Paladin Of The Forsaken Lands (Monster Crafting "Nature" Paladin Lit-Rpg) 135- Gather The Prey

Slev Richter- The Forsaken Lands

Slev had his hand stuffed in his sleeve, clutched around the mark of Vurune like his life depended on it because it absolutely did. He was scared shitless right now. He was accompanying a scouring hunting party, the first real strike against the paladin now that the town was utterly locked down with forces of Rembrand.

The last couple days had been a frenzy. Even more n arrived, both from the church and the Dutchy army. And the archbishop had bade him to begin strikes against the paladin with his hired forces as well as so additional rcenaries Candor had hired.

Slev wasn’t sure if Candor was just trying to get him killed or not. But he was begrudgingly leading a fairly formidable force. Only one of the Ricktus had accompanied him, but he also had his handpicked squad of killers and then a handful of rcenary chaff the church had hired.

All told almost forty n stood at his beck and call. If he had anything to say about it, none of them would be leaving the forest alive. The trick was, of course, to accomplish that without giving himself away as a double agent and not getting murdered in the crossfire.

Right now he was set behind the main line of chaff; they had encountered so unexpected resistance around the fringes of a ruined town. Hidden figures ambushing with bows and arrows only seen in fleeting, confusing glimpses.

They had steadily driven them back. It nearly felt like they were being led sowhere. Slev suspected that was exactly what was happening, but he certainly wasn’t going to order them to pull back from the jaws of a trap. So now they found themselves on the edges of the Paladins' city, assaulting a tower and the mostly ruined compound below it.

At first Slev thought it was Vrax personally pulling them in, but no one had been eaten yet, so it must just be so of his allies at the mont. He peeked carefully up over a thorn-covered log to survey the battleground.

The trees leading up to the tower look like new growth with a few too many shifting green glimrs interspersed throughout them for comfort. The way they were arranged was unnatural, like ink blots dropped on a piece of parchnt. Strides of treeless green grass lay between the dozens of dense miniature copses of trees.

The compound itself wasn’t much to look at. A large square stone warehouse, its steepled roof had fallen in gods knows how long ago, and the three stone outbuildings surrounding it didn't look much better. And of course the entirety of the compound leading to the tower was overrun with vegetation nearly a stride deep in so places. Making it look like a jungle had been layered on top of the ruin.

The circular tower and its square-based bottom looked to be in much better repair than the rest of the place.

The wide door set into it was made from a bronzy tal that appeared worn but in good shape. And the stone stairs leading to the roof and wrapping around the side of the tower were in equally good repair.

Slev frowned; that was a bad sign. If he was trying to win this, we would have pulled back just when he saw the green glimrs in the trees. The fact that the tower had signs saying it was being repaired one hundred percent sealed the deal that this was a trap. Vrax probably had so ten-headed soul-sucking nether beast stuffed in there just waiting for victims.

So naturally, Slev hunkered lower behind his cover and watched the rcenaries fanning forward cautiously, approaching the tower. Most were smart enough to walk between the stands of trees instead of into them.

One group of three archers just couldn’t resist the cover and vantage point, dashing right into one of the dense stands of trees. Slev pulled out a small telescope and focused on them, figuring he might as well see how they died to increase his chances of survival.

He frowned as they picked their way into shrubbery, and two began scaling a green-flecked tree while the other two kneeled near its base, bows drawn towards the tower. Huh… I figured they would be eaten by now.

He was shifting his gaze when the slightest flicker of near-perfect invisibility behind one of the archers caught his eye. Hmm, alright…still his sneaky allies, then…where the hell are the monsters? This is bizarre by Vrax’s standards. People should be exploding, and dark creatures should be cackling all around us, basking in the mont.

Slev frowned as he had to leave his cover and advance slowly to not get left alone on the fringes. He very much so didn’t want to get caught out, yet his Mark of Vurune wouldn’t do a damn thing to save him from an invisible assassin's arrow.

The group of more elite cutthroats he was skirting behind were known as the Tear Makers. A laughably trite na, but he did see the rit when their average clientele was much less nuanced than the inquisition. They did at least have a reputation that lived up to their overly dramatic title. Having killed lords and cri bosses alike over the last few years

The larger smattering of rcenaries making up the chaff was from a totally separate group, Laurel’s Lance. There wasn’t a damn thing special about them other than general competency and the fact that their expedition had brought an honest-to-gods healer with them.

The healer so far had made up for their overall lack of impressive skill, preventing them from taking much in the way of attrition on the way here. Everyone that had been struck with an arrow and not outright killed was ferried back to a very weasely-looking man in red and gold robes who patched them back together with admittedly impressive healing magic.

Slev checked the man's class again with identify; he was fairly sure that man was going to beco a priority target shortly and wanted to steer clear so he wasn’t caught up in whatever horrors descended upon him. [Willbur Right Tier-1] (lvl 60)[ Battlemage Of Wounds]. Slev frowned that class…probably had aspects other than healing he hadn’t seen yet.

The Tear Makers ducked low, one of their mbers raising a small stone wall for cover with a gesture. Slev slid in behind the cover with them, seeing why they had paused. The first of the Lancers had made it over the crumbled knee-high walls and were wading into the jungle-like compound.

From here he could see the flicker of movent in the large warehouse doorway. So did the rcenaries. An arrow driven by a purple strear of fire rocketed out with a screaming whistle, shortly followed by a pair of arcing orbs of fire that rose high before diving down at the doorway.

The figure didn’t retreat; instead, they stepped into the attacks, exposing bleak grey tal armor that looked so thick Slev wasn’t sure how you were supposed to move in it. The figure raised a forearm wrapped in glowing crimson chain, taking the arrow straight on. It shattered across his vambrace; the fragnt whizzing past him tore hunks from the stonework.

The lazy fireballs hit a second later—two muted thumps that rattled the air and lit up the compound in an impressive conflagration of fire. A single red chain with a hooked end sailed from within the fire, wrapping around the mage who threw the fireball and pulling him screaming into his own flas.

More arrows flew towards the wall of fire coating the warehouse that the mage had been hauled into. None of the rcenaries rushed forwards not wanting to et the sa fate to the unknown hulking figure. Or be separated from there allies by magical fire.

Slev was about to shout an order to at least try and make it look like he was trying to keep them alive. When a wretched, horrific bird alighted on his foot. He looked down at the sparrow. Its head was twisted all the way around, and its body was nearly hollow. Peeking from its eye and chest were tiny, beautiful red orchids. And grasped in its claw was a tiny slip of paper.

Slev instantly knew who it was from and added necromancy to the list of world-ending powers Vrax apparently had access to. With a practiced bit of slight of hand, he made it look like he was shooing the creepy creature away from himself and snatched the paper. He fell back slightly farther to the back of the group and glanced at the simple ssage, “Get them inside. ”.

Slev felt a cold sweat break out on his skin. It wasn’t just the ominous nature of the ssage; sothing malevolent had arrived to the battlefield. He wasn’t the only one who felt it. Others were looking around in concern for the source of doom washing lightly over them.

“Move up with the others; stay in the back, of course. Use them for at shields and wait until the paladin shows himself, then pursue him with vigor; he’s adept at escaping.” Slev curtly said to the violently scarred face of the Tear Makers' leader, Kon.

Kon gave him an appraising look, then nodded once, making a few hand gestures to his team; they started creeping up towards the burning compound ahead. The malevolent feeling of being hunted kept creeping upward until suddenly it wasn’t just a feeling; a laughably out-of-place sound rang over the battlefield.

The long, drawn-out note of a violin crept from the compound, followed by the sensation of teeth upon your neck. The tune picked up playing in sharp, frantic notes, hamring into Slev's thoughts like a spike of fear. He saw the slightest flecks of blood. Of violent last monts, of his entrails being slowly plucked from his still-living chest and fed into an unquenchable maw.

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Slev shook his head clear and took a few ragged, terrified breaths. So of the other rcenaries weren’t so lucky; all across the battlefield, people had stiffened weapons drawn. There were even a couple that had been reduced to fearful sobs.

Those with higher resistances or simply more bravery continued picking deeper into the compound. The only sounds now were the haunting lody promising a painful death and the crackling of fire.

Slev hurried to not be left behind, only stopping when he reached the low wall slightly behind the Tear Makers. The Lancers had regrouped mostly. A large group stacked up around the warehouse. The rest fanned out in front of the tower itself. No one had gone into the three small buildings yet, not that he could bla them with that damnable song wearing at everyone's sanity.

Slev cleared his throat and shouted with as much authority as he could muster in the current circumstance, “Lancers! Clear the outbuildings first!”

To their credit, they were professionals; a group of five led by three shield wielders peeled off in a tight formation towards the first building. They went for it with gusto, the first man in plate mail barreling through the scraps of a door continuing forward with enough force to simply punch straight through the stone back wall. He swirled his shield raised towards the hole he had created as the others piled in afterward. Quick calls of "Clear!" rung out before they moved to the next building. The scene played out again: the figure barreling through the door, then the wall. His compatriots clearing it.

Tension was palpable as they stacked up in a tight formation for the last small stone building. The song was continuing unabated, and at this point it was clear it was ringing out from within the building the tower jutted from.

The shield wielder charged through the door with a war cry. This ti he didn’t explode through the back wall; instead, there was a sick splattering sound, and the others imdiately raised their shields up, holding the doorway. A sickly green shape oozed around their feet, climbing up the armored n with a sizzling sound as they cooled alive in their armor. One managed to blast it off with a wave of force that nearly leveled the building.

The blast also blew out thousands of tiny flickering green forms that imdiately began diving into eyes, ears, and flesh. Slev grimaced at the cloud of dandelions that began savaging the squad. No one else on the battlefield moved closer to help; instead, they all pulled glowing fireblood potions out and drank them. This was a known power of the paladins that they had prepared for.

The screams of the infested n seed to almost ld with the notes of music as the dandelions spread out overhead across the battlefield, casting everything in an eerie twinkling green light. Then they all saw him finally.

Rising impossibly from a patch of moss like a corpse from the underworld re strides from a warrior. He was directly in front of the doorway to the tower. The forsaken paladin glowered at the dozens of n, then simply turned and walked inside the building, a middle finger extended in the air.

“That motherfucker is insane." Slev grumbled quietly.

Kon unfortunately overheard him. "I'll say…this is obviously a fucking trap; we will follow in after the others.” Kon looked around. “Where the fuck did that mutant Ricktus go? We could use his brand of fucked up versus whatever the demon summoner has waiting for us in there."

Slev looked around confused as well. The unsettling mage had been following close behind them the whole ti, but now he just appeared to be gone. Well, that’s not good…

Vraxious— The Forsaken lands

Vrax left his middle finger out the door for just a second longer before closing it behind himself as he entered into the tower's foyer. The group of rcenaries outside would definitely co in after that. Especially with Slev prodding them forward to their doom.

Vrax waved his hand slightly in beat with the sound of Edwards' violin. It was really a lovely tune when its magic wasn’t aid at you.

Alright…this is going to be interesting.

The building was certainly not what the rcenaries would expect. Hell, it wasn’t what Vrax expected. This top room was just barren other than pillars and a door that led to the tower staircase leading upwards.

Set in the middle of the floor though, was a wide staircase that led down like the gullet of a massive beast into the gloom. Vrax jogged down the stairs into the jungle-filled room. It was massive, easily ten tis the size of the upper floor. It was apparently one of Malaketh's early attempts at a dungeon room. As was the even bigger floor below this one. The actual active dungeon room was a floor below even that, sitting on a third subterranean level.

But this whole area counted as the dungeon's territory. Dark humanoid shapes and stranger things flitted around the fern-like shrubbery and through the tops of the wide-leaved trees. Vrax knew the dungeon was restraining them, until enemies arrived.

The general plan was simple: ambush them in this overgrown shitshow of a failed dungeon floor with the aid of Malaketh's monsters. If he needed to, he could fall back to the next level where Duchess and the abyssal guard were, as well as an utter morass of adapted life.

If sohow they got pushed back after that, there was a teleporter outside the door to the dungeon proper they could evacuate with. Vrax let himself ld into the shadows as the sound of boots across stone rang out above; it was ti to get this party started.

They ca down the stairs in slow, cautious groups of three to six. Their discipline was impressive. Shields or heavy armor up front. Swords or spears behind them and then taking up the rear were archers or more lightly armored combatants that seed likely to be battle mages.

The obvious leader ca down the stairs nearly last. A slimy-looking gaunt fellow in crimson robes. The golden trim on his clothes flickered with the faint bioluminescence of the mushrooms creeping up the walls. He was surrounded by four heavily armored individuals moving like a wall of tal around him.

Vrax frowned slightly and used Predator's gaze; sothing about the man was creeping him out in a way he couldn’t explain. His armor seed to agree, gently simring with flas between its seams. Thankfully the flas didn’t seem to affect the everthirst cloak.

[Willbur Right Tier-1] (lvl60) [Battlemage of Wounds] [Threat: Extre] Hmm, yep, now that is an ominous class na, good gods.

Vrax was busy angling farther into the shadows when another figure ca down the stairs in a shuffling, almost painful gait, noticeably separate from the others. Where Willbur, the wound mage, was offputting this shrouded individual set off every alarm bell in Vrax’s survival sense. His armor prickled painfully against his skin, and the fire within the charred edges threatened to fully ignite. The figure stood out like a burning red candle in his Visor Vurune, practically ordering him to snuff its life out.

What in the fuck, Vrax’s predatory gaze returned absolutely nothing. It was like he wasn’t even looking at soone that could be identified. Vrax was about to make that stilted figure his first target when Malaketh decided now was a good ti to make an appearance.

A knee-high myconid trundled out of the brush, power streaming from its eyes.” Welco to…” The dungeon’s puppet started but was violently cut off.

“Contact!” The leading tank shouted, and a lightning bolt followed by a handful of arrows crashed into the myconid. It flailed at the shock, then danced as the arrows turned it into a pincushion.

It shook its head slightly, not quite dead. "Well, that was rude…" The myconid exploded in a steaming shower of purple and blue goop that coated the first squad. Vrax saw one of the tanks retching as he tried to pull part of the myconid's face from his mouth.

Vrax couldn’t help but laugh as another slightly larger myconid trundled forth out of the undergrowth looking mighty pissed. “Hmph! Hold your fire, you savages; I was hoping to be more..." A lightning bolt snapped out again, this ti carrying enough power to solidly explode the myconid.

There was a pause, and Vrax’s eyes widened; they had absolutley pissed Maliketh off. He was planning to inundate them in monsters no matter what, but obviously he wanted to have his fun monologue first. Trees snapped as a myconid five tis the size of a man forced its way forward.

This ti its voice was a booming wrathful tone holding much more of the dungeon’s power. “Fine! Fine! Welco to the dungeon! "I'm Malaketh, and fuck you, lightning mage in particular!" The mycnid's limb ponderously reached out to point at one rather prickly-looking mage in light blue robes hiding behind the leading shield wielder.

The mage’s eyes got slightly wide, and he pointed at himself and mouthed, "Wait, ?” looking around like he wasn’t just the one to fry the last two myconids.

“Why am I even wasting the essence for this! Gods, I've gotten too bored lately. Co here, sparky…” Malaketh bood out, and suddenly the massive myconid crashed forward, stubby arms stretched out towards the mage.

Vrax knew he should have been taking the mont of distraction to ambush one of the smaller groups along the edge of the room, but he couldn’t look away from the sheer cataclysmic glory of the myconid stepping into a punch to the backdrop of violin music.

Arrows and lightning crashed against the Avatar, scorching and piercing the planty flesh, accomplishing nothing against a beast that large. The myconids arm swung back and then forward, building montum like a boulder rolling down a mountainside. The shielded warriors' eyes went wide, and dull yellow barriers sprouted before the formation, interlocking each over other and sinking into the dirt below.

The punch landed on the center of the barriers with such force that nearby trees were blasted away and dirt exploded outwards for a dozen strides. The blow crashed straight through the barriers, crushing the shield bearers into a fine paste, and terminated on the other side of the screaming lightning mage.

He didn’t die so much as he ceased to exist. The only sign he had ever been there was the fine pink mist wafting down across his few surviving squadmates and a tattered blue strip of cloth fluttering through the air. Malekith let out a booming laugh as the avatar began burning out from the strain of his power. “Let the gas begin!" The myconid shouted, arms stretched overhead, before it suddenly burst like a bomb.

Blue fire and molten mushroom rocked the ranks of the rcenaries as the dozens of dungeon-born beasts hiding in the shadows lunged forward as one, Maleketh’s will no longer holding them in check.

Vrax smiled and rushed forward along with the press of beasts. Creatures of scale and feather. Long, sinuous bodies shaped like stretched canines. Their muzzles were a scaled horror filled and overflowing with fangs. Feathers of the darkest royal purple, stretched down thier body and tails.

Behind the hauntingly beautiful canines ca a crazed tide of yellow and green flailing tendrils writhed, covered in handspan-long thorns, as dozens, then hundreds, of dungeon-born man-eater daisies flung themselves forwards. Vrax slowed just enough to let the canines throw themselves upon the nearest group and slip in amongst the tide of daisies.

His blood ran cold as a chuffing laugh sounded from his left. He looked with wide eyes towards the malevolent eyes of a Dreadfeast Drake. In its natural, unadapted form. Six-bladed claws twitching in excitent as it drank in the surrounding fear. It was just as large as Duchess, maybe even slightly larger. It made eye contact with Vrax’s helm briefly. “Quickly the Elysians must be scoured to a man if the gods are to be sated…” It mimicked in a panicked tone with an accent Vrax couldn’t place.

Oh fuck …. Duchess has been here for like an hour. How did you already make a copy…at least it isn’t an Apex…wait…oh shit… This isn’t a copy; it's fully grown…of fucking course the thousand-year-old dungeon already had Dreadfeast Drakes Vrax…. Really hope Duchess doesn’t see one and decide she just got minions.