Nostrum: Tales of Valor

Rooted Ears

As the sun rises and sets following their unfulfilling night, the trio awakens at their most current camp. Sweats from sleeping in the daylight, in muggy swamplands, begin to dry with the cool night air that manifests around them. Being the first to emerge from their tent, Cronn strikes at a hunk of flint. Attempting to ignite a small pile of sticks and twine that had been set out the night before. With a small flame flickering, he blows against it lightly. Stopping only for a moment to see Belial and Briar coming out to join him.

"We'll be off soon." Briar informs, sensing tension in the air. "Is there a need?"

Cronn doesn't acknowledge the question. Instead, he strips the legs of a few frogs that had been hung in a tree nearby and places them on a flat-faced rock to rest over the fire. Belial moves alongside him to do the same.

"Look, I understand your grudges, but it is not my call. I'm merely following orders Achlys has handed out. You should be the most approving of that, Cronn."

"If you had chosen to follow the Convener's orders in the first place, I may have been. Now? You're being selective." Cronn keeps both eyes on his meal, awaiting Belial's return with more amphibious snacks. "We agreed there would be no more secrecy. You've failed to uphold your end."

Briar sighs and shuffles over to the tree himself, taking his own pick. Then, proceeds to extend them over the rock, but Cronn blocks his hand with a stick he has chosen to use for flipping the legs.

"Now you're just being petty."

"Better than being traitorous."

Briar scowls at Cronn after making eye contact with Belial, whose only input is a shrug. Maintaining visuals, he takes a strip of raw meat off the bone with his teeth and steps away from the others; Not wanting to expose his gagging as he forcefully swallows the sticky tissue.

"All will come to the surface in due time." Briar grumbles. "Trust me."

With their bellies full- some, more than others- they pack up and begin seeking out the other parties. Using what evidence exposes itself to do so. Broken branches, footprints, extinguished piles of ash, and- most remarkably- an unclaimed bell. As it is spotted, Cronn collects the sinister object in an effort to verify that it does not suffer from mistaken identity.

"Certainly that of a Kneller." He mumbles, breaking a mile-long silence. Tipping it ever so slightly, the bell lets out a weak chime. A pale, red glow comes from within but fades almost immediately after the sound dissipates. "But, where is it?"

Briar and Belial scan their surroundings, searching for any other tracks that could direct them, or a figure that may be somewhere within the entangled tree trunks. A sudden tap on his bicep makes Briar turn towards his co-scout, who in turn, points skyward. Lifting his chin to see what could have caught Belial's attention, he is met with a grizzly scene. Strewn about the branches overhead are stringy entrails and shredded clothing. In the midst of the carnage, held up only by wispy white strands of hair, is the upside-down head of the missing Kneller. The men gather around it, keeping clear of a singular spot on the ground that continues to be contaminated by droplets of blood and study the remains.

"How is this possible?" Cronn wonders. "There aren't any prints in the area to say that this was the work of our own, and none to suggest that it was the doing of another beast."

"Perhaps, that's because it was neither." Belial steps under the head as another droplet hits stained blades of grass, having timed when the next should fall. Keeping his eyes on what rests overhead, he listens to the faint creaking of each branch and raises his cleaver. Ready for something that neither Briar nor Cronn are aware of.

"What are your thoughts? Belial?"

Without speaking, Belial turns to them and places a finger against his lips. Then, looks back at one of the tree trunks that hold the corpse in its arms. Motioning for Cronn to follow, he waits at the base. A hand resting against its bark-armored spine. As Cronn finds his way, Belial draws an imaginary X over a select area. Cronn, taking the hint, braces his ax and adjusts his stance. Ready to swing on Belial's command. With a simple nod, Cronn sinks his ax into the bark. Black ichor begins to pour out as he extracts the blade, causing him and Briar to take a step back.

"No!" Belial demands, marching over to the trunk himself as the branches begin to stir. "Hug it!" With a sudden burst of motion, he vaults out from under a bundle of twisting sticks, splitting off from a vine-covered arm that whips across the ground. A cloud of mud and loose water slaps against other nearby trees, causing them to stir as well. As Belial slams his back against the bark, alongside Briar and Cronn, he watches hundreds of spider-leg-like twigs and branches swing about wildly overhead. Being the only one who anticipated the attack, he assumes the others do not share his knowledge on such things and points at the cluttered bundle of creaking wood that tried to crush him. "We need to focus our attacks on that!" He shouts, having not noticed how much noise the tree's bending was creating at first. "Detach it from the trunk and the whole thing dies!"

"How do you propose we reach that? Ask it for a lift?" His rhetorical sarcasm is displayed on his face, which seems to laugh at the given order, whilst also giving off a sense of doom.

"Any ideas, Belial?" Briar looks down at his crossbow and a pouch, which carries Combusting Orbs. "I can't risk firing at it myself. Both missing it and hitting it would result in a blaze we may not be capable of containing!"

Belial motions towards the wounded trunk, which continues to pour a watery ick.

"Thrashroot can only grow where the body of a Divine rests! They're parasitic beings with a hunger for the nutrients only such a thing can provide!"

"What good is knowing any of that at the moment?" Cronn bellows, having only just barely dodged a feral swipe from a loose branch.

"All that being said," Belial continues, "we simply need to make it fear that it will be removed from its host!"

"How do we do such a thing?"

"Chip away at the trunk! The deeper we get, the more likely it is to strike at us with the largest of its branches!"

All three of them look back at the entanglement of braided wood that continues to flail about high in the air. As it twists back and forth like the rattle of an angered snake, a core can be made out through what gaps there are between each finger-like twig that cradles it. A mass of black matter that reflects small amounts of torchlight back at them. To Briar, it almost appears as if the reflections are no reflections at all, but the whites of many decaying, motionless eyes. "Decaying, or not yet developed?" The thought seems to penetrate his mind, yet, is not his own. Taking note of this, he bumps a shoulder into Cronn, who then bumps Belial before both look towards Briar. Without speaking, he begins shuffling around to the opposite side of the Thrashroot, watching the mass as he does so. Until it falls out of view for all of them. Within moments of this, the largest arm bends to bring the core around, where they can see it once more.

"It's watching us!" A wide-eyed Cronn announces. Having caught on to what Briar was testing.

"Hack at the trunk!" Belial hollers, reminding the others of what needs to be done. "Briar, move back to the other side! Don't let it see all of us at once!"

As Briar moves away from the others, dodging blind swipes by the Thrashroot, Cronn takes a small step away from the tree and swings sloppily. Unnerving whines come from deep within; As if the injuries are not those of its own, and rather, those of something much more menacing. Another thunk causes a similar sound to emanate, giving all three Nostrum a chill. The sensation of being in deep waters with an unknown threat lurking below takes hold of them, and Cronn presses his back against the bark once again.

"We can't stop now!" Taking the ax from Cronn, Belial steps away himself and sends the blade whistling through the air. As it connects, more fluid than ever before begins to spill out. Lapping against his shins and the backs of Cronn's legs.

All motion overhead stops abruptly, for a brief moment. Then, the branches begin to shudder and curl inwards, as if imitating the legs of a dying spider. Within seconds, the greying Thrashroot becomes a cage, surrounding the Nostrum and slowly closing in. The claustrophobic space, becoming more and more unbearable, sparks something in Cronn. Taking the ax back and extending its handle, he files down the bars that imprison him. With each swipe, the smallest of them fall to the ground. Leaving trickles of ichor behind as they slither away, seemingly out of pain.

"The bark is softening!" Belial exclaims, watching the soggy surface peel back like mangled flesh and raising his own blade in preparation for what is to come next. "It'll be ready to strike at any moment now! Keep your guards up!" Being less than concerned with the Thrashroot's cage, Belial focuses on the gaps between each limb. Searching only for a notch of eyes. "There!" Pointing a finger northeast, he exposes the mass's location to the others.

Lingering just beyond the wall it has created, the twisted consciousness sways about upside-down and continues to make slow circles around its trunk. As if looking for the best opportunity to strike. "Men who seek blood to drown their woes... are fit only for a life that ends in sorrows." Belial drops his cleaver as the curiously soothing voice speaks inside his head, sticking a corner of its blade into the ground and leaving the handle held up in the air. "What are you, strange child? A man of morals; Aware and bold? Or a beast of the night; Confused and wild?"

"Speak not with your crooked tongue!" His demands seem to be heard, as the voice leaves his mind with a dull whisper, and the branches around them come to rest in place. Petrified in a state that makes them appear to have turned to stone.

"Where did it go? Belial, do you have eyes on it? Belial?" Briar looks back to see Belial on his knees. Seemingly immobilized and with both palms pressed against his ears.

"What's going on? What is this?" Cronn asks, having stopped swinging his ax as the threat seemingly dissipated.

"Perhaps, a bit of both?"

"NO!" Belial roars in a deep, guttural voice that is not his own. "No, no, NO, NO, NO!" With each oppressive response he gives, his voice becomes deeper and beastly shrieks erupt from his now raw throat. As he finishes with a final scream into the heavens, he hunches forward, letting his head bob loosely from his shoulders. Briar and Cronn both watch him as he remains motionless and seemingly unconscious, whilst the tree outside of their cocoon softly creaks in a continuous manner. As if a single limb is following a set, repetitive pattern of motion. As the sound stops, Belial jerks his head back up. Exposing cataracts that show only pain and fear. "Look out!"

Cronn turns back to the wall of bleeding wood, where pieces snap and splinter off from the force of the Thrashroot's tumorous head rushing at him. Unable to prepare himself for the blow, he is sent flying backward. A sickening thump sounds out as he hits the trunk before sliding to the ground. Too dazed to move and unable to focus his vision, he nauseously looks on as the sharp tips of varying branches stab at Briar. Dropping to the ground himself, he manages to avoid the fatal attack but doesn't get up in time to avoid the next. With vine-like talons, the Thrashroot lifts Briar off the ground by his ankles and pulls him through the makeshift cage; Being sure to seal the exit immediately after. Finding his footing, Cronn stands once more. His vision remains blurred and his balance is even worse off. Stumbling around with his ax held in a weak grip, he tries to locate the mass. The sound of another hole being ripped in the wall behind him causes the muscles of his back to tighten, but the ambush never comes. As suddenly as it had all began, the battle was over. Turning around on shaking knees, he spots the source of the commotion. Briar, gasping for air and clutching short swords, plants his face against the dying nest of eyes. Each blade- having been plunged into the open sockets several times over- grips onto the tissue of the strange plant, giving Briar something to keep a hold on, so as to not fall off. The pair of them continue to struggle catching their breath as they watch the branches return to a more natural pose. Climbing off the cluster of punctured seers, Briar trudges over to Belial's limp body. Where he proceeds to flip him over and check for a pulse.

"Is... is he alright?" Cronn asks, still puffing as he clutches a bruising elbow.

"He's breathing."