Chương 9: GB - Chapter 9: Mistbrook

The walk would take them three hours, and Luke kept scanning from his left to right. The forest was on both sides, but clear cut long ago, with stumps uprooted. He could almost feel eyes watching him as he carried Garran, but nothing came from the fog and dark woods to attack them.

"Tell me about the land around us," Luke said.

"We're in the Timbercrag Valley," Garran replied.

"If it were day, you could see mountains off in the distance on both sides. It tapers down toward Fort Greywatch, and then the distance expands the farther you go." Luke nodded. It made enough sense to him that he didn't feel the need to pry farther. Seeing a world map would be far better than just asking Garran questions about distances, locations, and the like. Instead, he chose to press further into something else.

"The forest: tell me why people came here if it's so dangerous."

"My great grandpappy settled here when Mistbrook was becoming a frontier town. People thought the world would keep expanding north, but it stopped after the Everfog Woods. No one has fully mapped it out, or gone through entirely. There could be more out that way, but the Fog Creepers get stronger, and more dense."

"Again, why settle if it's so dangerous?"

"Timber. The valley is named for it. Plenty of it. Life Essence Shards, too, once we learned Fog Creepers were a monster, and not an animal."

"What's the difference?" Garran chuckled despite the dire circumstances.

"You don't know much at all, do you?" Luke just raised an eyebrow in response, and Garran said, "Monsters are just another category. You and me? Well… me for sure, we're people. Then animals, like griskins, and yrots—you know what those are, right?" Garran sighed and went into a lengthy explanation as they kept going. Griskins were suspiciously similar to chickens, though they were leathery and had armored scales along their wings. Yrots were like cows, but with heavy fur, six legs, and eight eyes.

He then continued with his distinction: "Monsters are Power imbued creatures."

"Also no harvestable meat or other substances, it seems," Luke replied.

"Gatherer Classes can get more Essence Shards from them, but yeah, no meat or skin. Just goop when they die." Challenges placed in the world? Luke mused. Perhaps it is best not to question that aspect of the world's mechanics. There are just three categories of beings: people, monsters, animals. He asked aloud, "Is killing monsters looked down upon at all?"

"No," Garran said, trailing off as he glanced over Luke's shoulder toward the now-distant fort and forest beyond. His voice quieted as he said, "I…I think…" he shook his head.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" Luke asked.

"Not to you," he almost snapped, still quiet.

"Sybil." Luke chose not to pry along the lines of monsters any more and instead changed tack.

"Mistbrook: tell me about it."

"Well…" The next few hours were spent with Garran giving Luke a full run-down. It was a roughly circular town, with a large wooden palisade wall that went up thirty feet, had a section to walk across, and a second, inner wall. The space between was filled with rocks to help support the defenses. One-thousand people lived there, most of which were like Garran—hunters, trappers, foragers, or they were foresters.

There was plenty of woods, and a local garrison of guards numbering about a hundred strong kept the city safe, and occasionally escorted some select people out into the forest. Fog Creeper attacks were infrequent, but did occasionally happen. To Luke's confusion, there was not a graveyard.

"Why don't you bury your dead?" Luke asked.

"We leave them for the forest," Garran replied.

"Buried near the forest line. It's been that way since the forest children demanded it…way before my time."

"What do people eat? Aside from hunted and foraged food."

"Fish. We have a lake along one side of the town, and it connects to a river that flows from one of the mountains. I think fish spawn in the mountain's depths, and then swim downriver when they're big enough." Luke saw walls in the distance, on the horizon.

"I think we're almost there." [Quest Available.] [Title: Sheep to the slaughter.] [Source: The Grave Tryant.] [Trigger: Neared a settlement of living people.] [Objective: Make as many corpses as possible. Kill as much as you can.] [Reward: 1, 000 XP. Additional rewards may be granted based on performance.] [Accept or Reject?] Luke made sure his lungs were empty and wordlessly said, "Reject." The vision vanished from his sight, and all was as usual.

The same aspect of the god of Death that the Necromancer worshipped, Luke thought. So a face of The Last Warden that is my patron. But, I was told I could receive quests from other — Garran looked forward and sounded relieved.

"Thank the gods." He looked up at Luke.

"When we get closer, put me down, and let me go first. I'll tell them you're not dangerous."

"Sounds like a plan," Luke replied.

"Just make sure you insist that I'm a person, not just some undead." Garran's face paled a little, and he looked away.

"Wish we had a hood for you." To be expected when I'm a walking corpse, Luke thought. Watch Captain Amara stood at her post, diligent, crossbow ready to be strung and fired, resting on her hip. The night was almost over, and the few fingers of dawn light poked over the mountains to the south, as the moon set in the west. She was ready to go home, get out of her armor and smallclothes, get into a nice, hot tub—"Hey!" a familiar voice shouted from the northern road she was staring at.

But, the voice was hidden in the darkness. She quickly ratcheted her crossbow and aimed it at the road before her.

"Identity yourself!" There was some whispering, and then she saw a pale, white and blue flame pierce the dark. It was held in the palm of one of the Dawnbringers who had gone to the fort some weeks before. But something about them was wrong. They were pale, and had eyes that glittered a reflective blue. Unnatural. Next to and a few steps in front of the figure was Garran, one of the trappers Amara knew.

"Who is with you, Garran?" she asked.

"An Undead—" Amara instantly fired the crossbow bolt, and the bolt slammed into the chestplate of the Undead. The flame went out, and she reloaded.

"Don't shoot!" Garran shouted from the darkness.

"He's friendly!" What in the gods happened to you? Amara thought. Did you hit your head? She shouted, "Undead aren't friendly!"

"He saved my life! Fog Creepers took Sybil, I lost a leg, he patched me up, and held them off." Another voice sounded out from the darkness. It was low, filled with anger, and came out as a guttural growl that shook its way across where it was and where Amara was at her perch.

"Don't shoot me again, or else I won't offer to help you like I was planning." The white-blue flame illuminated once more, and Amara saw the Undead, crossbow bolt gone, wound healed over, flickering with white fire, and a black shield on his arm. A large shield, tower size. Amara looked to her left and right at her reinforcements, and said, "Garran! Get in here! Your…companion stays outside until we talk!"

"I'll wait," the once-Dawnbringer replied, still holding the flame aloft.

"But shoot me again, and I'm gone. I don't need your permission to do what I want to do. It was going to be focused around helping you." Helping us? Amara thought. What in the gods' name is going on? The gates below opened and she rushed down the stairs, and found Garran, lit by the light of a torch. True to the word of the man, he was missing a leg, but it had been bandaged decently, and he was supporting himself on a polearm from the Dawnbringer's group.

"Thank the gods," Garran said, relief washing over him. Another guard rushed up and helped support him, and he said, "Amara, Luke—the Undead—I think he's an other-worlder. He doesn't know much about Artesthrak—not even what a griskin is! He's not evil, just confused." Amara was wordless, speechless. She pointed to the guard post within the two layers of the wooden walls: normally a space filled with rocks to support the front and rear structure, and allow for a top that could be walked.

But, this section was hollowed to make a gatehouse and guard post to get out of the rain.

"Wait here. I'm going to get Melkin and Travis." She looked up at the walls and ordered, "Eyes on the Undead. Don't fire unless he does something like attack the walls." She jogged away from the affirmations and found both Melkin and Travis at the temple.

"I need you both at the gate now." Travis looked up at her, brushing his brown hair out of his face.

"Why?" he asked in a nasally voice.

"Yes, why?" Melkin asked.

"We just began to set up for the service."

"There's Undead at the gate," Amara replied. Melkin shot to her feet and her blonde hair bobbed to the side of her head as her hands glowed a bright, vibrant green.

"And you're here, not fighting them?"

"It's not fighting," Amara replied.

"Just come with me and I'll explain what I heard." The two others looked at each other, then followed. As she walked back, she talked, re-stating what Garran had said.

"The Dawnbringers died, I presume," Travis said.

"Probably," Melkin replied.

"What would they have died to, though? They came to claim the fort for the Woundmere expansion." Travis replied, "Must've died. Damnit, I wanted that bulwark between us and the forest. Plus, it would be invaluable as a waystation to the deeper forest." Amara knew the truth of both of those statements. Gods above, the town was even willing to send the Dawnbringers food each month, which would put them on the edge of starvation, just because having that bulwark against the Fog Creepers was worth the cost.

They reached the gatehouse, and one of the guards under Amara's command shouted down, "The Undead isn't moving! Just… standing there." If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Travis and Melkin went over to Garran, and Travis asked, "What happened?" Amara listened to Garran's tale with shock, then sorrow, then suspicious amazement.

He had gone trapping with Sybil—his rebound after a twelve-year-long marriage—she had died to Fog Creepers, and he had lost a leg, but escaped. The events he told of in the fort were nothing short of astonishing. As he finished, Amara asked, "And he doesn't want anything from you?" Garran shook his head.

"I mean, information. Like I mentioned, I think he's an other-worlder." Travis chuckled at that, but it was a nervous one. The type that a person made when they were trying to feel better about a poor situation. Amara knew well enough why.

"Other-worlders," she said, "always bring problems. If the stories are true, at least." Garran looked down at his leg.

"How's it looking, Melkin?" The woman clicked her tongue, then sounded like a disappointed mother as she said, "You lost some, but not a ton. We can fix it. I'd like to re-bind it right now though—I don't trust some raggedy bandages applied by some Undead."

"He burned away the flesh first," Garran replied. Amara added, "The Undead—""Luke," Garran interrupted.

"He saved my life, use his damned name."

"Luke," Amara repeated, "has been holding a white-blue flame." That caused Melkin to drop her holy symbol, which she had been passing over Garran's limb. She turned to face Amara, sheer horror on her face.

"What?" she whispered. Then, she shot her gaze back to Garran.

"Did he say what Class he is? What god is his patron?"

"The Last Warden," Garran replied. Amara was passingly familiar with the name, though the 'Good' version of the deity of Death, The Quiet Rest, was who many prayed to if cursed with terminal illness or an inevitable end. Melkin shivered in place, then said, "They have the true face of Death as their patron god."

"Doesn't mean he's evil," Travis muttered.

"And you said he raised and controlled the dead?" Garran added, "He also mentioned something about Undead Outposts? Places to…help people? Sounded like free labor meant to help folks out." Travis and Garren whispered back and forth briefly, and Travis grinned. Amara had a bad feeling rise in her gut, like she had eaten an undercooked fish. Travis said, "Interesting…" He called up to the gates.

"Tell him he can come in!" Melkin looked at him, "Are you insane?! He's Undead!"

"And possibly useful," Travis replied. Melkin growled back, "You're not getting my vote in the next election." Travis walked to the gates and said, "Open them!" Amara watched the gates open, and observed as the white-flame wielding figure approached. When he got into the torch light of the entrance, everyone went silent. But Amara let out a little gasp. She recognized the face—it was one of the Dawnbringer, for sure, but their face had morphed and shifted.

The pale skin was off-putting, but those blue eyes that shone with an inner flame terrified her. The figure dismissed the flame and shield—somehow the shield vanished—and said, "Hi there, I'm Luke Rivers."

"Mind telling me who you all are?" Luke asked. The tall, lanky man with brown hair and a smooth smile which quickly replaced his previous look of shock replied, "I am Travis Foghorn, mayor of the town of Mistbrook." He gestured to Garran.

"You met him already." Luke nodded at Garran.

"Thanks for holding up your end of the deal. I hope you heal up well."

"Thank you for protecting me," Garran replied. A blonde haired woman, dressed in bright, green robes with gold thread along the edges of the fabric, turned to face him. She had stern, brown eyes that bored into Luke, and he felt an odd sensation in his torso: like a prickling of goosebumps, but inside his chest.

"I am Melkin, Priestess of The Blooming Hand." The final person, a tall woman who was just Luke's type, with dark, black hair and a muscular build, said, "Captain Amara. Night watch."

"Well…thanks for not shooting me more," Luke said. He nodded at the woman, who he knew was the culprit thanks to his dark vision.

"But don't do that again. My good nature only goes so far, and being shot at unprovoked was an asshole move on your part. She looked at him like one might look at a dog that was digging up their yard—with annoyance and intrigue as to how the hell the mutt got into their space. Luke knew he wasn't welcomed by her. Travis opened his arms wide and bowed.

"You are more than welcome. But, it is nearly dawn, and the gate will be open to all, soon. I would ask that you accompany me." He gestured into the town, which was made up of single-story, wooden buildings: like a log cabin-filled resort campground.

"This way, please." Luke eyed the guards on either side, who still had crossbows at the ready.

"I want your word, on whatever gods you worship, that you will not harm me while I am here. I give you mine that I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"Sounds capital," Travis replied.

"Please, follow me." Luke fell into step behind the man, and heard Amara's tread behind him. Glancing back at her, he saw a look of fear cross her face, then he looked back to Travis.

"So, you're the mayor?"

"Correct. And you were once a Dawnbringer." The man clicked his tongue.

"Unfortunate. What happened to them?"

"The Necromancer who had taken up residence at Greywatch Fort killed them…killed whoever this body once belonged to." Travis stopped and looked back at him, forcing Luke to stop. A look of fear crossed his face.

"You…Necromancer?"

"He tried to control me," Luke replied.

"But I'm a person. I broke his chain." He patted his chest and with fervor said, "I'm me: Luke Rivers. Not whoever this once was—""His name was William," the Captain interrupted.

"William Whitemane." Luke touched his hair and pulled it down into his line of sight, which it was just long enough to do. He had white hair, alright, but it had black streaks.

"Well, William then, is gone. Soul gone, person gone." He looked back at her, and thought, It must be shocking, seeing someone dead you once knew walking once more. For a moment, Luke felt pity for her. Travis let out a nervous laugh.

"You…ahem, yes. William was a fine young fellow. May The Dawn Judge take his soul into care." He turned back to the front and kept moving.

"We'll head to my residence. Then, we can discuss further." Luke took in the town as they walked. It was all log cabins, though some looked very old, given the state of multiple layers of plaster, or filling, or something between the logs—noted by the discoloration of age.

But, the town was clean and tidy, with buildings lined up in rows and seemingly separated out into residences, places of business, places to craft and perform other work of that nature, and then a huge, two-story log cabin with a giant, green wreath. The place exuded a sense of 'eww', and Luke had no interest at all in going near the building, feeling that he would be wholly unwelcome and feel ick all across his body.

"Is that your temple?" Luke asked.

"Most worship some aspect of Life—whether The Verdant Mother, or The Garden Law, or another form of her. The temple is where any may go." Travis sounded delighted to be giving someone a tour. They made their way to the residence area, and Luke could hear the sounds of people waking up, greeting one another, and saw the billowing of smoke from chimneys as Mistbrook slowly woke up to the dawn light.

To Luke's positive surprise, he wasn't impacted by the rays of the sun in any ways: that was a concern, given how the media portrayed undead sometimes as being afraid of or damaged by the light. Travis' house was just like the rest, except he had a placard hammered to the top that said MAYOR. He opened the door and gestured for Luke to enter.

Amara came in right behind him, and Luke saw what he expected: a single-room residence, with a double-wide bed on a wooden frame, a dresser, a hearth with a chimney and a cooking vessel hung on a metal contraption over dead coals, and a dresser. A small table and chair completed the house.

"Cozy," Luke said.

"It is my little slice of paradise," Travis replied as he smoothed back his hair and gestured to the chair.

"Please, sit. I'll pull up—""No need," Luke replied.

"I can stand." Travis shrugged and remained standing too, while Amara stayed at the door and leaned against it. Luke eyed her out of the corner of his view, staring daggers into him. He then turned back to the mayor.

"Now, I have some questions, and I'm sure you have more for me."

"I do," Travis replied.

"What are you willing to share?"

"We'll go back and forth. Question, answer, and vice versa. I've told you a lot, so it's my turn now. Do you have a map of the world?"

"Afraid not. The region? Sure." Travis walked over to his dresser and dug around in a drawer, then came back with a map. He unfolded it and put it on the table, and Luke walked over. They were effectively in a valley between two mountain ranges, almost like a diamond shape. Mistbrook was near the bottom of the diamond shape, where the mountains opened up with a pass that led to another, larger city in the grasslands. Fort Greywatch was in the center of the diamond shape, and all around it was the Everfog Forest.

Luke took it in and nodded.

"Thanks."

"My turn, then," Travis replied.

"What is your intent here?" Well, Luke thought, honestly is the best policy, in this case. He said, "I can raise the dead to serve me." He saw both of their faces pale over, and he added, "To be clear, just meat and bones, not the soul. That's long gone." Amara's face stayed pale, but she also had a glowering look of fear in her gaze. She said, "And what happened to the rest of the Dawnbringer?" Luke met her gaze with defiance.

"You asked a question, now it's my turn…but since you knew the man who once owned this body, I'll go ahead and answer, anyways. Three are mush and goop since I raised them and they…re-died, fighting off Fog Creepers to keep Garran alive. Three are raised and guarding the fort in my absence, and the rest are in a pile in the basement." Travis, voice trembling ever-so-slightly, said, "Your turn."

"Have a mirror?" Luke asked. Travis went back to his dresser and came back with a hand-sized, silver mirror. Luke took it, and finally took in his own face. It was hard angles and white stillness, a face that looked carved from marble rather than born, with slightly-sunken cheeks and tight skin across the neck which was barely visible above the armor's top. He had the pallor of the corpse, but otherwise looked like a person, with steel-silvery-blue colored skin.

His hair was mostly white, with black streaks, and medium length, longer on the back than the front. His eyes were a deep, icy blue, and the more he looked, he saw a flicker of blue flame within the iris—just for a moment. He didn't have any softness on his face, and tried a few emotions: joy, sorrow, anger—they were all hard to pull off, given that the flesh didn't respond as strongly as when he was alive.

Letting his face fall to a neutral expression, he found the look to be rather intimidating: a flat, deathly focus, like he'd judged the world and thought it to be unworthy of his presence. Young at first glance, but almost too young. Ah, he thought, resting bitch face. That's what I'd call this. He nodded and handed the mirror back to Travis.

"Thanks." Travis said, "You mentioned you raised and left them. Can you…can you control them?" Luke replied nonchalantly, saying, "Up to my limits. But, I have a…unique ability to tether undead to a location." Mentally, he added, though I didn't do that this time. Not yet. Not until I establish relations and know that the fort will be used by people, and not just constantly attacked. It's just one place I plan to control…not my permanent base.

"Do you intend to claim the fort?" Amara asked. Luke looked back at her.

"Not without your permission." He turned back to Travis.

"That's actually why I'm here. The fort, despite its ruined state, saved a life. I think if it were fixed up and repaired, and manned with my undead, who have directives to help the living—well, it can be a bulwark against the Fog Creepers, and a waystation for people who are sick, injured, or need respite before getting back to town." Travis clapped his hands." Capital idea, just what I was thinking. The same plan the Dawnbringers had when they first arrived."

That surprised Luke, and for a moment, he feared that the owner of the body he now inhabited— Stop that, he thought, I'm the owner now. For a moment, he feared that the prior occupant of the body was somehow influencing his decision to make Undead Outposts. Travis continued.

"What would you need?"

"Honestly?" Luke answered, "I'm not sure. I've never repaired a fort before."

"Hmm…" Travis looked at Amara, and said, "Thoughts?" She curtly replied, saying, "It's made of stone. We don't have any masons. A few carpenters? Sure. How damaged was the building?" Luke gave a run down of the damages, and ended with, "Re-doing the interior for habitation would be smart as well. Plus, stocking up medical supplies, armor, weapons—everything people might need from a waystation." Travis clapped his hands once more and rubbed them together.

"Well, something like this cannot be decided on my own. We will need to take a vote. It is daytime, and…pardon me, but your appearance will unsettle many. Do you mind wearing something over your face and head?"

"If you have something for that," Luke replied.

"If this armor is recognizable, then perhaps a coat?" Travis went into the dresser one more time, and came up with a black cloak with a deep hood.

"Here you are." Luke threw it over his armor and pulled the hood up so that it covered all of his head and face, save for the direction he was facing. Maybe I should look into getting a mask. If I had armor and a weapon that weren't screaming 'Dawnbringer', then I could pass in society. I just have to remember to breathe. That was something he still wasn't used to, not having to breathe. His body wasn't autonomously doing it. It would take practice.

The door exploded inward, throwing Amara forward and into Luke's arms as he reacted in time. She recoiled from his saving grip and reflexively her hand went to a dagger on her belt. The person who had opened the door looked like one of the guards at the gate, and in a panic, he said, "Mayor! Captain! We have hunters coming back! But they're being chased by Fog Creepers!" Travis cursed and as Amara followed the man out, turned to Luke.

"Stranger…Luke…I have an idea as to how we can convince the town of your goodwill and nature, despite your unfortunate appearance and circumstances." This was exactly what Luke was hoping for. He had a chance to use his abilities to help people—he had the power to make a difference in people's lives. He could finally do what he wanted to do back home, and never had the ability to.

"Sure," he replied, "I'll help save your people."