tMFUtM - b1c9 - Forget the Numbers (Patreon)

“Ee! I’m so excited, it’s rare for the gargoyles to welcome anyone into one of their villages.” Dawn wasn’t even trying to hide her excitement over their predicament.

“Oh? We do not recall it being unusual. They have traditionally welcomed those that seek them out.” Souna was the first to speak up, which wasn’t surprising. She—they, whatever mucking word was appropriate—was the only other member of the party that wasn’t obviously waiting with trepidation to see what would happen.

It wasn’t like the gargoyles had explained anything. They simply demanded that the party must follow them to “face” their elder. Which was probably the most ominous word they could have chosen, without finagling a ‘justice’ in there somewhere.

“Well, it’s the first time that it’s happened to me, which means it’s exceptionally rare and special.” Dawn remained unfazed by mundane logic.

No one had any possible response to that and chose to keep their silence. Not that Rugrim felt much like talking. The beating he’d sustained hadn’t broken anything—not even his superior dwarven skin—but he felt bruised and battered, as though he’d tumbled down a collapsed mineshaft. And alongside his bruises, he was nursing something of a grudge.

His par—his travelling companions had just stood there and let the muddy gargoyles beat the stone out of him, just because he complained about a forest that was actively trying to murder him! Asphyxiation was a terrible way to go too, mud it all! And the assault had done nothing to clear up his endlessly runny nose or watering eyes.

At least he had enough spite in his veins to keep walking.

<L1 Divide>

Rugrim hadn’t even tried to form an expectation for the gargoyle village due to his surly mood. Which was for the best—there was no way that he could have foreseen the reality. The section of forest was older than the rest, presumably, given how much taller and thicker the prodigious trees were. From the largest, buildings dangled in ways that felt structurally dubious. And Rugrim wasn’t entirely happy with calling them buildings either—each of them seemed to be cobbled together from random rocks held in place by carefully grown vines. Said vines attached the buildings to the trees and provided a means to access them from the ground.

The ground level was far more standard. It was just the same wild forest floor he was used to, except there was a good-sized well sticking out of the ground. Oh, and there were also around fifty other gargoyles standing around. Each was completely stiff and unmoving, and some seemed to have taken on an exaggerated pose before they succumbed to… whatever the stone was going on.

He really, really could not have cared less. He absolutely never gave the slightest stone.

“What’s with the stiffs?” Someone asked. Who it was wasn’t important.

“Hmm…” The purple gargoyle seemed to take some time to consider his words before he decided to speak. “Our people require rest at rates not dissimilar to that of cats. Rather than curl up and snore like most of the people of the world, we become rigid and remain partially oblivious to the world, though it leaves us far more able to respond to a crisis than one of you while you are rendered… I believe the term is ‘groggy’?”

That explained a lot, except for one thing—what the muck was a ‘cat’?

“Huh, so you don’t turn to stone by day?” Dawn chimed in.

“How would that even work?” The gargoyle’s face didn’t show it, but his voice suggested amusement. “Even if there was magic for such a thing, so few of us have the gift. And to continue to cast during a rest cycle? I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Today’s a great day—I got to learn something new!” Dawn remained cheerful, even as their powerful guide came to a stop.

Okay, that was a decent thing to be happy about, fine. Rugrim could accept the mentality that learning something new was beneficial. He’d prefer to learn something useful, but he could accept her mentality. …Which, in retrospect, was somewhat terrifying.

Not that he dwelled on that, instead he tried to remain focused on what was about to happen.

“So, why’ve you brought these people here, Golt?” A new gargoyle, of an almost sandy hue of pale yellow, appeared at the entrance the ‘building’ they had stopped in front of. He had a single wing, though the tattered stub of its counterpart could be seen over his shoulder. Unlike every other gargoyle present, the man was absolutely riddled with scars and ancient wounds. His split lip gave him a ferocious visage and the missing eye—opposite to his missing wing—revealed flesh that’d been stitched and fused together to hide the socket.

Also, unlike every other gargoyle, he was armed. A wicked-looking scimitar sat naked against his side, tethered to his leather belt only by a simple loop around the hilt. There were even battered plates of steel bolted to the man’s leather armor.

“This one derided the forest.” Their purple guide—Golt, apparently—gestured.

And just in case his gesture was too broad for the old-timer, the rest of Rugrim’s loamy companions turned to look at him. He snorted loudly to try to clear his airways. Of course, it was just as unsuccessful as the other several dozen times he’d tried.

“And?” The scarred gargoyle elder asked.

“…He has no respect.” Golt’s tone suggested that he believed his words to be obvious.

“He has allergies and is, if my eye does not deceive me, a dwarf. This is likely the first true forest he has ever seen. Your expectations are excessive.” The elder offered a chiding rebuke—far gentler than Rugrim would have preferred.

Still, it was good to see someone in the world still had a pebble worth of sense!

“Take him to see Agante. Let the others rest, then send them on their way. I’ve no interest in letting outsiders linger. And next time you expect fiery judgment because someone frowned at a tree, lad, don’t bring them to me.” And with those words given, the elder disappeared into… whatever the nest-like ‘building’ was.

Oh good, he wasn’t about to die horribly. Unless the muddy forest had its way, which still felt quite likely.

<L1 Divide>

If Golt was sulking, the winged gargoyle was an expert at keeping it off his face. In fact, he still bore the exact same stony expression as he introduced Rugrim to a diminutive gargoyle as he’d worn while he led them to the village.

“Allergies, eh? That or Davic’s Plague, but we’ll assume allergies. Life’s happier when we aren’t expecting most of our population to die, y’know?” Agante had a pinkish red hue and no wings. He was far scrawnier than most of the gargoyles, except his hands were even longer than the towering Golt’s.

“Are you a healer or something?” Rugrim asked after he managed to get enough air into his overtaxed lungs.

“Hardly hardly. Just your friendly herbalist who took a hobby too far and now gets asked to make medicine constantly. Allergies aren’t very common with gargoyles, mind you—actually I can’t think of ever seeing or hearing about one, but we’re hardly the only settlement in the forest. Still, easy enough. Stinging nettle as a base, because what isn’t it a base in, am I right? If I had more time with ya, I could probably figure out something more tailored, but we’ll go for a blast approach.

“Come on up, if you want, but don’t touch anything. I keep some plants that are dangerous to handle without protection, and I doubt you have half the protective Skills I do! If you’re more comfortable down here, feel free to stay. I’ll need a bit.” Agante turned and seized the vines outside his nest and deftly climbed his way up.

Rugrim elected to stay where he was. And it had nothing to do with his first failed attempt to climb after the herbalist. He was planning to sit down anyway.

<L2 Divide>

“A confession: I have no idea what the appropriate dosage should be for you. So, uh, for now just stick with a pinch of the medicine before you sleep and after you wake. And give it a few days before you add more. Take it slow. Nothing in there should be harmful, but I’ve never actually made medicine for a dwarf, you know?

“Oh, and to the rest of you, if he starts acting a bit tipsy, that’s fine, but if he starts acting heavily intoxicated, just… get him to take a nap and cut the dose to once a day and see if that helps. I’ve provided what I can spare which should keep him for a few months. Long enough to see a healer of medicine-maker that’s used to dwarves. Probably.” Agante’s words were slowing as his energy faded. With every moment, the gargoyle was becoming more and more lethargic.

It was something that they’d seen from other gargoyles leading up to them stiffening up to rest for a while. They had lingered long enough that they’d seen it happen with almost every gargoyle that any of them had interacted with, aside from Golt. That gargoyle still towered over them warily, as if he was looking for an excuse to inflict more violence upon them—despite the fact that he was the only reason they had even entered the loamy settlement!

Dawn puffed out her chest and stepped forward, hands clasped under her cape, behind her back. …And began to deliver a speech.

“It has been a privilege and an honor to spend time with your people. And I, for one, am grateful. Perhaps in the future we can return amicably and—”

“Just leave already.” Golt cut her off, trying to stare her down as he growled out his own words.

The effect was probably hindered by Dawn being almost as tall as he was.

“But I need to express my gratitude and camaraderie so that we might be welcome in the future.” Dawn aided his efforts by affecting a plaintive expression and tone.

“You aren’t. Now leave.” Yet Golt’s flinty expression and tone failed to show a single crack.

<L3 Divide>

“Tin, am I still charming?”

Four days had passed since they left the gargoyle village behind, but Dawn was still sulking. Which was absurd, there was absolutely nothing to sulk about in life.

In fact, everyone was pretty muddy great! After all, Rugrim could breathe. He had missed that. Sure, the medicine seemed to make it a bit harder to fall asleep at night, but he’d get used to that. Probably. Either way, totally worth it. Agante was a stone-blessed hero—worthy of a drinking song!

Not that Rugrim trusted himself to write such a thing. He could belt out a drinking song with the best of them, but creating one? That wasn’t in his skillset. Or his Skillset, for that matter.

-----

[Vivid Imagination]: 1 -> 2

-----

Heh, the System thought it was funny.

It’d been a few hours since they broke camp and the group was still trekking through the Forest of Spears, though they were allegedly close to the far side—albeit further east than they’d planned to emerge. Probably. The party’s consensus was that just moving directly north from the gargoyle village was safer than trying to backpack to the place they were ambushed at, but it was hard to say how much they might have drifted since then.

“Some people are resistant to charm. You yourself told me this, shortly after we first met.” The golem patiently reassured Dawn yet again.

Dawn bit off her reply. Instead, she picked up the pace—she was the first of them to notice that they were approaching the tree line. Rugrim wasn’t far behind her. The forest was perfectly… well, overly wooded walking hazard, but it was fine for loamy surface nonsense. Yet he was eager to finally see something else. After all, his destination was to the north of the Forest of Spears, past the nations that sat outside of it.

A few days’ journey at most, no doubt.

Dawn came to a stop so suddenly that Rugrim almost collided with her before he could plant his own feet. Tin had kept pace with them—the golem’s longer stride made the feat feel effortless—and similarly stopped. Rugrim was forced to peek around Dawn’s cape to see what all the fuss was about.

“Ah.” He had no idea what the monsters were. They were scaled, they walked on two legs, and they had amusingly large frontal claws that seemed to stick out from the sides of a body that couldn’t decide if it was a mouth or a torso.

There were also at least twenty of them. And the eyestalks atop each of the creatures were pointed directly at the party—well, the half of it that had sped up.

“Back into the forest, we’re outnumbered.” Tin gave the order as they detached and slowly began to lower the supplies they were carrying.

“Forget the numbers!” Rugrim stepped forward. “We’ve got this, after all, we’re strong and we can breathe!”

He was done with being a coward. He was done with hiding and being afraid of the surface. And he felt ready to take on any challenge!

“Ha! Well said, my friend!” Dawn stepped forward alongside him, drawing her rapier and whip both.

…Something about that bothered him, but he couldn’t figure out why. Meh, what did it matter—he felt great!

Just as Rugrim finished freeing his sledgehammer and pickaxe, the first monsters began to charge. Not knowing that Rugrim Stonesplint, mighty surface breather, was there to meet them!