Chương 37: Interlude: Mook or Meek

Mook was Darlith's favorite and most capable messenger. If there was a hard delivery that needed to be done, then he was the first and only option. This was especially true when the recipient was Terry Wichet. Now that was one slippery man. It would take a keen nose like his to track down a man that elusive. Unrelated, but Mook had been wandering around in the forest for about four days. But it wasn't like he was lost. It was simply that it'd been so long since he'd really stretched his legs.

As a vermic, it was of the utmost importance that he get in the proper exercise. Both physically and mentally. Because he was a vermic. Not a squirrel, or chipmunk, or any of his other lowborn cousins like the marmots. Even though he looked just like a squirrel, it couldn't be stated enough just how different the two truly were. Being a vermic meant he was held to a higher standard. Not only was he capable of intelligent thought, but he could one day gain a class of his own.

It hadn't happened to him or any other vermic yet… but he was confident it'd happen one day! His heart fluttered at the many different ideas he had of what kind of classes he might get. But there was no sense in wondering about the future when he had a job to complete. Mook stood on top of a tree and surveyed the forest. To the west there were trees, then east there were more trees, in the south there were also trees, and finally, to the north there were trees, but ugly.

Mook was the most adept at piecing together information to properly locate his target, but sometimes the world just gave him nothing to work with. Also unrelated, but Mook had forgotten which way he'd come from. If there was one weakness he had then it had to be said that he was highly prone to getting his directions mixed up. Thankfully his keen nose offset such a perilous negative trait that'd otherwise lead to him getting lost often. Sniff…. sniff… sniff… sniff.

Mook sniffed the four cardinal directions in the grand pursuit of a whiff of Terry's scent. Nothing stood out, though, so he figured going north was always a safe bet. Which he had sadly forgotten where north truly was. Traditionally speaking, though, going forward was north, so that's what he did. His little paws scampered down the tree as dashed off in the direction he believed was north.

Nothing beat the sensation of a forests soft and soothing grass massaging his paws as he ran, and the feel of the air ruffling his extraordinary coat. The custom made tunic given to him by Darlith flapped against the wind, and his specially forged needle slightly shuffled with each step. His needle had been commissioned by some [Smith] that Darlith knew. It was a special fusion of mithril and runite ores, and some other special one that he could never remember. It started with an " M" that much he knew.

Normally such a mixture would cost a fortune that not even the most famous of adventurers could afford. Since the needle was so small, it really hadn't cost Darlith all that much. Besides it was a great investment for a messenger as talented as himself. He had long forgotten what made the alloy mixture so special, but what was important was that his needle was just about indestructible. Mook longed to use the weapon in a battle.

Each time the opportunity arose, he always felt bad for his prey and opted to running away each time. Just because his foe had made the mistake in messing with him that didn't mean he had to stoop to their level and brutally murder them for it. As he continued to run through the forest, it struck him that there hadn't been a whole lot of wildlife in the area. Large scary monsters didn't poke their heads out in these parts due to the semi-frequent adventurer patrols.

Regular wildlife like his primitive cousins should be out and about, pestering him with their existence. And yet... it was just Mook, the lone vermic that was wandering around. The answer to this mystery came a few minutes later as he heard the mutterings of natures biggest foe: humans. To be more specific to his current situation, it was [Poachers]. He heard the foul monsters chatting away, and once he got closer, he saw it was a group of four.

They were huddled near a beautiful Ironwood tree with their devices of destruction in hand. One of the [Poachers] had just been handed an axe. He began to wind up a hefty swing aimed at the rare tree. Mook focused intently and heard the chirping of birds emerge from within the tree. He didn't know what type of bird was within, but it must be rare if these men were hunting it. What he did know, however, was that Ironwood trees do not chop easily.

The largest man in their group had taken up the mantle of dedicated chopper. Each swing struck the tree's base, but it was as if he was merely pretending to chop the tree with how little damage he was doing. Mook laughed in his head and was about to head in the opposite direction when he noticed one of them had lit a torch. Mook observed in horror as the man yelled at his companions about letting him torch the tree.

After having just been in a mass inferno, he knew all too well how greedy a flame's appetite could be. While he may not be too enthused about throwing himself into the mix, he could hardly scamper off and let this beautiful forest burn. Little feet smacked leaves, twigs and all sorts of other bits of nature as Mook sprinted towards the [Poachers]. His trusty needle—which he had just named Nip—was in his mouth, his little jaw clamped around the midsection.

He needed all four of his limbs to run at max speed and wanted the weapon readily available as soon as he needed it. The foul men were too engaged in their own squabbles to notice the little vermic approach. His first target was the man with the torch. Uneasiness knotted within Mook's stomach as he got closer and the time for action came. The sensation fled as soon as he gripped Nip in his paws and thrusted the pointy end into the man's ankle." Ow!" the man cried.

"Something just bit me!" The other three snapped their attention to him, and then the surrounding area. Mook had instantly scurried up a nearby tree the moment his blow had landed, so they wouldn't find him up here. The hunt didn't last long with them soon disregarding their very seriously injured companion and returned back to the Ironwood tree. It was surprising to Mook that these men didn't flee out of these parts out of sheer fear. What more could he have done to spook them?

A violent and savage blow had just laid waste to their friend's ankle, and still they stood here? What foolish ambition these beasts had… He slowly crawled his way over a branch which hung over their heads. A surprise aerial attack should scare them off. So, once he was directly over top the brutish man with the axe, he hopped down and aimed Nip downwards towards the man's head. A small warning strike against such an important part on his body would surely give them cause to run away.

With any hope he could maybe snap some sense into these men and give them a reason to change their ways. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Nip bit into the hulking man's skull and sunk much deeper than he'd thought it would. He didn't really think too much about the ramifications of such a blow, and as the man came crashing down… he just figured the man passed out from a mixture of both fear and shock.

As his small paws tried to rip Nip out of his head, he heard the other three scream. One of them spotted Mook and kicked him, launching his delicate body crashing into the base of a nearby tree. The kick hurt, but on the positive side of things… Nip had been given the force it needed to be dislodged and was now back in his precious paws.

"Orgal! Orgal, wake up!" The man who had the torch said, his hands shaking the brute. Mook shook his head a few times to try and dispel the fuzziness he felt within his brain. A lack of understanding flooded him as his senses returned. Why exactly where they so concerned about their friend? All he had done was knock him unconscious…

"He's fuckin'… damn the birds! Find and skin that squirrel!" Torch man commanded.

"Squirrel? Did they think that a measly, stupid, stinky, dumb, incompetent squirrel did this?" Mook thought. Outrage at the blatant racism spurred him on, lending him the courage needed to continue the assault. Climbing up the tree he'd crashed into, he patiently observed the remaining three men frantically searching around for him, as he waited for his moment to strike again.

"Wow! I'm being so brave right now… Terry, if only you could see me now." There had always been a reason for him to avoid a fight in the past. But these men really weren't giving him a choice, and honestly? This had been a long time coming. [Poachers] were a big factor in the rapidly dwindling vermic population after all. Mook couldn't recall the last time he had ran into another one of his kind. His focus on the group had wavered, and he failed to notice the change in their attitude.

Gone was the cold anger they had towards Mook, and replaced in its stead was raw fear. Each man frantically turned around in various directions, their gazes scanning for whatever it was that had spooked them. For the life of him, he just couldn't place what it was that had evoked such emotion. Mook had pretty good hearing and he hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary. The birds were still chirping in panic, the men continued their mutterings… but the rest of the forest was as tranquil as it had been.

The missing piece of the puzzle came to him as he noticed that the man he had knocked out was now missing.

"Beck, let's just make a run for it! Fuck Orgal, he's dead already," the man said, addressing Torch Man.

"Yeah, fuck Orgal, I know. Which way do we run? Whatever took him could've gone in any direction…" Beck said, "Harry, you're the tracker. What do you see?"

"The fuck you mean I'm the tracker?" Harry said.

"You know I haven't gotten the class yet! I can't tell shit from an ass right now!" The men had been lost in their squabbling and hadn't noticed another one of them had gone missing. But… Mook had been watching this time, and he was really regretting getting himself involved. His little furry body shook with the same fear they were feeling, but unlike them, he knew why. Osciliopods. Mook had only ever encountered the insects once, and that had been on an expedition with Terry.

And even then, they had just encountered babies. Which had still almost resulted in Terry's death. What he had just witnessed, though, was most definitely not a baby osciliopod. It had only popped up out of the earth for the briefest of moments, and when it did emerge, it did so without a sound. How a creature of that size could be so silent… he couldn't even begin to understand. Not even the victim had been able to make a sound. That was how quick the entire exchange had been.

It might defy logic, but that didn't change the fact that whoever their third member had been… he was now deep under the earth in its den.

"…Wait, where's Muck?" Beck asked, as he finally realized the trio was now a duo. Once Harry realized what Beck had said to be true, he wasted no time and started to run away. Beck called out in surprise before he began to follow. The two didn't make it that far because their hunter exploded out of the ground and blocked their path.

"This close to Dynarus? How is that possible…" Harry said. Did that mean that Mook was actually almost at his destination? Life sure was crazy. In the midst of these men's imminent demise, he had found his salvation. As tempting as it was to run now and finally reach his destination… someone should be there to see their final moments. Even if they were a bunch of loser [Poachers]. The torch that Beck had been carrying was still lit so he threw the thing at the monstrous insect. To very little effect.

Flame did not engulf the osciliopod and instead, the torch just bounced off and began to burn the foliage nearby. A forest fire might very well have saved the men had this been any other creature. However, while he may not be the knowledgeable on the insects… even he knew how smart osciliopods were. The insect extinguished the flame by dragging its long segmented body onto the budding flame. Its carapace mitigated any burning the flames might have done.

These creatures didn't feel fear like other animals and monsters did. Beings of pure destruction they were, and it'd take men and women of vast power and strength to take one of these monsters down. Power and strength, which these poor two men did not… and would not ever possess.

"I don't want to die… Not to this fucker of all things…" Beck said, the words coming out defeated. The osciliopod made its move with startling speed that made Mook jump despite not being close to the action. Harry went down as it wrapped itself around his torso and bit into his neck with those horrid and large mandibles. Despite how large the osciliopod's mandibles were, the bite didn't destroy the flesh, it just made what looked like a quick insertion of… something.

Beck had ran in the opposite direction the moment he saw his companion was its first target. The osciliopod didn't chase him on foot, though. Instead it burrowed down in the ground once more and popped out underneath Beck's feet, and tangled its body with his. Harry's body began to convulse violently. It was almost as if his soul was trying to burst free from his dead husk of a corpse. Mook remembered now what exactly it was that osciliopod's did to not just the living, but also the dead.

They incubated their eggs within their prey's body, using their warm blood to accelerate its growth. Living or not, it didn't matter. All the same, the eggs stole their hosts' vitality and spurred their own development. Mook regretted staying now and couldn't bring himself to watch what would become of Beck, or what was currently happening to Harry. Dynarus was close, and remaining here felt unnecessary. A vermic he might be, but he still felt the same emotions as any other human or otherwise did.

And right now what he felt was disgust. There was no role within nature these monsters fit in. All they did was destroy. Mook hopped from tree to tree, passing the newly inhabited body of Harry, continuing his journey towards Dynarus. The more distance he placed between him and those poachers, the less space they occupied in his little brain. One of the best parts about being a vermic was how easy it was for him to forget about tragedy and pain.

With such a small brain, he couldn't afford to waste valuable memory on such terrible things. And soon enough, once he finally saw the tall buildings that made up the grand city of Dynarus, he couldn't even remember what had just happened. The memory was still there of course, but the likelihood of it resurfacing was so low that it might as well be buried as deep as the osciliopod's nest was. After all, how could such a memory be worth remembering when he was this close.

Mook the vermic felt his little heart flutter with joy as he sprinted off towards the city. While he might have had an issue getting here—which rarely happened—finding Terry wouldn't be a problem at all. Darlith had provided him with the names of a few places he'd likely frequent during his stay.

As apart of Torralgia's underground market for information, Terry Witchet, who was the most elusive man in the organization, would most likely hit up the contacts that were their most lucrative and influential within the city. According to Darlith, that included the man that led the lower cities thieving operations, who Mook couldn't recall his name, something like Wood or Bark. Then there was the [Headmistress] Kiera who ran the lower cities prostitution and her own local network of informants.

Those two were both completely acceptable locations for a little Mook to scurry around and find. That couldn't be said for the last potential person that Terry might meet up with. Veo Vintly, Dynarus's very own prodigy [Architect]. Who had a secret unbeknownst to those within the higher society. Or at the very least, by a select few. Mook himself didn't even know, and truthfully he didn't care either. All he knew was that he didn't want to find away up into the upper city districts.

Rich people always had stupid cats lurking about preying on poor victims like Mook and his distant cousins. That'd be the last place Mook would visit. And not because he was scared, but just because he didn't want to hurt anyone's beloved pet cat. He was a lover not a fighter, after all. Even if sometimes he was required to unleash the strength of the vermics upon the foolish that dared to mess with him.

Terry Wichet was in his caravan riding away from Dynarus. Having concluded his business and waited as patiently as he could for the little Mook to arrive, he could no longer sit idle. He longed to see the little fellow again, but his job required him to always be moving. Darlith, who in the midst of the chaos that had apparently unfolded in Burgen's Hill that night Terry had left, had forgotten that poor Mook had suffered from a concussion a week prior during a delivery gone wrong.

His senses were still cloudy and couldn't hold a scent for long at all. He was always getting lost and turned around, so making a journey to Dynarus was most definitely going to cause immense issues. She had instead decided to send one of her ravens to deliver the message she had entrusted Mook with alongside information about his journey. Terry had spent an extra day in the city just reconnecting and checking in with people who he didn't usually have the time to see these days.

The message that Darlith had sent him was of the utmost urgency, and he needed badly to make the long journey to Tekarth. If what Darlith had heard rumors of were true, then it was far more important than waiting for Mook to make his way here. Still though, he had waited in hopes his injury was healed enough to return his past tracking prowess. Terry also just really loved having that little beast around. It was remarkable how smart Mook was. Could he be scatterbrained?

Sure, but there was so much that he was capable of that other animals couldn't do. After all, what other squirrel could use a custom forged needle as a weapon?