One Moo'r Plow

B2-Chapter 19: Red sun, red blood.

It was by mutual agreement that all of us held our word in regards to Lerishs custody. What the Red Cleric did not know would not hurt her. Or so we hoped. Her services were necessary, but her knowing about the Apex and how the druids managed to control an otherwise unassuming woman was not.

Velton had teleported her onto the farm, briefly hugged his daughter and vanished again. Now, we sat in worried silence as she called on the powers of her patron deity and dug deep into her work. Lerish protested, of course. She had little use for clerics, I remembered.

With good reason too.

Strange. The crimson-cloaked woman spoke after a few moments.

What is? The nerves were obvious in Ishilas voice.

The Red Godlings gift refuses to touch her.

There was suspicion in her voice now. I cursed under my breath, trying to keep my face straight. This was necessary.

My God is one more lenient than most. She remarked. Only the mark of some great heresy would see you refused their touch.

Or being half-monster. But that, I left unsaid.

Fortunate then, that she does not require healing of the physical. I grunted. We are more worried about mana toxins and corrosion. Words that I did not fully grasp, but Tehalis had stressed as important.

Her body seems to be shedding those at a remarkable rate. The woman spoke after a moment of examination. Again, not what I am used to seeing. Likely the effect of some Skill I was not made familiar with. And since you saw fit to call to me over it, neither were you.

I admitted as much.

That aside, my more physical expertise shows she suffers from chronic malnourishment, poor sleep, muscle atrophy likely connected to the prior two.

And this cannot be healed away? I asked, simply out of curiosity.

You have just requested I not use my gifts on her. She stated the obvious.

Yes.

Do you know then, how healing magic works?

I do not. I admitted as much.

Unsurprising. Few bother with it aside from when they require it to fix their worries.

Silence followed this.

It is a uniquely divine power. One and all, we are all shaped in the image of some God Above. A path laid out for us, a body chosen. Should we stray from that path or find the road too rough for us, through divinity can we be guided back onto it.

A simpler explanation, perhaps? I suggested.

Your body is an image. One set in stone, yet constantly shifted and mutateable as you grow into more and more gifts. Through divine power, by the will of the Gods Above alone, can it be returned back to that image whenever it strays.

Each body has a set template to which it is returned? I summed it up, curiosity growing. In a world of constant growth, evolution, and change, this seemed a great strangeness.

If you wish to describe it in such a gauche, artistic term. She shrugged. Then yes.

With all this said and done, your friend seems to be in no immediate danger. Although I would caution her against whatever fire she has been playing with. There are only so many times the body can stand to be burnt.

With that, she stood from her small seat next to the bed and once more curled her crimson cloak around her body.

My work lies completed. I have more patients than require my attendance back at the fort. She raised an eyebrow at Ishila.

The young half-orc looked around, unsure of what to do.

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If your father could be so kind as to teleport me back?

I, uhhh.

Velton seems to have, unfortunately, disappeared. I informed her, wince in my tone. He does that.

So I will be walking all the way back up the mountain. She spoke stiffly.

Perhaps not.

I still had a singular horse and was the proud owner of one cart. I knew, however, that I would not be going. My weight was simply too much for the horse to pull. I needed someone lighter. Convenient was it it then, that dawn had cracked the sky and my workforce was rising for a new day. Several moments later, I had rustled up a wholly unenthusiastic drow from his breakfast and tasked him with the drive.

His expression mostly disappeared once he clapped eyes on the cleric. It was mine that shifted in surprise when he gave her a sweeping bow and kissed her hand. While unimpressed, I noticed that she did not outright shrug off his thickly-lain charms.

It was not long before he and the cleric disappeared from the farm, and we were left in peace.

She was there. Lerish grunted, sitting upright on my bed as I brewed a cup of wakeleaf for her. Perhaps not the best thing for her to drink right now, but she requested some.

There arose a sinking feeling in my gut as I turned back to the two.

Who? I asked, already having levied a guess.

Valencia. I smelled her, even inside the pit. They hid me from her. She rasped, still tormented by pain. A few moments of rest, and her voice became clear. I could smell their terror, even from down there. Dont think she sensed me.

The knot in my gut was well and truly there. This was the first we had heard of the dreadknight since she had vanished inside the dungeon. Now she roamed free once more, her leash well and truly slipped. Wherever she went, malice followed.

Do you know what business she had with them?

A shaken head was my response.

She threatened them, I know as much. Told them to stay away from somewhere. But I was already exhausted when she came, and could make out little else. She left soon after and didnt return.

There was some relief that the dreadknight was not conspiring with those who wished me harm, although she was undoubtedly among their ranks. I had little need of an enemy like her, especially now. If there was a truly good God Above, our paths would never have to cross again. Yet I know to expect otherwise. To this entire, ungodly mess, the tendrils of hatred had now been added.

She would infect and destroy everything, I knew. Yet I was uniquely uneager to seek her out. For all the boons I had received once the ArnThema godling had been slain, she had taken as equal share. How much stronger was she now? She had already decisively bested me in single combat.

I chose not to think about what could come next.

The details of Lerishs captivity were painful. I sat and watched as she sipped wakebrew and recounted what she had experienced. At first, she had roamed the woods simply to take time away from everyone and hide from Ishila.

Something called to her, growing stronger with time as animals began to follow her instead of running in fright. When confronted by the druids, she has shifted into her Apex form. A mistake. While she had stayed mortal, their influence had been dull, but the second she turned from demihuman to monster, it had seized control.

A prisoner in her own body, she had been caged and suffered for weeks. The druids had planned to lure me there all along, not simply after I had made peace with Ironmoor. I was a blemish on the mountain, the symptom of a larger disease. This I had known from my own encounter with them. They were adamant about uprooting me. To the point where they had not tried to pit Lerish and Valencia against each other despite the dreadknights terrifying presence.

This had been the strength of their conviction. The more I listened, the stronger my belief grew that I ahd done the right thing by ridding the world of them.

Hours leaked away as Lerish shared what she saw fit to share. I did my best, and simply listened. Noon came and went. And eventually, so did the duo. The cart returned, and then left once more as Ishila drove Lerish away. She would be better off at Veltons farm, I was told, and I believed her.

The tension in the back of my skull followed me outside and through the workday. It refused to abate, residing there through the next several days. Always there, always tense. The farm grew at a brisk pace, fields planted, a proper pathway lain through the forest towards more fields. Buildings rose with quickening speed, the lumberjacks Skills letting them dry freshly hewn wood and erect buildings as quickly as one might please.

And through it all, the pressure grew. Something approached. We had just avoided trouble, and more came on the horizon. My sleep proved uneasy and empty, no drop of fulfillment wrung from it. Headaches mounted all the while.

A second meeting with the baron proved more fruitful as I announced his druid problem had been taken care of. Although I left out the details of why I had seen fit to dispose of it all. I had garnered a grudging respect for the man, and a promise to reconsider offers of trade. This time, thankfully, the nobles of house Ramsey-Pratt were gone.

No surprises awaited me in the castle. The same could not be said for once I had left.

I stopped dead on my journey home, right at the crossroads where the road turned up the mountain. Tracks covered the ground here, deep prints sunken into the packed road.

Large hoofprints, uniquely shaped and distinct from those of horses. Space at a familiar stride. Sunken deep, almost as if considerable weight was applied straight down, not spread over an area.

My blood ran cold as my sleep-deprived mind put together all the pieces, even as my eyes traced their path up the mountain.

Minotaurs. A small warbands worth.

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