Argrave walked into the vibrant architecture of this stone monument to a culture long perished, seeking to restrain the Brumesingers before they caused any problems. Though he was cautious about the dryads, he felt inaction might pose a problem given the fact his druidic bonds were doing something far from the mean.
He cast a spell and the little creatures fortunately obeyed, backing away and coming back. One by one he scooped them up into his arms, and when that was done his eyes fell upon the dryad whose face still peeked from out the tree.
“Naughty foxes. Thieves. Best worn as coats, or scarves around the neck,” the dryad whispered gleefully.
“I would advise against trying to make that happen.” Argrave put his hand between the big fluffy ears of one of his pets, and then looked out across the place.
I’m not sure what this is, but I don’t need it right now, Argrave thought. If it is important, it can be dealt with in peacetime.
“Don’t mind the dryads,” Myriarch Batbayar said as he joined Argrave. “They’re quite childlike.”
Argrave wasn’t minding—as a matter of fact, he barely heard the elven commander speak. He surveyed the place thoroughly. Dozens of other dryads peeked their heads out of trees, disappearing and reappearing like mole rats with bark to hide them instead of the ground. But he found what he was looking for, standing there the same as ever.
“Like I promised... I’ll ignore them. I don’t need them, not yet-- more dire matters draw my attention,” Argrave assured Batbayar.
“Your sister-in-law...” Batbayar began, looking over at them. Argrave was briefly confused, but he remembered their cover story before the mistake could be noticed. The myriarch continued, “She reacted like a child I taught once. Her parents kept her inside a cave no larger than a cabinet for days on end, for months at a time. The mist brought back memories of that.”
Batbayar didn’t say how that applied to Onychinusa, but the pieces were easy enough to put together. Only difference being... I imagine Erlebnis kept her locked up for years at a time, not months, Argrave thought.
“She’s tough,” Argrave said, shaking his head. “She’ll manage. We’re heading for those stairs,” he told the man, then went to retrieve the rest.
#####
“You know... it’s taboo for people to come down here,” Batbayar told Argrave as they descended down the stairs he’d spotted.
In the distant reaches of the ruins, the roots of the trees in the courtyard above poked into this place. The dryads could manifest here, too. They repeated the word taboo, and giggled as they said they were going to tell on Batbayar. Their constant chatter had been somewhat annoying at the surface, but as the light dimmed in wake of the swallowing underground it was eerie.
Argrave looked over and said pointedly, “Given what you’ve already done, I don’t think taboos will make you shake in your boots.”
Batbayar said nothing further, conceding the point. Orion led them down, Argrave in the center and the two fake sisters in the back. The orb of spell light dancing about his head illuminated elaborate carvings on the walls, but Argrave paid them little mind. It was rather hard to focus on his surroundings when the Brumesingers squirmed in his pocket. It felt like a massager had found its way inside of his clothes.
“The only thing we’ll have to deal with are Yettles. Orion, I hope you can handle the burden of that, given your expertise fighting endless waves of woodland creatures. Deeper within, though there’s...” Argrave trailed off, feeling the foxes writhe in his pockets even faster. “These damned guys...”
Argrave took the rowdiest of the Brumesingers out of his pocket. It clung to his hand, grappling with it like it was an enemy. For the first time since he’d bonded with these creatures, it bit him, its teeth sinking into his glove. It couldn’t hurt him, but the fact it did it was enough to make Argrave double-take.
“There’s a mandragora deeper within,” Argrave managed to continue, even lost in thought though he was while handling his rowdy pet. “We’ll need coordination to beat that. I don’t want this place collapsing because of an S-rank spell, but it can scream loud enough to break glass... and stone, for that matter. You might not care, Onychinusa, but we...” the fox he’d been grappling with broke free of his hand, falling to the ground. It seemed to burst into mist, landing harmlessly a second later with no strain to its body.
With one of them gone, all of them rushed out of Argrave’s clothes. The dryads still seemed displeased by the Brumesingers presence, repeating things like ‘thieves,’ ‘stealers,’ and other such childlike accusations.
“This was one of the sites of the ancient elves?” Onychinusa walked to the wall, looking at the carvings. “It can’t have been all that. Sure, the architecture is great, but... beyond that? Yettles and mandragoras? Hardly an empire worth defending, if they should perish so easily.”
“The centaurs were once slaves to the elves,” Argrave said idly as he watched his pets, trying to decide what he might do about this. “Humans, other elves... they enslaved just about everybody. It was a slave rebellion in the last cycle of judgment that sealed the fate of this empire.”
“That would explain this carving,” Anneliese pointed, where what looked to be a horseman with two people on it rode. “Centaurs and elves, both firing bows... certainly, it would be an incredibly potent force. Argrave...”
“Yeah?” he knelt down, staring at his pets as dryads taunted them from above.
“Perhaps you play this thread out, discover what causes your bonds'’ misbehavior.” Anneliese looked at them thoughtfully.
“No time,” Argrave shook his head. “We can handle all of this later.”
“We can,” she agreed, though her tone carried the implication that ‘can’ didn’t mean ‘should.’
Argrave tapped his hand against his knee, and then rose to his feet, looking up at the roots where faces peeked out. He thought back to a long time ago, and conjured memories of how to deal with children.
“You dryads seem to like my Brumesingers. They’re cute, aren’t they?” Argrave began softly.
“No!” one of them said loudly.
“Hate them,” one groaned.
“Thieves,” one hissed.
“Nasty furry things,” one spat.
“Best on a spit,” one giggled.
“Or a tanning rack,” the last of them finished.
Argrave held his arms out. “What did they steal from you? Maybe I can give it back.”
Silence persisted for a while, and then the dryads grew quiet. It was like a bubbling classroom suddenly brought to heel.
“They’ve stolened nothing... yet,” the first said.
“But they want to,” another whined.
“Should we just wait until they do?” the next posited.
“If we hate before they steal, they might not be able to steal,” the first joined back in.
“Worked in the past,” one supported the idea.
“Working so far,” they all concluded at once.
A chorus of rancorous laughter punctuated this conclusion of theirs, and Batbayar looked at them in confusion.
“They’re not normally so... prejudicial,” he told Argrave.
“You don’t have to steal to get what you want,” Argrave continued undaunted. “You can trade. But to give something to you as good as what they want, I need to know what they want,” he chose simple words, just wanting to get to the bottom of this.
“They want our mist!” one of them yelled.
“It protects us.”
“Blinds our enemies.”
“Does... other things. Mother will remember.”
Argrave turned away from the dryads for a brief moment, largely to be sure that they didn’t notice any of the greed that was undoubtedly on his face. Bastards after my own heart, he thought as he looked down at them. I’m proud of you, little ones.
They had already experienced one aspect of the dryads’ mist coming in: the blindness. This was no minor affliction, either. It was largely permanent, as it didn’t just gunk up your retinas but rather rot the eyeball out. Onychinusa or Orion might’ve been able to recover from such a thing, but in most normal cases it would’ve spelled another trip to the hills of Vysenn to cure missing-part syndrome. Of course, a blessing from the dryads immunized one to its effects.
Beyond that, the dryad mist had various other effects, all of them debuffs. Magic was greatly dampened within them, the body was more sluggish... a whole slew of nastiness. Argrave had never heard of Brumesingers being capable of using dryad mist, but he’d be foolish not to try when the foxes themselves seemed to view it as feasible.
The Brumesingers had come in handy several times in the past. Their mist apparitions were portable soldiers, capable of distracting even abominations like the Shadowlander. Orion may owe these creatures his life. But with this? They would be more than useful-- they could become a core of his arsenal, doubly so as he obtained A-rank druidic spells.
“Okay... that’s established,” Argrave looked up again, where the dryads continued to jeer. “But you must have something you want. Everybody does. Even if you don’t think so, maybe we can help you get it.”
“We want. We do,” one dryad said.
“But we’re not thieves. Sad,” the next moped.
“Great!” Argrave tried not to sound overly enthusiastic, but he couldn’t help it. “What is it you want?”
Silence reigned, and Argrave looked to Anneliese, who seemed just as fascinated by this ordeal as he was.
“Old lady’s help. Really old lady,” the first dryad dared.
“Unwrinkled hag! Why isn’t her back bent?” the last asked with a child’s innocent curiosity.
“She’s like the old caretakers. Didn’t they die?”
Argrave blanked for a few moments, and then turned his head to Onychinusa.
“Me?” she placed a hand to her chest.
“What are the dryads talking about?” Batbayar looked between Argrave and Onychinusa-- perhaps the pieces were already put together in his head.
Complications rose up in Argrave’s head. Time was of the essence, he knew this. But now the cat—or perhaps in this case, the fox—was out of the bag. And perhaps, just perhaps... he’d be able to tie the dryads into this conflict while securing a huge boon for himself. A small cherry to the world of hurt he hoped to deliver.
Have your cake, eat it too, Argrave... he reminded himself. But if there were two cakes? By the good lord, I need every advantage I can get fighting this nightmarish scenario...
But there was a problem. Namely, the white-haired ancient elf, who seemed rather indignant now that she knew the dryads called her 'hag.' He didn’t have an inkling why the dryads would need her help.
This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢