BECMI Chapter 363 – Saber River
Grimbol’s report that there was some really old and powerful magic running through this place and infecting the river was spot on.
I let the waters of the largest river in Eislas fall through my fingers, wiping them off thoughtfully.
Curse Magic. A hugely powerful magical Curse, something that couldn’t be levied by a mortal, at least not without the use of several dozen Wishes.
Grimbol described four separate conditions, as relayed by the locals shunning the river right now. At the full moon, things that drank from the river went to sleep and were held in magical slumber until the next phase of the moon.
As the moon waned and waxed, things that drank from the river grew extremely violent, attacking anything that presented themselves. Man, beast, monster, didn’t matter, they attacked!
On the new moon, the things that drank from the waters died from a poison that turned their blood black, their bodies moldering with unnatural speed and claimed by the land before the next phase of the moon.
It was very magical, very powerful, and it led upriver.
Grimbol and his crew watched as I straightened from my examination of the waters. They’d certainly been busy with all the wandering monsters and beasts going after them and bothering the locals. There were no dominions out here, only independent barbarian tribes and clans in their local holdings, vulnerable to being swept away by dragons, giants, humanoid raids, or wandering beasts, meaning that they had to be tough and strong to survive, ready to fight back against what the wilds tried to take from them.
Descendants of the Iron Graf’s people, knowing the fickleness of Immortals and hanging on to what they had with everything. Worthy of respect, and hugely resistant to the idea of distant rulers ‘unifying’ everything. Wherever had empires ever got them?
I eyed the mixed group of dwarves and the human Clerics of Morning. Artificers were the closest thing to offensive spellcasters that they had, but the group was extremely good in close quarters, and could pull off some excellent Buffing magic and the occasional AoE to turn the tide in bigger engagements.
Of course, they had tons of Healing magic available, too. This situation wasn’t a great danger to them.
The teenaged blond human boy helping peel potatoes for the evening meal was a bit off, however.
Grimbol followed my glance knowingly. “Survivor of one of the farm raids. Bin tagging along, can’t get rid of him, can’t lose him.”
That meant more than just the words. “He’s part of this. Did he latch onto you before or after you announced you were heading to this Sage of the River?” I asked quietly.
Grimbol looked at the sky, eyes narrowed, as he reviewed the conversations he’d had out here. “After,” the dwarf-priest finally admitted narrowly. “Seemed pretty excited to go see this Sage. Natives said the Sage bin a famously powerful elder with magical powers.”
“Interesting. Word of him never spread beyond this area, strangely enough.” We gave each other another of those knowing looks.
“Immortal shite,” Grimbol grumbled with a curt nod. “What bin we do?”
“Play the game, see how interesting it gets. The boy isn’t a threat, so just treat him well. How he’s involved is something you have to discover.”
Grimbol nodded again. “Alright. What about you?”
“I’m going to trace the infection upstream and see what I can see there.” It was a very powerful Curse, but it was tied to the river. Rivers had headwaters, so if this Curse was flowing downstream and petering out as it reached the waters of Graffin Lake, it might be centered up there, for good or ill.
Graffin Lake represented the furthest writ of Aetla in this direction up Saber River. The island in the middle of the lake was being developed by a wealthy adventurer who didn’t care about the logistics of having to ship in everything, while also being nigh-invulnerable to normal invasions. Given the wide and broad expanses of the bay beyond and river leading up to it, it would make a decent port, too.
The Curse had begun the full moon after said would-be lord had announced his dominion there, and the fisherfolk and the like in the area had agreed to his authority.
Coincidence? Maybe.
Eh? Evil gathering?
I turned around to look at the river, seeing faint bubbles arising about a hundred yards out.
Dread’s Spear flicked out. Grimbol immediately bellowed, “To arms! We bin having company for dinner!” Forge was in his hand, and the sound of an open door to a furnace filled the air as it ignited with fire.
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With an unnatural keening shriek, magic coalesced on the river, took form, and erupted up off of it with unnatural speed and agility.
Curse-forms. I could see the rotting magic binding together the quasi-elemental forms. Vaguely insectile, with bat-like wings, mouthless faces, soulless eyes, and one arm that was little more than a bony curving scimitar. They were the green of spoiled lily pads and the black of the muck at the bottom of the river, looking like the rot they were made of.
The flock of them moved with unnatural coordination and agility, swirling up into a formation, and then diving down towards us with speed as everyone hustled together in a group.
Hey, I was on the ground, would you look at that?
I tapped Dread down even as I set it against the charge of the lead one diving on us, the thing emitting a screeching that looked to be coming from head-slits that were normally meant to be ears.
It was almost to me when the Stillflight reached up, knocking on King Gravity’s throne. He looked down, was instantly miffed that some stupid Curse was making fun of Him, and decided that no, they weren’t going to flying around in a beautifully-coordinated and deadly aerial formation at all, they weren’t.
The creature jerked and suddenly lost a foot of altitude, the reaching arm scything down between my legs instead of across my chest as the sucker impaled its nothing of a face on the Gold-edged blue-black of Dread’s Spear.
In between their eerily synchronous whine as they suddenly plummeted out of the sky and came smashing to the ground, a hole appeared in the middle of the faces of every one of the creatures.
“Swarmsoul!” I shouted, discharging Shards directly into my target and blasting it with terrifying amounts of power. Bits and pieces of its body blew off under the touch attack, but it was still writhing, still trying to hit me, even as the rest of the crew leapt forwards, Axes and Hammers raised high. “None of them will die until all of them die! Hit whatever is vulnerable and heap up the damage!”
Given the things had just slammed into the ground and were tottering from the combined effects of a spear through the head, a LOT of Shard damage shared between all of them, and combined concussions, they still managed to stagger up and try to coordinate flanking attacks on everyone.
The group stayed nice and tight, hacking and chopping with energy.
The human boy actually had a great idea. He leapt on one of the spindly things, which proved not to be overly strong, wrestled it down, and presented it to one of the dwarven hammerers. “Well done, Cutter!” the dwarf barked, and proceeded to start a smithing rhythm on the chest of the damn thing.
Bones or flesh or whatever cracked and healed, then was reflected across the swarm, which was rapidly accumulating the kind of collective damage that is not good for survival. We all watched the wounds accumulate, get deeper, and…
Grimbol’s Forge came down, and the head of his target exploded into ash and fire, followed instantly by the nineteen other things exploding only a heartbeat later. Everyone coughed and backed away from the stinking stuff, Cutter getting a face-full of it and looking like a coal miner as he released his opponent, which joined the others in turning into filthy muck with supernatural speed.
Vivus puffed up and cheerfully began to feast on the smelly remains. It was energetically spread by everyone, sticking their faces in it and cleaning the shite the things were made of off of themselves. Even Cutter got the treatment, cleaning up ‘all pretty-like, now’, as one of the dwarves put it, making him blush furiously.
Grimbol threw a glance at Duum, who was in small form hanging from a nearby tree, and hadn’t bothered to bestir himself. After all, it was something they could handle, and the Karma should go to the juniors, raising the floor. He nodded to the disguised Bat for the courtesy, and got a doffed tiny Hat, upside down, in return.
I’d basically just held position and kept my target and a couple others flustered after the first charge. Stuck on the ground, the things weren’t nearly as dangerous, and they had died quickly.
I knew they had taken note of the tactic and the spell would be the first thing they’d use against such things in the future, too.
“Swarmsoul, bin it?” Grimbol asked me, watching the stuff Burn away. With great pragmatism, everyone else returned to setting camp and the evening meal. “First I bin seeing of such a thing.”
“Very magical. It’s like one being with its body made up of each of them. None of the parts die until you do enough damage to kill all of them. You don’t hit it with a spell solidly unless all parts of it are hit firmly, and Area of Effect spells treat them as a collective, not individuals.
“There’s a type of Devil, Legion Devils, who exist under the same mechanic. There’s also a magical Banner you can use to bind a company of mortal warriors together the same way, makes them really hard to stop on the battlefield.”
“Huh.” He pointed his graying auburn beard at the Burning mess that remained, the mists being sucked unnaturally quickly back into the waters of the river, and the waters themselves seemed to sparkle and clear up to the eye as they did. “Saberclaws, the locals call them. Prone to attacking things near the river, but don’t pursue far from it.”
“They’re spawned by the Curse, so that’s no surprise. They basically arise from residues of Evil magic. So, if you’ve any doubts as to the source…” I hinted to him.
He just shook his head grimly. “Poison, deathless slumber, wild frenzy to those who drink the waters. Bin no benevolent force repaying bad karma with worse here, Lady Edge. This bin a punishment on what bin blameless.”
“Agreed.”
“That wizard Gargantua bin using this place as a dumping ground for his work, too.”
“Oh, really.” I really would have to chase that bastard down at some point.
“Aye. Ran into one of his mutant trolls, two gargoyles, three ogres, and a hill giant so far. Got the feeling there’s more.” I paused to consider just how much meat he and his fellowship had been hacking through out here.
“Oversized Karma sources,” I mused. Anyone with any experience against giants had Titan-Fighting as a Feat, and being bigger didn’t mean more effective if that was the case. “You have full clearance to bring in help for anything you think you can’t handle, of course.”
“Can ye track them, Lady Edge?” he asked pointedly. “They bin unnatural and as prone to fight as the river-mad, wracked with pain from their size. Bin I the gambler, bin lay odds they bin looking for something to fight and kill them.”
I nodded slowly at the dwarf’s observation. “Aye. I’ll call up the Land and see if I can get them centered. If there’s some unusual ones, I’ll see they are taken care of.”
“Bin appreciated. Bin ye figure out how the bastard makes the things?” he inquired quietly, his gaze turning to the forests and mountains to the west of them. The Saber River led off south and west into the mountains, carving a strong path of cold, clean water up into them.