Vraxious- The Forsaken Lands
Vrax cursed inwardly as he looked down from the rocky outcropping. He was splayed like a spider, arms and legs wide, up a small buttress of stone on the very edges of where the green-brown trees gave way. Leading out into a blackened layer of ash that rose ominously with every footfall. The trees here burned down to the core except for small patches that somehow missed out on nature's wrath. Standing tall as defiant streaks of green amidst the sea of ebony and charcoal.
This area tended to be cyclical in its devastation; raging fires sprung from the ground, casting swaths of an eerie blue flame. That would spread chaotically throughout the Ashen Stands, almost searching for the few patches of green left standing. Then there would be periods of time, months even, where the ground would calm and only scattered fires would hiss across the landscape. New life would begin to push forth from the ashen ground, and animals would return to the area. It was not a period of calm right now. From Vraxes' perch, it looked like he was staring into a blue- and black-tinged hellscape. Towering infernos rose across the land, and trails of blue fire streaked across the ground like the veins of an eldritch god. He could actually see ash-bound beasts wandering in the distance. predatory figures searching for anything living that had been forced from its shelter by the smoke and heat. Worst of all was the fucking merchant camp he could see set just off to the side of the ashlands. Vrax sighed deeply. Those guys would complicate things. Assuming the idiots weren’t all dead yet.
[Ember Balm] was a fascinating plant growing in small clusters with a thick, stalk-like stem topped by a round bulb. It was a uniform, waxy orange color with no leaves at all. It only grew successfully in magically dense areas and only those that had extreme temperatures. Meaning right now in that hellscape those plants were growing like crazy, whipping back and forth to bob their bulbs into the precious flames. Obviously they were completely fireproof, thriving off the magical heat unlike almost anything else in this area. [Ember balm] in large quantities always inspired a gold rush-like greed; it was worth a staggering amount to create professions. The alchemist used it as the primary ingredient in many fireproofing balms and fire-resistance potions. A skilled blacksmith with enough of it can make truly fireproof armor. Vrax had seen that kind of armor before, here actually. He stumbled on a charred corpse in completely unbothered leather armor. That particular find had funded a fair few weeks of debauchery for him and Torvald.
With a determined sigh, Vrax clambered down from his perch and headed towards the nearest patch of [Ember balm] he had seen. With a deft hop over a small crackling line of blue flame, he approached the plant. It had all of its bulbs pressed into the thin line of fire along the ground. A small vortex of blue flame was being swallowed by each bulb. Vrax carefully pulled out some wire and lassoed several of the bulbs, pulling them out of the fire and towards himself. With a few well-practiced slashes of his dagger, he had three bulbs in his hand already oozing a glowing, tingling sap across his fingers. Vrax quickly took two and placed them into a jar for later. Taking the third, he painstakingly dripped it across his hands and face and then robes, trying to get an even distribution.
I would give an alchemist a fucking stroke using it like this. One bulb is enough for what? an entire jar of fireproofing balm. I think those sell for an entire gold coin if they are made well enough. Ehh, better than burning alive. Vrax chuckled to himself while splashing almost a gold's worth of raw materials on his boots.
He stopped just as he was finishing making sure the hem of his cloak was moistened. The sound of a distant shout sent me to the cover of a still smoldering log a few dozen strides deeper into the ashen hellscape. Vrax pulled his cowl up and wrapped a moistened cloth across his nose and mouth; the smoke was already omnipresent. Ahead he could see two figures scuffling with a four-legged ashen beast. A boom sounded out as one armored figure with a warhammer sent a blast of wind ripping through the forest. The ash-bound beast cartwheeled into the distance, landing with a thud in a pool of fire at the base of a boulder. The blast of wind had also sent every bit of ash coating the ground skyward, turning that entire direction into a thick bank of black specks.
Oh yeah, those guys are going to pull something you can’t handle. What idiot uses a wind blast here?
As if on cue, Vrax heard a man farther ahead calling out for help, followed by a deep, hungry rumble of a growl that sent birds flying from the trees in the distance. Vrax’s eyes opened wide in recognition, and he started putting more distance between himself and the merchant camp. He heard the man start to shout out for the guard once again but be cut short as a whipping snap rang out through the trees. Vrax couldn’t see through the morass of ash the guards had kicked up, but neither could the Voruk out there currently working its way through the caravan gatherings.
Vrax jumped over another vein of fire, breaking into the stealthiest jog he could manage. At this point, he didn’t fancy the caravan’s chances unless they had sprung for the insane cost of a tier-3 guard or at least some very skilled tier-2 warriors. He vaulted a series of burning logs, trusting his fireproofing to protect him, barreling through a veritable wall of fire at the end of his mad scramble rather than waste precious time finding another route. He burst out into a circular clearing untouched by the fire, a small patch of radiant grass in the center standing defiant against the devastation beyond. Unfortunately, there was also an [ash-bound wolf] dripping flakes of fire as it stalked through the center of the clearing, its malevolent empty eyes swinging towards him as soon as he entered the clearing.
Vrax didn’t slow down; he flashed [Identify] at the grass, confirming it was what he thought it was, and sprinted towards the center of the clearing where the grass was thickest as the wolf rounded on him. Vrax dived over a patch of the grass, tumbling to a careful stop in a small empty space in the dead center. The wolf circled around him curiously. Huffing with its charred maw. “Come on, fuck Vrax shouted at the wolf, trying to get it to charge. His spear was held in front of him, braced against the ground. Vrax couldn’t help but glance back towards the sounds of battle starting to ring from the merchants’ camp.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The wolf took his moment of distraction as the perfect opportunity and leapt at him. Vrax dropped flat, the wolf's paws scraping at his back as it missed him. The wolf landed in the grass with a disconcerting slicing sound. Vrax sprung up, swinging his spear around in a wide arc at the wolf's back leg. It had leapt into the patch of [Fool's Radiance], aazor wire-like grass that was devastatingly sharp, and now every movement it took was shredding its paws and feet. The wolf whipped around towards Vrax's provocation, further shredding its paws. exposed black bone showing through the charred skin.
Vrax lunged forward, pushing his spear into its chest, trying to hold it in the grass. Its snapping maw almost ripped the spear from Vrax's hands as it savagely tried to shake the spear free. Vrax twisted with his whole body, trying to leverage the spear sideways. The wolf's torn tendons were enough to throw it off balance, and he was able to heave it onto its side in the deadly grass. Holding it there as it thrashed violently trying to free itself. Vrax held on for dear life as the creature sliced itself to ribbons, rendering at least two of its legs useless. With a deft step back and then a lunge forward, Vrax pulled the spear free from its chest and shoved it into the gullet of the grounded monster. With one final savage push, Vrax felt it finally slump, and a wave of essence flowed to him.
[Ash-bound Wolf Tier 1]( lvl8) Slain
[Excess Essence Lost]
Vrax barely even acknowledged the system prompt, using the corpse of the wolf as a bridge to spring free from the patch of grass and continue dashing out of the clearing. He spent another minute vaulting from burned-out stump to stump, avoiding the ground of a particularly chaotic patch of flames. He leapt from a final stump to the hanging branches of a tree ahead using his momentum in a well-practiced motion. He caught the branch just long enough to throw his feet forward, tossing himself over one last pool of fire. Hands extended out, he rolled over his shoulder, lessening the impact and bringing the tumble back to a graceful sprint.
Vrax huffed heavily; the smoke, even through his impromptu mask, was starting to tear at his lungs. He needed to find somewhere to hole up; just running like this would be almost as dangerous as getting caught by the apex predator somewhere behind him. Ahead he could see one promising spot: a burned-out tree trunk that had thick, cascading roots protruding all around the base, creating a tent-like opening he could squeeze into. Vrax slid in at a dead sprint. Quickly he shuffled loose ash in front of the opening, closing himself off. His breath heaved in the enclosed space almost deafeningly as he peered through the slight gaps in the shelter of roots. Eyes unfocused straight ahead, hoping for motion to catch his attention. A few tense minutes passed with nothing but the faint crackling of nearby fire and his slowly calming breaths to be heard. Then his enhanced ears heard the soft thuds of leather boots on ash as a figure emerged from the smoke, running with a longsword in one hand and a shield in the other.
The man whirled defensively as something malignant burst from the smoke behind him. It had a form similar to a scorpion. Six legs and a low-slung body, but from there it diverged. Black and red scales swirled along its body. A head like a dragon's jutted forward longingly towards the man, its jaws opening in four distinct directions. Backwards-leaning teeth the length of a man's arm crowded the jaws uncomfortably. Four thick tails ending in clawed appendages sprung from its back, spread wide above its body, ready to strike. Vrax’s identity confirmed what he already knew: that man was about to die horribly in front of him [Voruk2] (lvl 46).
Vrax held his breath, knowing he couldn’t do a damn thing, and if he was detected, he would just be added to the ashlands. This wasn’t even an ashbound voruk; these idiots had been so loud they had drawn one from farther into the forest. The man held his shield valiantly ahead of him, hexagonal barriers of turquoise light layering over his shield and body. One of the Voruks’s tails snapped out tentatively, striking from a dozen strides away, the sheer speed creating a crack in the air and a delayed explosion of ash along its path. The blow landed squarely into the warrior’s shield, shattering half of the layers of light in a scattered shower of blue sparks.
He attempted to sever the tail in return, but another tail struck out, catching his arm in its grasp mid-swing. The third and fourth tails snapped out, one cracking his leg with the force, the other piercing a shoulder and slowly, casually lifting him into the air. The man struggled fiercely for a moment, dropping his shield and tearing the claw free from his shoulder. With a pained scream, he now dangled in the air from the broken leg. A flash of mana saw a shockwave of deep blue punch forth from the man's sword, throwing him clear of the voruk. It almost curiously looked at the now bleeding stump of its tail, already knitting itself back together from its unholy [talent]. Vrax cringed; nothing that lethal should have a regeneration power that strong. The man tore himself from the ground, ash covering his body stuck to the now free-flowing blood across his chest and face.
The guard raised a hand. An impressive amount of mana swirled in Vraxes' sight as he coalesced that same beautiful blue light into a crystal as long as he was tall, hovering in front of his outstretched hand.
The Voruk cocked its head curiously as the spire of crystal screamed towards it at inhuman speeds. Faster than Vrax could follow, the voruk skittered to the side, catching the projectile and whipping in a massive arc, releasing it even faster than it had been thrown at it. Vrax saw the man's final layer of magic utterly shatter as his own spell hit him with such force his top half simply exploded, the spire of blue crystal zipping into the far distance past Vrax.
And there is the other kicker to those fucking things: they have an honest-to-god innate mana manipulation skill that can try and counter damn near everything. You can't kill it with a sword unless you are a demigod, and any mage is just as likely to have their damn fireball thrown right back at them.
Vrax held his breath as it almost sedately reached over near his hiding spot to grasp the remains of the man. It calmly walked back towards the merchants' camp with its dripping prey hoisted above its body, disappearing back into the smoke it had burst from. Vrax let out a very needed breath of air, almost coughing on the smoke-choked air. He still had a ways to go if he didn’t want to be in the burning woods after dark, and he certainly did not
