One Moo'r Plow

Book 1: Chapter 40: Blood and milk.

Book 1: Chapter 40: Blood and milk.

I had made a habit of involving myself in the messes of other people as of late, often to my own expense. Largely because I could not help myself when it came to matters I had strong opinions on. Even if it cost me, I would rather be entrenched in trouble for doing what I believed was right than die a slow death inside from apathy. Inaction was defeat, in my eyes.

That emotion tugged at me today as I watched riders gallop along the dusty trail that ran outside my yard. Frantic dashes up and down the mountain that I stood and observed in silence. Something of importance had occurred, and I was none the wiser. Had Ishila and her party discovered the dungeon?Curiousity pulled at me, whispering for me to go and see what new events transpired. But responsibilities firm voice drowned out these whispers.

My home was still in its early stages, the bare framework lain for the floor. And so, with a deep sigh, I quelled my curiosity and turned back to my work. With Artyoms help, I had erected several thick wooden pillars in the cellar that would help support the weight of the floor, complete with crossbeams. The particular wood I had hauled for this was far thicker than usual, but I would brook no chances. Even now, I sometimes underestimated how much my body weighed.

The morning progressed at an agonizing pace as I dragged timbers and slowly secured the floor overtop the gaping cellar, Only when the last length of lumber was firmly in place did I relax and allow myself to observe the road once more. Riders still galloped along at intervals, and carts were being hauled up the mountain en masse.

Fed further by this information, my curiousity only grew further. Yet I stifled it and forced myself to go sit and regain my strenght through nourishment. Artyom, Gol and I shared lunch as I distractedly fiddled with a small plant. The pale, grape-like growth had latched on to my fascination as of late. Were my imagination more vivid, perhaps I could have named it something clever, but for now, I had dubbed it a mimicseed.

Original, I know.

And yet, I spent hours cautiously examining the small things. They seemed to be very particular about exactly what they drew from. One cautiously touched against a piece of meat I was about to eat showed no effect, and I had come to think that they were unresponsive to inanimate objects.

They shifted between a duo of states: empty and full. When barren, they resembled small, shriveled grapes, devoid of any colour. When in contact with a living entity, the flesh peeled itself back to reveal a multitude of pods beneath the skin. Those latched on to whatever found itself in contact. I watched as that currently transpired as my own finger pressed against the singular grape.

I felt no sensation of pain or any otherwise as the pods pressed themselves to my skin and bulged. Their fleshy covering quickly retracted, and changes came near-instantly. A fur coar that matched my own grew as the grapes pale skin bulged, small stub emerging that were similar to the texture of my horns.

Artyom. I beckoned as the felinid looked up from his meal. Catch.

He caught the loaded grape as I flicked it through the air and looked at it with curiosity. I waited in silence for a moment, but nothing happened now, as it hadnt either the first several times we had done this test.

Another one, yes-yes?

I nodded, and he hurled it back at me. Any further musing were interrupted as my eyes followed the projectiles arc through the air and stopped squarely on Lerishs ragged, bleeding form as she stalked across the yard. My untouched meal spilled to the dirt as I bolted upright and strode towards her, worry in my eyes.

My concern was brushed off as the huntress hauled herself past me, murder on her usually impassive face and dropped heavily onto a stump.

She looked..horrible. Gashes were everywhere on her body, slashes that had flayed open the skin and torn into the muscle beneath. How she even walked upright was a profound mystery.

Work your magic, minotaur. She growled, hunched over the dead fire, a seething rage in her tone that I had never glimpsed before. Please.

Artyom. Clerical milk. I commanded gruffly. The felinid rocketed from where he had sat frozen atop Gols slumbering form and hit the ground running. My monstrous pet woke and began to whimper with concern as he smelled the sheer volume of blood that coated Lerish. Some, her own. Most, not.

How? Came the demand to know.

Fucking idiots. Lerish snarled, though I knew not if that was in response to my query or a general statement. Absolute imbeciles.

That does little to narrow anything down. I winced and examined the gashes on her back. Long, deep and oozing a clear, viscous liquid. As bad as any wound I had ever seen, yet Lerish remained upright when by all rights these should have rendered her, well, frankly, dead.

Id gut those maggots if they werent already carrion. She spat, her body heaving for air. Her normally cool exterior was wholly shattered by whatever had happened, and rage roiled beneath. One hand up, I gestured at Artyom to hurry as he staggered across the field, jar in hand. The huntress wheezed in pain as I snatched the jar, wrenched off the lid and held it to her lips.

Drink. I commanded, and she obeyed.

She gulped down far more of the clerical liquid than I thought she could hold, and slumped forward, elbows on her knees as she groaned. I kept watch, my expression worried. The milk..wasnt working. Not as it should. Clear liquid bubbled from Lerishs wounds, almost seeming to boil against her skin.

My naked eye could see the flesh begin to close at a frankly agonizing pace. There was something wrong, something that worked against the pure healing magic.

Lerish, I need you to tell me what happened. There is something in you that is actively fighting against your body being healed.

It took her moments to reply as I commanded Artyom to get me water and rags. The huntress was a blood-caked mess, and likely to suffer from infection if her wounds were not cleaned and closed. The milk worked from the inside out, expelling discrepancies from the body as it returned to its original state. Or at least, it would have if not for whatever force strove against it now.

Chased up the mountain to save those fools from their own idiocy. Came too late. The flood has been unleashed. Fought off several of them. More gashed me open. Had to flee. She grunted, head in her hands. Apex showed up and collapsed the dungeon entrance. Bunch still forced their way out. Everything is fucked.

My mind processed all that while I worked on her wounds.

This fluid. Is it from these monsters? I gently scraped a massive gouge on her back clean, feeling her muscles tremble under the cloth.

Likely. She gasped. Not toxic, far as I can tell. No changes to my insides or bloodflow. Aside from it spilling out.

It is directly counteracting the healing properties of the milk. I observed, growing more concerned by the moment. The towel I used to clean her largest wound was already soaked through with blood and fluid, and I shouted at Artyom to get as many as he could from the house.

Fleshknitter! I bellowed as Artyom vanished into around the buildings corner.

No. Lerish snarled.

Why?

It physically pulls the flesh together.. She grunted in pain. Anything inside stays there.

Well, fuck.

This is going to be a long, painful process. I warned and dabbed at another wound. Hunched over lerishs back, I could see and feel the raw muscles move beneath my touch.

Dont care. She shivered. Need to get moving. Warned the camp. Dwarf from the party had teleported in not long before me, grabbed a horse and started riding. Going to find that fucking bushbeard and rip his head off.

They did it, Garek. The absolute imbeciles woke the dungeon. Theyre likely dead and the mess is firmly in our lap.

My hand froze mid-wipe.

Ishila.

Dont know. Went in with them. I tried going in, but there were too many. Dungeon is huge. Slim chance shes still alive. Pray to every God out there that she is. If she isnt, there will be death aplenty.

My mind whirled now, only half aware as I cleaned the clear liquid from the huntresss wounds. Ishila couldnt be gone. Not like this. Some cold, hard part told me that she hadnt survived. I refused to listen.

I should go. Up the mountain. Try to find her myself. I spoke abruptly.

No. The huntress grunted. Only get yourself killed. These things arent like any monster Ive seen. Giant. Nearly as tall as you. Fast. Powerful. Claws go through butter like armor. There are thousands of them in that place. Going in by yourself is suicide.

I threw away a soaked towel and grabbed another, hands trembling. I needed to do something, anything but sit here. Lerish drank more, her cleaned wounds beginning to heal at a glacial pace.

The clank of metal began to sound in the distance, a cacophony that grew louder with every passing moment. As we watched, columns upon columns of soldiers under green banners came into view, marching up the mountain.

Barons Army. Come to contain this mess before the inevitable flood. Lerish grunted. The adventuring parties, slayers, delvers, dungeonbreakers and the rest of their rabble will come soon enough. But until then, defences are needed.

Ishilas parents. I asked quietly. Do they know?

I could feel Lerish grimace beneath my touch.

Yes. Tehalis is on a warpath right now. Shes out for blood. The dwarf should pray to every deity in existence that I find him before she does. The death I will give him will pale in brutality compared to what she will do.

And the elf?

He was headed for the peak when I passed him by. Dont know much else.

Artyom carried another jar of milk over and sighed in relief as Lerish relieved him of its weight. The felinid staggered and sat back in the grass as the huntress began to drain this one as well. Her wounds were finally beginning to heal, and I had a significant pile of soaked rags and several empty jars to show for it. Beneath the blood, sweat and fluid, Lerishs scent was..gone.

The fact lingered in my mind only briefly as she coughed and spat up blood.

Not my own. She grunted. Swallowed some in the carnage.

Well that was reassuring.

You knew of the dungeon this entire time. I realized.

Yes. She grunted. And I did my damnest to keep it hidden, keep fools away. Entirely to prevent what has happened. What an absolutely amazing feeling it is to have years of work undone by some brainless imbecile rushing in without any idea as to what theyre about to unleash.

Thrones Above, I despise adventurers. She groaned.

In that moment, I truly shared her sentiment.

Slowly, surely, I got her stitched up, burning through my entire stockpile of milk in the process.

You know, luck smiled on you this day. I grunted.

A bold statement.

Luck, and my own laziness are why I even have all these on hand to heal you with. I noted with an inward shiver. I was going to sell my stock yesterday, but Ishila leaving sapped my will to go up to the camp and hawk my wares.

Id thank the Gods Above, but my gratitude goes to you. She muttered. I came right here from the camp. Nothing I have at my lodge would have worked. Need to get some of your stock for myself.

Youll have to wait a while.

We have nothing but time. My advice, however? Get more cows and get more of those flowers yesterday. Youll soon have a very large market on hand. A flood of fresh bodies will swarm this area. Fools come in search of riches and levels. Might as well profit off their soon-to-be corpses.

A grim way of viewing this. I grimaced.

Realistic. She shrugged and winced in pain as I cleaned another gash.

Anything further was interrupted as both us took note of a massive, green form striding across my yeard, warpaint on her face and axe in either hand.