CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

“SAVING... SAVED.”

In the church of the hogsect, the dwarf, with cape of wet clothes, met the wagging tail and affection of Speedy barking and running trails of mud. Nearby Joshua nodded as if aware of the trials its master endured. Waspig burst from the flap in the recently constructed front door, fluttering over and smothering the dwarf. It warmed him as well to observe his available flock and see no signs of malnourishment--but their stores were low, he feared.

Following the love that blossomed from his creatures, the dwarf untied his cape and staggered past the doors into the sun. He hung his gi, obi, and pouch from branches. He went to his crops to observe their progress and found them more or less the same but with the loss of beetroot. A failure, it was destined for compost. The dwarf returned to the church somewhat sullen and fell onto the remnants of carpet...

“Woah,” came a stunned Funguayou. “What happened to you?”

The dwarf, out of exhaustion than spite, said nothing, merely shut his eyes and returned to sleep. When he next woke, it was a cloud smothered dark, and he perceived beside himself a stout crate of what appeared to be supplies. He reached out to touch it but the dwarf’s fingers came to his face instead, feeling along scars. The dwarf fell asleep again and would not wake until the light of the next day, warmer than ever. Even the tall roof and cold stones could not resist the heat’s entering, and the dwarf blamed the web, turning over. He could not maintain the pose long, his body replenished and yearning to stretch. Swinging his tired back forward, the dwarf realized the supplies to his side to be of no dream. Topping the short crate was a layer of prophetic ointments. Below, hog feed and potatoes. And although it at first shocked the dwarf, he scooted the crate to find a leaning package of mushroom loaf.

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO RELOCATE?”

The dwarf promised himself he was not torturing the web bound Caltraz, delivering bits of the loaf to the bandit’s resisting mouth. It was awkward maneuvering the face clearly disinterested in the meal, but the dwarf persisted for Caltraz’ sake. Worse, he doubted himself by the end, wondering if eating was well a concept with no means of exit. The dwarf knew himself out of his depth, and on returning to the chapel nearest the mossy cottage, he decided he needed to pay the doctor a visit. It was just as well he could give proper thanks to Funguayou, his pain lessened by application. Arriving on foot, the dwarf knocked at the door below moss and was welcomed in, Funguayou jumping and closing the door behind.

“You put some of that on?” asked the fungus. The dwarf nodded. “Good, yea, so where you’ve been? And don’t think my sitting was free, buddy. I may count on you some day to help with mine.” And the buddy shuddered. “Talk, though, I want to know. That’s some mark on your face.” And the dwarf went on to explain his capture by the bandits of the plain, hesitating after their mention, unsure of Funguayou’s knowing or not. “You put a sword to their boss, yea. What’s her fate now? What? You’ve one of her men--afflicted? Hey, I don’t know what you’re talking about. You better go see dad, I’ve got to take the flock walking--The Canticle gets restless. Don’t be a stranger, dwarf.”

Down into the cellar the dwarf went and fast he came to Mallow’s lab, the layout of the intricate tunnels beneath certainly well trod.

“What is it... What?” the doctor gaped. “What has happened to your face?”

Rather than explain all as he had to Funguayou, the dwarf opted to direct the conversation to Caltraz.

“Silent but grunts, you say,” confirmed Mallow. “That could be many things. He could be mad.”

The dwarf mentioned the blue vines and leaves.

“Abandon the bandit as he would you. They aren’t souls for us to save. But tell me more of this dungeon. And skeletons, you said? Lit by candlefire, yes, I’ve come across such before. Your vanquishing of them with faith is commendable, dwarf. Bask in your victory in the safety of the steeple.”

But the dwarf persisted.

“What for? Throw your life away over other matters. You would not survive an encounter with the December Frost. You balk? Indeed, ‘decem’, in the old tongues meaning ‘death’, is its moniker for good reason. If you value your life, you will leave this be.”

The dwarf evidently did not.

“December Frost settles into the darkest nooks and crannies nature has access to. There may lie Frost within even the dwarfen ruin. They do not bother us for there is but one diet it has: adventurers and the stupid, and perhaps I repeat myself. But know this: your faith will never be enough to defeat it. Some part of it is indeed spirit, but much of it is authentic growth--you and I’s trust in higher judgment cannot be delivered to the still living. Do you understand? Or will you persist? What a terrible look in your eyes. And what a terrible dagger you seem to have there.”

Indeed the dwarf did sport the sword given by the same man he wished to save.

“It takes both: flesh and steel. And if you are to do it, you must protect yourself,” said the doctor, wandering out from the lab. The dwarf felt compelled to follow. Throughout the tunnels they traveled until arriving at a study. From a drawer the funguay produced a rosary, at the end of the beads a cross. Clearly offered freely, the dwarf, swept up in surprise, nodded in regained senses. The dwarf did consider asking of the origin of the shape of the cross but thought better of it and connected the beads around his neck, tucked into the gi. “I cannot explain how it will help, but the spirit that respects the order of life fears this rosary. Additionally, I suggest sap.”

But what could be done for Caltraz?

“He is restrained? Kill the Frost. Until then, his mind is forfeit.”

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO RELOCATE?”

Sullen eyes looked upon the bound Caltraz, encased in web from neck to toe. This is a bandit, the dwarf reminded himself. With Patches, he kidnapped the dwarf with the intent of making a slave of the rock digger. Though Caltraz was kind, what had he done? And the dwarf bitterly regret having to return to the dungeon and December Frost, to potentially save Patches and their chieftain. Would they be grateful? Would they turn on the dwarf? The latter seemed likely. An impulse flickered across his mind to drag Caltraz out into the wild and leave him be, to wash hands of the entire thing. But the dwarf’s lip quivered. He could not bring himself to consider it long. Turning away, he gestured towards a spider which inquisitively crawled towards. Exiting the steeple, the two made for the cliffside ruins.

Having parked the arachnid outside, the dwarf headed in past the bulky front entrance and tread cautiously the recently visited rooms now filled with ash and lifeless bones. The dwarf gulped at the first appearance of Frost, blue vines as stretched as ever down a disinviting tunnel. He balled his fists and proceeded.

A surprising amount of daylight let itself through gaps in the high ceiling above, blue vines stretching far upwards as it did to the dwarf’s geta. Before him writhed ocean blue tentacles and bloom, blossomed flowers running all down the squirming mass in the center of the cavern. Two tentacles held high grips on Patches and the chieftain, neither looking much animated. A third appendage reached out from the balled mess and came within some feet of the dwarf before stopping abruptly. Was it indeed the rosary?

From his hands the dwarf brought forth a pulsating line of light, whipping the air to his right. The inquisitive tentacle shot forward without warning, the dwarf attempting to reflect with ‘FAITH’ and failing. Stricken in the shoulder, the dwarf groaned but maintained posture, drawing his knife. The same tentacle again attacked and the dwarf responded quicker, slicing at the air somewhat haphazardly but enough to stir gushing blue out from his assailant. A high pitched squealing rang from the writhing mess ahead as the appendage retracted. Four, then, blasted from the December Frost with vicious intent, and the dwarf took off encircling the vegetation. One went for his leg to be promptly stabbed. The vine’s owner shrieked as three others dived down onto the dwarf next, one successfully managing the stout interloper into the air and onto the other side of the cavern. But he picked himself up and continued his campaign against the blue, running forward and plunging his knife deep into the mass ahead.

“ONE-HANDED SKILL INCREASED TO 7”

It failed to penetrate, and a tentacle whipped the dwarf from the blade’s hilt and into rock of which he did not so easily rise from. Another vine wrapped itself around his waist, subjecting the dwarf to centrifugal force. Before the speed became intense, the dwarf realized the vines navigated away from the slits in light despite his own ‘FAITH’ seemingly useless. The high velocity dwarf then plummeted straight into the earth.

“LOADING... LOADED.”

Unexpectedly returning to the lair of the bandits, the dwarf boxed up what food had yet perished or been taken. He wandered out and onto the parked spider with the crate of stolen goods and returned to the steeple for a strategic ‘SAVE’. Afterwards, the two headed for the dungeon and, before entering, the dwarf commanded his arachnid climb. At the top of the cliffs which held both ruin and limestone, the dwarf was rushed with a powerful breeze. Nature atop bent as well to the will of wind: what few trees sloped, and many bushes thinned. The surface seemed all flat and green, and that worked well to the dwarf’s forming plan. He turned round to face the smoking city of Nasteze, another fleet of vessels sailing out onto the horizon emitting trails of their own.

Riding back down to the heavy entrance of the dungeon, the dwarf navigated the layout of the interior slowly, soaking in each room and hallway, taking the stairways one slab at a time. On arrival to the ocean colored vine crawling cave, the dwarf turned and began retracing his steps, again carefully noting. At the weighted stone door both entrance and exit the dwarf chose neither and once again navigated the stone halls steady. He saw the blue tentacles again and headed back, this time indeed using the exit. After remounting his spider they once more mounted the cliffs, and at the flat green top the dwarf glanced downwards in confirmation of the stone door and, eyes then fixed ahead, walked. The nameless spider followed with interest, the dwarf commanding no stay. As below, the dwarf advanced at a slow pace, sometimes stopping for several minutes to adjust himself. He completed his harmless trek beneath the sun and stopped at several cracks in the grass. Their size minute, the dwarf may not have noticed them by any other method. But he did, and he produced a pickaxe of iron.

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 34”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 35”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 36”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 37”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 38”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 39”

“MINING SKILL INCREASED TO 40”...