The Dungeon Without a System
Chapter 67

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The Scorpan Village, The Ninth Floor, The Dungeon

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Skitters-Across-The-Sand was resting on her bed-nook when she heard the thundering sound of legs on the sand, which could only herald the approach of her scorplings.

At the head of the pack of unruly juveniles was Sprints-Into-Danger. The girl was the smallest of the clutch but was the fastest of them all. She was named that for her habit of running directly toward loud noises and movements. Following close behind were her sisters, Climbs-Tall-Things and Sunset-Carapace.

Climbs had the habit of climbing the tallest building or feature she could and watching the goings on of the area from her elevated position. Sunset had the most spectacular carapace Skitters had ever seen, a pink-orange color that sparkled and looked particularly striking in the setting sun.

Trailing behind them were Skitters' last two scorplings, Beats-His-Chest and Looms-Behind-Clutch-Mates. Beats had a habit of confronting others by, obviously, puffing himself up and beating his chest. Skitters was sure he'd surpass his father's size at the rate he was growing.

Looms was in a similar state growth-wise, though he was bigger than his brother. He was named because of his protective nature, always being nearby so he could come to his sibling's aid. Specifically, to Sunset and Climbs' aid. The two were less confrontational than their clutch mates.

"Mama! Fire People!" Sprints exclaimed, having stopped directly in front of Skitters and bouncing enthusiastically in place.

"I saw first!" Climbs complained, pouting and crossing her arms. "I wanted to tell. No fair!" Sprints flared her mandibles at her sister but wilted at her mother's look. It was an act equivalent to 'sticking out your tongue,' and they knew it was rude.

"Fire people? Ah! Yes, the Fire Court was due a day ago. They must have been held up on the Eighth." Skitters stood, stretched her arms and claws, and started heading towards the door. "Did you want to come to see them?" They chittered in excitement, exchanging half-formed sentences amongst the babbling.

Climbs-Tall-Things was quick to scramble onto Skitters' back, taking the 'best spot' by clinging to the humanoid part and peeking over her shoulder. Sunset followed, settling daintily on the larger, flatter portion in the middle of her scorpion half.

Sprints-into-Danger was back out the door in a flash, followed by her brothers, and Skitters wasn't far behind them. The whole trip over to the village gates, Climbs' kept up a semi-understandable stream of consciousness.

"They came down walls and followed river. Theres Biiiiig one. Biiiig Big. Lots little ones too!" She said, obviously excited. Sᴇaʀᴄh the N0ᴠᴇFɪre.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of nøvels early and in the highest quality.

"Where'd you see them from?" Skitters asked, curious.

"Big Tree!" the scorpling replied, pointing over Skitters' shoulder towards a particularly large palm tree. "Almost got to top, and saw them before came down!"

"Was someone watching?" Skitters asked, gently reminding her rambunctious daughter that she'd asked Climbs not to climb the palms without someone keeping an eye on her.

"Uhuh! Looms watched me!" She insisted innocently. Skitters could only sigh. She'd meant for an adult Scorpan to watch, but obviously, that stipulation had been lost somewhere.

Skitters let it go, for now, as they approached the group of Scorpans assembling near the gates. Scorplings dipped and wove between their parent's legs, some curious and others shy. A quick glance later, Skitters found her friends and moved to join them.

"The Court here yet?" She asked Puddles and Preens. Preens-in-The-Light was a little busy, straining to restrain her three scorplings. Skitters didn't envy her. As unruly as her children could be, the three progeny of Preens and her mate Pounds-The-Earth were somehow all as energetic as Sprints on a bad day.

"Not yet," Puddles answered, her two quiet ones peeking over her shoulders. They'd inherited their mother's calm nature and were best friends with Sunset. As Skitters settled in between her friends, the scorplings on their backs moved closer together, whispering.

"How're you guys holding up?" Skitters inquired softly. Her two friends were silent for a moment. No one needed to ask what she was referring to.

"Coping," Preens replied, finally getting her scorplings to settle. "He was always there, watching over us. His presence was so pervasive and normal we took it for granted. Now. His absence is a void, like a hole in my soul." Puddles just nodded in agreement.

Skitters made a particular set of clicks and barks, a specific call that was unique to each Scorpan mother. Her wayward children answered promptly, taking places under and around her.

Just in time, too. Skitters could see the 'Big One' Climbs had talked about over the walls as it approached. The black stone plates shifted around over the orange magma beneath. The gates opened shortly after it came into view.

At the head of the group was a squad of Scorpans, the ones stationed to watch the canyon's entrance. Four led the procession in, while one was a little behind, conversing with a moving pyre of human-shaped flames. That Scorpan was her mate, Plays-With-Fires.

He seemed utterly enamored with the living flame, engrossed in their conversation. So much so that when the Court passed Skitters, Preens, and Puddles by, he didn't even register she was there.

Then they'd passed her, and Skitters was left blinking, confused.

She watched the rest of the diverse group of Sprites and Spirits pass through the village's other gate on their way to the King's Palace.

When Puddles put a hand on her shoulder, it was like she jerked out of a trance.

"You okay, Skitters?" She asked, concern obvious.

"Yeah," Skitters answered, turning back to the closing gate. "Yeah. I'm fine. I'm sure it was nothing."

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The Merchant Ship Good Tidings, Kalenic Sea

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Captain Eli Hart watched the Bahrain's most prosperous port city disappear over the horizon. Well, prosperous might be too strong a word.

Poor filled the streets. Hungry and cold. A plethora of armed guards kept them out of the markets and the more affluent districts. Not to say the people living in those districts were wealthy, but owning their own homes and getting three meals a day was all it took to be in the upper class.

Walking past them on the way up to the market from the port filled him with pity and wariness.

They were starving and could barely scrape together two coins to buy food without it being stolen. But that same fact made them dangerous. Many, when staring their death in the face, would do anything to stave off their judgment. Eli made sure to have half a dozen of his hired security escort his wares to the market, weapons visible.

Given none risked attacking him or stealing from his carts, he assumed they were suitably intimidated.

To be clear, this wasn't new information to him.

He was well aware of the state of the Bahrain Empire. How could he not? He'd been plying his trade across the Kalenic Sea for over a decade. He'd been to most of the ports on both continents and several islands besides. He'd even traded with the Lucaran Republic before the Bahrain had conquered them!

Now and again, he got thank-you letters from the refugees he'd ferried to Theona.

But that was beside the point. He had watched over the years as conditions went from bad to worse. Food shortages never ended and even worsened when a bevy of famines, plagues, and droughts struck the land.

There was a reason that he sold food and bought trinkets in the Empire, then sold the trinkets for food in the Kingdom. Buy cheap, sell for more. His margins may be smaller on the food, but there was a decent market for the trinkets he bought. Enough to keep him in the black.

And now, his ship sailed away from the Empire. The hold was full of knickknacks, keepsakes, and foreign toys, with enough food to make it to Medea Island.

Eli turned from the receding shore and headed to his navigator's quarters. Gresh was a good man and had been frantically taking notes and cross-checking them under an anti-scry stone for the last few hours.

He knocked on the door and was quickly admitted.

"How many did you count?" Eli asked the haggard scribe.

"I made fifty sails, at least," Gresh replied. "A wide variety, from sloops and carracks to at least four ships-of-the-line." Eli sucked air through his teeth, running the numbers through his head.

"This won't be the only gathered force." He reasoned, "There'd be at least one other fleet this size and maybe four smaller ones scattered across the coast." Gresh nodded in agreement. They'd noted the Bahrain's fleet power for years, since the empire had begun to run out of places to conquer on their own continent.

The Bahrain had been envious of the Phenoc for years; that wasn't a secret. Knowing that, Eli had kept a careful eye on the number of military vessels in every Bahrain port he visited and charted their buildup over the years.

It had started slowly as they focused on dominating the continent, but when the last independent state fell to their armies, well. Their eyes turned west. Every year, Eli saw more ships. One. Then three, Then seven, then twenty.

"What do we do?" Gresh asked. "Do we tell anyone?" It was a valid question.

There was no mistaking the signs. The Bahrain were preparing to cross the Kalenic Sea and make war on their more prosperous neighbors. It was unprovoked, as the Phenoc had always kept to themselves. There was no claim they held on the land; they simply desired the fertile and bountiful farmland of the Kingdom.

The Empire would be invading to feed their own people, a perfectly understandable reason. But they would kill, enslave and displace thousands of innocent Phenoc citizens who had done nothing but be born into a bountiful land.

Eli didn't envy the Emperor, who was well-known to be kind and compassionate. He'd invaded a score of smaller polities, yes, but all to secure more fertile farmland. The problem was he'd always gone out of his way to avoid killing more of the conquered lands' citizens than necessary. Who better to work the farms, after all? Inevitably, this meant there were more people to feed, and the excess from the newly acquired farmlands barely put a dent in their deficit.

On the other hand, while Eli had friends among the Bahrain, he also had friends among the Phenoc. He didn't want his friends to be attacked unprepared. He felt it would be a betrayal. And while the Guild was outwardly neutral, everyone knew they had very little real control over their Guilders. If the Bahrain invaded, the Guilders would defend their homes. Neutral or not, they wouldn't stay out of the fight.

"We spread the news." Eli decided. "More than likely, they plan to use Medea as a launching point. We tell those who need to know and move on. I'm not sure how much time we have before the invasion starts, but any level of foreknowledge is better than none."

He sighed deeply. "Prepare two letters. One addressed to Count Medean, the other to Guildmistress Losat.

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The Tenth Floor, The Dungeon, Medea Island

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Asterion watched the group of mana beings approach with squinted eyes. From what they'd agreed at the Summit, the sprites and spirits weren't staying the night, merely passing through. Igna had said that, so close to their destination, they saw no point in delaying. With a snort, he walked through the Mythwood gates to greet the Fire Court.

He was at the head of the welcoming delegation, joined by his wives and eldest sons. The boys were getting big now. The tips of their horns just reached his shoulder. His first wife, Tauris, joined him, clad in her most elaborate robes and wearing a half-dozen charms.

Asterion himself was also dressed up for the occasion. Forgoing the simple kilt most Minotaurs wore for a more sophisticated robe, augmented by pieces of armor in the right places. He didn't like it. The feel of the fabric over his chest was foreign to him.

He stopped a dozen yards from the gate and held his ground as the Court approached. They stopped a decent distance away, and Igna approached with her entourage. The 'Queen' of the Fire Court was like a bonfire, even compared to the two others Asterion knew also occupied Potentium bodies. She hovered a foot above the ground, and the dry grasses she passed over wilted and blackened in the heat.

He refused to be intimidated by the enormous golem of stone and flowing lava.

"Welcome to the Tenth," Asterion grunted. "My son Aston will guide you to the Eleventh. Don't set anything on fire. Not even The Creator could put it out if you did." Igna reared back slightly, obviously surprised by his gruff welcome.

"Thank you, Asterion. Have I insulted you somehow?" Igna asked, looking confused and offended. The spirits around her flared slightly, their flames growing and their postures becoming more aggressive.

"Not at all, Fire Spirit," Tauris answered with an apologetic bow. "My mate is not a very verbose creature. He says what he means honestly and finds many common verbal rituals unnecessary. He meant no offense; it is simply his nature." Asterion grunted in agreement and gave a short nod.

That seemed to appease the spirit, and her companions.

"I see. I am sure your son will perform his task excellently," Igna replied, looking down at the young bull.

Asterion glanced at the boy, who seemed to mimic his father's stance. His arms were crossed, his back straight, his head set, and his chin raised slightly.

He couldn't be more proud.

He gave a short grunt, prompting his son to look up at him. They stood there for a few seconds, looking at each other. Aston nodded with a grunt and moved forward to join the odd-looking Drake-kin in the procession.

He saw Tauris roll her eyes and heard her mutter 'Bulls' under her breath. He gave a toothy grin.

"He will," The bull confirmed. "I was serious, though. Our floor is covered in trees and grasses. A stray flame could set the whole place alight. Just look beneath you for an example."

Igna looked down and seemed to cringe slightly at the dead, black grass under her. Her peers checked beneath their own feet and found the grass in a similar state.

"I'm a water mage," The strange Drake-kin stated as he stepped forward. "I'll make sure any fires are quickly contained, First Bull."

Asterion eyed the monster closely and found him familiar.

His body resembled the Drake-kin very closely, bar a few notable features. His blue scales and white fur were Snowbold traits, and while the 'crown' of horns was possible in the infinite variations the Drake-kin seemed to possess, he hadn't seen it before. He was clad in a mix of Warrior and Shaman dress, studded leather over blue and white robes patterned to look like a crashing wave. He held a long, well-carved staff. At one end was a short blade, and the other a blue-tinted monster core.

Where had he seen this monster before... Ah. Of course.

"You do that, Wave. You seem more comfortable in your skin. Adapted to The Creator's gift, have you?"

"I have," the monster replied. "Thank you for your concern." He bowed slightly, and Asterion grunted back.

"Going to live with the Court?" He asked, curious.

"No. The Eleventh calls to me. I plan to live on the shore and make my life there." Asterion eyed the monster. He spoke clearly and without hesitation. He'd made up his mind, then.

"The village will be here if you need to trade." He reminded Wave, who nodded in return.

"I will."

After that, not much was said. The court left, the Minotaurs returned to their daily routine, and the gate Guard kept an eye on the treeline for Aston's return.

The boy did so later, in the dark of night. He held a lit torch he certainly didn't leave with. The flame was interesting. A bright blue. It took a moment, but Asterion soon recognized it as the same flame The Creator used to light tunnels throughout the dungeon.

But this was a deep blue rather than the teal he was familiar with.

As he watched, the flame's color shifted through tones. An hour after his son returned, it was the familiar teal he recognized. Had someone in the Court given Aston this torch, or had Wave?

If it had been Wave... Why was the color of his manaflame blue, rather than the holy teal all Children shared?

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© Max Porteous, 2023

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