Griffon’s Watch

  Doctor Haylock sat back in his chair and breathed, readjusting to the psychic shock that accompanied the death of a Blood-controlled Host.

  He hadn’t felt such psychic discharge for quite some time. The feeling, coupled with the ecstasy of having an Archon under his whims was…intoxicating.

  Behind him, the hulking Thaddeus was waiting, ready to wipe the bloodspots from his nose. He was hastily waved away.

  “Your concern is appreciated, sweet Thaddeus,” Haylock said, manipulating the bleeding to stem its flow and push it back into his naval cavity. “But your efforts would be better served elsewhere. The Archon and his friends will be coming soon. And they must be provided for.”

  The Flesh Golem nodded in the darkness of the prison dungeons, his form deaf to the howls of agony that were singing all around him – a chorus of suffering that was music to his Master’s ears.

  “Let him walk through fire to come to us,” the Doctor continued, thinking back to the berserk face of the little hat-wearing creature that had ended his Spectator squad. “Go to Sentinel, Thaddeus, and meet the demon hat. Let him build up all that animal rage that flows in his veins. Then let him arrive on our shores, ready for the final act.”

  “It will – be done – my Lord.”

  Thaddeus then thundered away, leaving his master cloaked in darkness, listening to the chorus of suffering as it reached its crescendo.

  The Doctor grinned in satisfaction, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palms as he remembered the Archon’s crimson eye staring into him as his puppet perished.

  I’m coming for you.

  Haylock grinned, biting his upper lip till it split.

  Life had just gotten a whole lot more…compelling.

  …

  Ethan's feet pounded against the mossy ground of the Grove as he sprinted down the winding hallways, the distant sound of a scream echoing through the earthen corridors. His breath came fast, and his eye burned with urgency. Malak kept pace beside him, his age-defying speed surprising, though his expression remained calm.

  “Who is it?” Malak asked, his tone even but with a thread of concern.

  “Tara,” Ethan growled, his teeth gritting as he pushed himself faster. “Don’t worry, I’m just surprised she hasn’t killed anyone yet.”

  Malak’s brows furrowed, but he didn’t press further, his attention turning to the approaching noise. The screams had become more frantic, and as they rounded a corner, they came upon a room that opened wide into a circular space lined with glowing fungi and vines hanging from the ceiling like a natural tapestry.

  At its center, Tara had a male druid pinned against a wall, her dagger pressed firmly to his neck. The druid’s wild eyes darted between her blade and her own feral glare, his throat moving in terrified gulps as he tried not to breathe too deeply.

  “Tara,” Ethan called, his voice carrying enough weight to momentarily freeze the scene.

  Her ears twitched at the sound of his voice, but her dagger didn’t lower. Instead, it twitched in her hand, pressing a little deeper into the man’s neck. A thin bead of blood trailed down into his graying beard.

  From the walls of the chamber, shapes began to emerge. Ethan tensed as the Drytchlings—the sentient tree-humanoids of the Grove—stepped forward. Their limbs twisted and groaned like aged oak as they raised weapons crafted from their own bodies: spears of bark and jagged wooden blades that glowed faintly with green energy. Their lambent eyes locked onto Tara with unwavering focus.

  “Stand down!” Ethan roared, his voice carrying the force of his Roar ability.

  The Drytchlings froze, their glowing eyes flickering uncertainly. Even Tara flinched, though her grip on the dagger didn’t loosen.

  “Tara!” Ethan stepped forward, his tone softer now, though his eye remained locked on hers. “It’s me.”

  Her gaze darted to him, her pupils wild and feral, her tail lashing behind her like a whip. She looked like a cornered animal, ready to strike at any moment. Slowly, her eyes focused on Ethan, recognition flickering across her face.

  “Ethan,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Who the hell are these people?”

  Ethan stopped a few feet from her, keeping his hands visible and his posture calm. “They’re here to help.”

  “Bullshit,” she spat, her blade twitching against the druid’s neck. “They’re human. This is a trap.”

  The druid whimpered softly, his hands pressed against the wall in surrender. Ethan clenched his jaw, but before he could speak, footsteps echoed down the corridor behind him.

  Fauna and Klax entered, both supported by their own druid helpers. Fauna looked pale but determined, while Klax had an arm slung over a young female druid who was helping him limp forward. Both hybrids immediately took in the scene, their eyes widening.

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  “Tara,” Fauna said, her voice soothing but firm. “You need to trust Ethan. Follow his lead.”

  Klax grunted, his golden eyes narrowing on the blade at the druid’s throat. “Stand down, Tara. If Ethan says they’re with us, they’re with us.”

  Ethan and Tara locked eyes again, the tension between them palpable. Tara’s grip on the dagger tightened, her knuckles turning white, but then her shoulders slumped. Her ears lowered, and a faint tremble ran through her body.

  With a shaky hand, she released the druid, letting him collapse to the ground in a heap. The dagger slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor, and Tara staggered back, her legs wobbling beneath her.

  “Ethan…” she whispered, her voice faint and pained. “I don’t… I don’t feel right.”

  Ethan lunged forward, catching her just as her knees buckled. Her weight was light in his arms, but the tremors running through her body were strong. “I’ve got you,” he murmured.

  Behind them, Fauna’s shout rang out. “Lamphrey, what are you doing?!”

  Ethan turned his head sharply to see Lamphrey standing in the shadows of the room’s entrance, her staff raised and glowing with a sinister green light. Fauna smacked the staff away with her own, the two staves clashing with a sharp crack.

  “Stop it!” Fauna yelled, her ears flattened against her head. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Lamphrey’s tongue flicked out briefly, but she lowered her staff, her expression unreadable. “The Minxit was… agitated. I was merely trying to calm her.”

  Ethan narrowed his eye at the lizardwoman, his grip on Tara tightening. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  Malak stepped forward, kneeling beside the fallen druid and inspecting the shallow cut on his neck. It was clear he was feeling the palpable sense of disquiet that had just settled among the group. “There’s no need to apologize,” Malak said, his tone calm but pointed. “Tensions are high. That much is understandable.”

  He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, murmuring something inaudible. The druid nodded weakly, clutching at his throat as he slowly sat up.

  Malak rose to his full height, brushing dirt from his robe. “But the Minxit is correct. You all deserve an explanation for why you’ve been brought here.”

  Ethan looked down at Tara, her head resting against his chest as her breathing slowed. “Agreed,” he said, his voice firm.

  Malak’s glowing green eyes scanned the group, his expression grave but understanding. “Come,” he said, gesturing toward the corridor. “Let us return to the center of the Grove. There is much to discuss.”

  …

  Fire, as it turned out, was banned in the Grove of the Fifth Pillar.

  But it also turned out they really didn’t need it.

  The pool surrounding the ancient tree at its center practically radiated warmth. Its touch was like the kiss of a summer’s day on Ethan and his companion’s nicked skin, soothing for both body and soul. Though first apprehensive, Klax followed Ethan’s lead and took a dip in the pool, instantly feeling its restorative energies course through him.

  “This…we need some of this water for Sanctum, no doubt.”

  They weren’t alone. According to Malak, it was common for the Druids of the Grove to bathe completely nude in the waters of the Albion – what Malak said was the name for the tree. Ethan wasn’t exactly interested in seeing more old ass than was necessary…but he couldn’t pass up the power in these waters.

  For Klax’s part, he didn’t seem to mind. He let himself soak right up to his snout, the waters coursing through his fur.

  “Faun?” he called to their companion. “You really must try this.”

  The Hopla was blushing at the lip of the pool, clutching at her robe.

  “Uh…I’ll hang by here. Dip my toes…yeah…”

  Old Malak turned to smile at her. “As you wish, Hopla Fauna. If you would prefer, our female members can take you and your other friends to another quarter of the Albion’s pool. Though we Druids believe we are all one body on this earth, we understand the desire for privacy.”

  Fauna nodded as some of the Order’s female members gestured towards the other end of the pool where they had brought Tara for a soak.

  “Faun,” Ethan said. “Look after her, ‘kay? I’m counting on you.”

  The Hopla nodded once before departing with her staff still clutched tightly to her bosom.

  “Your care for your companions is admirable, Archon Ethan,” Malak said.

  Ethan gave him a cautious nod.

  Just pretend this isn’t weird. Just pretend you always bathe with ancient tree men and wolfmen…

  You aren’t much good at pretending, you know.

  Ethan sighed. That much was true…

  He took the spare time during his soak to upgrade a few of his skills – noticing that his Spirit Core count stood at a respectable 2000 after his battle with the Golems. Thinking back, he could still feel his skin crawl as he imagined their rotting, monstrous forms. And the tendrils of the Doctor that tugged at his limbs…

  It had been a role-reversal that, if he was being honest, he’d had a long time coming. He’d felt exactly what it was to lose himself to another. And he was never going to let it happen again.

  Ethereal Form (Grade C)

  [Mass Phase] unlocked – giving you and up to three other creatures the {Phase} property

  Spirit Core Cost to Upgrade further: 1200

  Roar (Grade S)

  [Flay Wail] unlocked

  If an enemy’s HP <40, a successful [Roar] attack shatters their skull.

  Spirit Cores Remaining: 450

  That’ll do it, he thought. Let’s see that old bastard try and mess with us now. He can’t hurt what he can’t touch. And he can’t do shit if his brains have been bashed in.

  These comforting thoughts brought him a moment of peace, and so he turned to the old man beside him:

  “I suppose I haven’t thanked you, yet,” he said as he soaked, feeling the waters seep into even the pores of his small Host.

  “Your thanks are not necessary, Archon,” Malak replied. “Your very presence here is more than compensation. The roots of the Albion shared a vision of your eventual coming, and so you are here.”

  Ethan followed the gaze of the old man as he looked up at the venerable old tree, its branches cascading round the walls of the Grove and forming the ring of balconies where the Druids of the Order all slept.

  “You have questions,” Malak said. “Ask them of me, and I will answer.”

  Ethan met Klax’s eyes as they opened and stared at the old man. He was curious, himself, but nodded for his Archon to make the first move.

  “We’ve heard rumors of you guys,” he said. “That you’re some kind of anti-human band of…humans…”

  Malak chuckled, closed his eyes and sighed. “That’s what they say about us. That’s what they’ve always said.”

  “The city dwellers, right?”

  Malak flashed a thin smile, then nodded at the tower tattoo on his shoulder.

  “They fear what will happen on the day the Archon rises and snuffs out their Greycloak overlords. They fear this, because they have been taught to. In their schools. By their parents. They have not listened to what the earth says – what it has been saying for a long, long time.”

  Klax’s ears perked up. “And that is?”

  “That this will be the last great war,” Malak replied coolly. “And that you, Ethan, shall triumph.”

  Iron Lung Writes

  The Iron Guild