Haeros Dungeon - Chapter 18 preview (Patreon)

Hours into our walk and, beyond the occasional horde of bramble goats, it had been quite peaceful. Even the goats weren’t a problem; the largest group, which we would normally avoid, was taken down by our oversized party with barely a bump. The “embers” utilized their ranged weapons with alacrity, the oversized crossbows doing significant damage to the unarmored goats upon spotting them, before they dropped the ranged weapons and reached for their melee tools.

At that point, we waved them aside and took over. Wisps took out a pair of bramble goats before they reached us. A well-placed pair of mirrors took off a leg and left a creature bleating in pain from a side that had been torn open entirely.

After that, with the goats funneled directly into Brand’s spikes from the sloped hills, the battle was all but over. Yorrick and I finished the fight soon after, blades and fists ending the monsters. As usual, of course, my lack of weapons started a conversation which I was happy to indulge in, discussing the advantages of unarmed combat to armed.

No surprise it was Timball who talked to me about it, though B drifted close to listen.

“Flexibility is probably my favorite part. Yes, I lack reach and cutting power – though this helps.” I raised my gauntleted hand upwards. “But blunt damage can be significant. I can also locate gaps and strike them easier, and when you get close to most creatures and position yourself right, they lose a lot of their natural weapons.”

“What do you mean?” Timball asked.

I smiled, and stutter-stepped for a moment so that Timball, caught by surprise as he walked by me, pulled ahead. A small sidestep as I stepped forward had me to his left side, my right hand landing on his shoulder to push him forward. Being friendly, he complied without thought and kept walking, though he tried to turn to speak. My hand on his shoulder stopped that motion, causing him to frown.

“What…?” he said, surprised.

“Oh…” B, on the opposite side, muttered. “If you block their movement, they’re caught. He can’t swing at you, if he’s facing forward.”

“The goats are the same. They’re mostly biters, so if I’m by their side and keep moving—” Predictably, Tamblin turned to try to force his way over to make a point and I side-stepped, matching my movements to his so that I was always behind him. “—he can’t actually hurt me. And if I strike to cripple, it makes it even harder.”

“But if you need to kill something, you have to get real close,” Timball muttered, giving up and turning the other way. I stopped playing too, letting him face me fully, Timball and B both on my left now, stacked up. B noticed that change, her eyes narrowing in consideration.

“True. I need a ranged weapon. Been thinking of a crossbow, like yours.” I gestured to what they were carrying, bolts seated again, though the “safety” was locked. It was, I knew, terrible for the weapon, since it stretched out the cord and sinews, especially if they kept it like this for the whole day, but I was not going to mention it. They obviously knew their weapons better than me, and were willing to pay the cost.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” B said, enthusiastically. “I have a skill that strengthens things, returning them to what they were before. So we can keep ours loaded, and I just have to fix theirs every few hours.” Then, lowering her voice, she added, “It’s great for clothing and minor damages too. The Candle says, given time, I might even be able to make bigger changes.”

“That’s amazing. I was surprised every one of you managed to put the goats down with a single shot though.”

“That’s from a combination of skills from the other little flames,” Timball said, exuberantly. “Royaz has a skill that helps with growth of plants, and Jalaf can put skills used on objects in stasis. So Royaz—”

“Timball!” B snapped, and he blushed.

“Sorry! Sorry.” He said the first to B and then the second to me. “Can you forget that. I’m not supposed to tell people about things like that. They say—”

“You’re too trusting,” B growled. “You know some feel we should not exist, that our beliefs are wrong. The Centrists…”

“What’s wrong with the Centrists?” Sophia asked, sweetly. To someone who did not know her, she sounded helpful and cheerful. It was only through my own experience that I could hear the dangerous edge to her voice.

“They’re heretics,” B said. “Believing that the Core is unknowable, a source of power without flame. They seek to journey to the center to understand it, while we seek to join the Flame.”

“Really now?” Sophia’s voice dropped. “How interesting.”

Now both of them noticed her changed tone and they turned, staring at the woman. The other embers noticing the difference and stared at Sophia too, hands shifting unconsciously on their crossbows. I looked at Krek and Sweta, and made sure to meet their eyes to give them silent warning that I was paying attention.

“You’re a Centrist,” B said, cooly.

“I am.”

“Well, it’s nice to know where we all stand. One thing, though, we do have in common is an enemy, right?” I said, loudly to cut between the group. “In that sense, we all have the same goal, so maybe we can worry about other things later.”

“As Protos turns, we’ll never hear the end of it if we don’t get back,” Yorrick added. “So, maybe we can avoid fighting amongst ourselves.”

“I have no problem with them,” Sophia said. “So long as they don’t continue to insult my beliefs.”

B’s chin raised but it was Timball who cut in, all wide smiles. “We won’t. We aren’t talking about such things. We’re talking about crossbows.” Shoving the weapon towards me, causing me to push the tip down so that it was not aligned with his own people by accident, he grinned, almost painfully earnest. “Why don’t you look at this? It’s good, isn’t it?”

“It is.” Hefting the weapon, I could tell it was nicely weighted, with quite the density at the back and a good amount of padding to help with the shock of the bolt’s release.

“We want to make them ourselves, you know, but it’s hard. We buy them from the city above.”

“Who from?”

“Lila Arms.” He pointed to the side of the weapon and after lifting and turning it sideways – carefully – I noted the weapon maker’s mark. I memorized it – a stylized crossbow, it seemed – while asking. “Whereabouts are they?”

“Timball…” Krek growled the warning out, but for once, the man ignored it and happily gave me the directions. Not that it helped a lot, but I got the general gist of it, and the rest of the way, I knew I could get to by just asking.

I still wasn’t sure if a crossbow was the way to go, but at least I had a lead if I took a step in that direction. In the meantime, we had sidled away from an outright fight, as I let Timball enthusiastically explain his weapon to me.