped back. “Stars give me strength—will they only compose themselves once our numbers begin to drop? Tell them to get themselves together.”
The man grumbled and slicked back his wet hair. “May the Lord know, if we are to perish on this day, that it is through no fault of my own.”
Another booming crash pummeled into the carriage’s rod, but this time the expedition held firm - prepared for the onslaught. Soon Lucius heard the words of the priests chanting out, desperate in their cries, and the same glittering sparkles Maugris had veiled them in before now returned to protect their sight.
A flash surged before Lucius’s eyes, only this one was much, much brighter. It shone with such intensity that he would not be surprised if the entirety of the wetlands had just recoiled under its burning glare now, piercing through the mist, the clouds, and everything in the region. But that light came at a cost. Sputters cried out around him as priests, drained and haggard from their spell, fell with a splash onto the ever-rising sea. He could not see them, but he could hear their exhaustion plainly.
Yet, they staggered themselves back up, and they pushed on. Another surge of light burst above them. The rippling maelstrom, indiscriminate in its destruction, halted for but a brief second. Surely this meant their efforts were working; and so the priests unleashed their next, and final, spell, invoking the light of God to the greatest height they could muster.
It should have been enough to blind the eyes of any living creature. Renaud was confident; he believed his tactic to be faultless, and indeed for the journey thus far that had been true.
And yet, another lightning bolt came hurtling down. The maelstrom decreased not in ferocity even the slightest bit.
“... What?” Renaud murmured, his composure rattled. The water had now risen to his waist. “This is not right. I… the tomes clearly mentioned their weakness. I cross-referenced the text with eye witness accounts and field reports—this should have worked. So why?”
A wave of confusion spread amongst the expedition, and with it: panic. Renaud took a deep breath and attempted to collect himself, but stress had come to him; and he could not conjure a solution no matter how urgently he scoured his mind for answers. His eyes twitched. His breath, shaken.
It was in the midst of this slow, creeping doom, that a familiar screen popped up before Lucius’s vision.
>[EMERGENCY QUEST!]<
The native creatures of Francia have long ruled over the wilderness, but even they are not immune to the Demon King’s spreading curse. The thunderbirds of the Misty Wetlands have fallen to the scourge’s influence: corrupting them, transforming them. They behave no longer like the avians of before. If you do not eliminate them now, your journey will end here, drowned in a song of sea and thunder.
Success: 500 Cosmic Coins
Failure: Death
Lucius understood it now. The thunderbirds had succumbed to the demonic influence, and in turn became demons themselves. Using the light would not work; they did not ‘see’ in the traditional sense. The gentleman had witnessed plenty of the crude things back at the fortress, and it was there he learned their organs to be mere props—decorations. They had no actual use, save for mimicking the appearances of the living.
In order to get through this peril, they would have to take the fight to the demonic avians personally.
Lucius grabbed Renaud’s shoulder and shook hard, snapping him out of his daze. “Come back to us, Sir Renaud!” he shouted. “Do not despair now. Hope awaits us yet, but only with your firm leadership can we traverse this crisis.”
The man scowled and slapped his own cheeks. “Whatever do you mean, Lucius? I am calm. I am always calm.”
The gentleman smiled. “Never did I doubt otherwise.”
“You just did—”
“Nevermind that.” He pointed to the storm. “Those thunderbirds are not the ones you knew. They have been changed into that of the demonic race. There is no use in blinding.”
Upon the mention of their foes’ demonification, Renaud shuddered in epiphany as if the gears in his brain had finally started turning, and he muttered a slew of thoughts to himself before eventually spreading his lips in a wide grin.
“Yes, yes… I see it now. That explains their odd behavior,” he said with a dark chuckle. “Very well, I can work with this. Lucius, Maugris, heed my word!”
The wizardly priest was busy protecting the expedition from the occasional rogue bolt, the jewel on his sceptre raging with a strained glow, but he managed to direct his focus away just long enough to listen to Renaud’s plan.
“The demons, while ferocious, hold a crucial vulnerability,” he began. “And that is a lack of survival instinct. All beasts are born with it in some way, but demons care only for wanton slaughter, even if it must mean sacrificing their bodies. That is to our advantage. They will not avoid our spells, even if it is slow to manifest.”
Maugris’s eyes lit up in realization, but they soon just as quickly wavered. “That may be true, but I am the only priest remaining with the capability to cast such wide bombardment; and even that shall not be so for long. It is a struggle just to maintain the barrier. I cannot break away lest our shields be destroyed.”
“What if you were given an opportunity? How long would your chant require?”
“... One minute. It is ordinarily longer, but I shall find a way. You must divert the thunderbirds for at least a minute, but that will be impossible in our current circumstance.”
“You forget who accompanies us, Maugris.” Renaud turned to Lucius and regarded him with a grave nod. “Sir Lucius, one of your companions is a lightning mage, correct?”
The gentleman tilted his head. “Miss Mili? Hm… not quite a mage exactly, but it is true that she can wield lightning.”
Renaud clapped Lucius’s shoulder and chuckled. “That will be enough. Go to her now and yield us an opening: I care not how you do so. If the otherworlders can be of assistance, then all the better. I shall have the remaining priests support her as well, but for this plan to succeed, the thunderbirds must halt their attacks on the expedition. You understand the importance of this duty, am I correct?”
“Indeed I do.”
“Good, then let us be off.”
With a quick bow, Lucius waded through the waters, before eventually deciding it’d be quicker to just swim through with his peerless butterfly technique, and returned to the company of his fellows. Who were, right now, very much panicking.
“Who woulda ever thought I’d drown in the middle of a goddamn swamp of all places…” Marco muttered. The old mobster was soaked thoroughly from head to toe, but Mili on the other hand was relatively dry, due to perching on Marco’s shoulder with the finesse of a frightened housecat.
“I’m gonna be honest with you guys,” she said, clinging for dear life. “I never learned how to swim.”
Harper wasn’t as bothered by the water, rather more so with the constant lightning bolts striking them from above. “Oh, hey there, Lucius! Nice of you to join us. I’m glad we’ll have the chance to die together like a proper team.”
The gentleman leaned back and let out a boisterous laugh. “I appreciate the enthusiasm, Miss Harper, but we aren’t quite so doomed just yet.”
He relayed Renaud’s plan to them, as well as the other players. Mili pondered to herself, fiddling at her guitar, and then looked straight at Lucius with a wicked smile.
“Eh, screw it,” she said. “I’ll think of something. What’s the worst that could happen? Either I die here like a rockstar or later like a soggy nobody.”
A few others volunteered to help her, with Mister Crowley and Mister Pierre being among the most vocal. The bomberman stroked his wet mustache, saying, “I’ve got some fireworks that might be useful. Won’t do much damage, but it’s the only explosive I’ve got that can reach that high. Might take a few out or at least stun them.” The young chef joined in, saying, “And I can help with support. I’ve got some extra meals stored that can provide buffs—I should have an electric resistant one in there somehow. Just stuff it in your mouth and it’ll go active for the next hour.”
Beside them, there were some other curious characters as well. Miss Angela Rhodes, a seamstress, was the only one among the support division who could weave electric-resistant linens. Those with far reaching attacks, such as a sniper, a meteorologist, and even a three-time world champion water balloon thrower, would assault the thunderbirds while Mili took the brunt of the attack.
Her duty was a risky one, and thus Lucius felt compelled to ask her one more time if she was certain about throwing herself headfirst into danger. The plucky musician replied without a hint of doubt: “You bet your bottom rear I’m ready.”
And so, with their plan meticulously combed over, Lucius and his otherworldly troupes climbed to the top of the carriages with Mili as their bold leader.
The musician strode forth amidst the howling rain, and she strummed her guitar as the thunder and screeching above accompanied her choir.
“Empty sky, I’m alone with no one nearby… but our memories ignite. The passion that keeps us both alive invite us to the beautiful starry sight~”
A faint, flickering aura wrapped around her body, but unlike the previous skills Lucius had seen from her, this one was rather gentle. It coursed through her hair setting it aflutter in static, and slowly, gradually, she rose up in the air, flying with nothing but her own determination to keep herself steady.
Soon, her presence was made known to the demons far out of sight. Lucius could feel the charge in the air—the premonition of a coming attack.
“Protect her!” Marco roared to priest and player alike. He climbed the lightning rod and held out his hand, waiting for Miss Rhodes to toss him the thickest electric-resistant bundle she could make on the spot, and he hung it over Mili while gritting his teeth and bracing himself to endure the brunt of the attack as well. It was reckless, very reckless even with the aid of his recovery skill. But there was no one else who could accompany her; and even if there was, the old mobster would have remained by her side regardless. He would not let her shoulder this burden alone.
The priests chanted and wreathed the two in the best defensive spells they could muster. The attackers stood at the ready; Lucius watched it all while munching on a quickly-purchased bag of popcorn.
When the thunderbirds’ cry reached its loudest, and the drenched warriors below prepared for the inevitable, a streak of lightning came rumbling down: larger, deadlier, more menacing than any attack the expedition had endured thus far. And it collided directly onto Mili.
She let out a breath, and faced the bolt head on. It crashed through the spells, past the defenses, and soon spread across every surface of her body, electrifying the musician down to her very bones. But she did not resist. No, rather than burn her alive, it looked as if she was absorbing the electricity. It filled her being with power, ignited the musical soul inside her; but there was always a limit. When she couldn’t endure the strain any longer, she gathered the excess onto her smoking-hot guitar and fired it back toward the thunderbirds.
“It’s your consideration, your patience, dedication~
“Devotion, action, forbearance~
“That keep me flying high. Holy crap I think I’m actually about to die~”
Lucius had a feeling that the last line there wasn’t actually a part of the song.
Nonetheless, she held her ground, and it was thanks to her opening that the other players could let loose their attacks on their foes in the sky. Explosions rang out amidst the flurry of thunder, rain, Mili’s song, and all other kinds of chaos and mayhem as the expedition fought with their lungs and heart and will set afire.
In the midst of the barrage, they had finally witnessed it: the falling body of one of the thunderbirds. Its body was unlike what they expected, for it had no feathers, or beak, or even wings. This demonic version was composed entirely of steel, and it was shaped into some childlike rendition of an airplane. To call it a bird would be a stretch, but the players didn’t care for such semantics now. They only wished to get through this trial and see to the light of tomorrow.
And so it was that their wish would come true; for there, complete in his preparations, was a twitchy-eyed Maugris overflowing with power.
“You have done well!” he roared out to the players. “Rest, brave warriors. I shall finish this.”
Sir Maugris flung his arms out to the sky, and he called upon his God with a voice unrestrained in spite, and fury, and pure seething rage to destroy all those in his way. The mud began to unravel around them, churning and bubbling; and from the wreckage did earthen spears emerge in the hundreds, nay, tens of thousands, spiraling forth and gathering near the expedition while pointing upwards at their dreaded foes in the sky.
Maugris stamped his sceptre down with a yell, and the spears were sent shrieking above. No longer was the air dominated by thunder. Now, there were only the sounds of impact, and the inevitable crashes of the metal birds soon brought to silence.
The expedition cheered out in a chorus of excited, and pained, and utterly exhausted cries; for despite all they had suffered, what awaited the weary group was not the cruel grasp of death. But victory.
Against all odds, Expedition Argo triumphantly survived.
>[The Emergency Quest has been completed!]<
*(NEW!) 500 Cosmic Coins
