Chapter 36

“Oh yeah, we’re bottom of the heap here, friend.”

I was walking alongside one of the four people Stalwart sent along with me on our excursion to secure the material he was after. Nobody’d told me anything about where we were going or what we were after, only to show up, bring my current gear, and not be late.

I was pleased to see the minor bone contusion debuff run out its duration by itself. Since I’d used my Higher Self-Heal yesterday to remove the other, nastier, debuff left from my fight with Cuilcis, that left me back at fighting strength, with Self-Heal ready, should I manage to earn myself yet another debuff.

My current conversation partner, Lure, was one of the ugly flying creatures, and he was probably the most approachable person I’d spoken to since coming to Last Chance. Apart from Kimzi, and she just wanted me for my mana coins!

His kind, apparently, were called Moagies. He was also Level 19 and apparently didn’t have Secrets of the Self – or so I guessed, since I could see his health after getting my Identify skill up to 19. Now that I saw him from up close, I realized I’d been somewhat wrong in calling his species a mix between poodles and eagles. They did have the long, hooked beak, and the outer layer of their feathers were all weird and scrunched-up like poodle fur. Yet, eagles had that majestic bearing going for them. Meanwhile, Moagies had all the bearing and pride of oil-slicked seagulls.

“Truth be told, us Moagies are bottom of the heap anywhere. We’re weak. Hollow bones will do that. Our heads aren’t hollow, but I’ll grant, we’re rarely archmage material, if you get me.” He laughed, a loud braying laughter.

I laughed along. “Me either, mate. I still don’t see why that makes you bottom of the heap.”

He shrugged. “Eh. We’re ugly, weak and our only real advantage is we’re fast. Kind of gives us a bad rep.” He leaned in closer. “Lots of assassins and backstabbers among us, if you catch my drift.” He snorted “As for me, I’m just your run-of-the-mill Scout. But I’ve got a nose for scavenging, for spotting and extracting the good stuff. That’s why Stalwart keeps me around.”

“Good to hear. What are we scavenging, in this case? And what am I supposed to defend against?” We’d been walking, north and east, for about three hours. The other three helpers, two Tavungors and one Adrastians, had been a lot more taciturn. They’d just told me to stay alert and focus on the job. Meanwhile, Lure had been circling us from above, keeping an eye on possible ambushes or issues.

“Lyrian Rastlers.” He shrugged. “Don’t ask me about the name, cause I don’t know. They’re gorgeous creatures. Beautiful. Majestic. And, from what I hear, an absolute pain to fight. Oh. Sorry. Massie’s frowning at me. That means my break’s over. You take care, and… do whatever you need to prepare. We should be there in three or four hours.”

Huh. That was kind of weird. If these creatures had the sort of material that was worth actually sending people out after, and they were just six or seven hours away from the city, why had nobody been to collect? Sure, they might be a pain to fight, but… Last Chance was a gathering of exiles, outcasts and fortune seekers. If this were doable, why wouldn’t somebody have taken the chance by now?

We found the Lyrian Rastlers at some point in the afternoon. They were not what I expected.

“That’s my target?” I asked Lure, as he dropped down from the skies, his elegant landing defying gravity. “You called them majestic!”

He blinked and waved at them. “Oh, come on. Look at them go! Aren’t they just the prettiest?” He smiled warmly at the around fifteen creatures lazing in the sun, playing or play-fighting around a large outcropping of oversized rocks.

“They’re tiny! I mean, okay, they’re gorgeous, I’ll grant you that. But they don’t look like they’d be able to leave a mark on my skin with those teeth. Also, what’s with the levels?”

They were cat-like creatures. Rather, they looked like what you’d get if you took a lion cub and a bear cub and mixed them up before granting them an impressively shiny silvery fur, striped with black. They were also less than thirty centimetres tall, standing on their hind legs. If we had something as cute as this back on Earth, all the chihuahuas, pomeranians and assorted tiny pets would get caught up by evolution and grow extinct overnight.

“Ah, yes. That is the issue with the Rastlers. Other beasts tend to avoid them. Hence, they do not level as much as many other animals around.”

They were, indeed low-levelled, at least compared to everything else I’d stumbled into out here. Just a few of them were past Level 10, with the vast majority of them around Levels 8-10.

Stalwart’s other Collectors weren’t present. In fact, they were hanging around about a kilometre back. Only Lure continued along with me.

“All right, Lure. I think this is where you cut the bullshit and simply tell me the issue. What is it about these beasts that makes everybody around here keep their distance? Are they secretly shape-changing nightmare beasts?”

He laughed, but the laughter was tinged with nervous energy. “No. Only… you’re probably going to want to maybe hand me any items you want to keep.”

***

The strap snapped and my leg guard immediately sagged forward, exposing my leg. Moments later, the lower strap gave up as well, and the armor piece fell to the ground with a tinkling sound. “How is this fucking fair?” I shouted at the world in general.

“You’re doing great. Keep going!” A thin voice shouted from in the distance. The far distance.

I snarled and pumped my arms, running for all I was worth. Around me, the Wheel of Magic glowed and sizzled, delivering its lethal payload while I sprinted for my life.

Acid. Fucking acid! That was the tiny detail that nobody wanted to talk about. Those Rastlers were the cutest of cutie pies, adorable and cuddly enough that it would be the best of wingmen for meeting ladies – Oh, and they spat acid strong enough to eat its way through any kind of material. Leather, metal, or the damn flesh underneath.

Oh, and they were accurate little bastards too. If you thought you’d go and just riddle them with arrows from afar, you’d have another think coming. You’d need a good old English longbow, preferably magically enhanced, insane accuracy and a damn fast pair of legs on top of that, if you wanted that to succeed.

In short, anybody going up against the lovely little rascals had better either go commando or be prepared to lose all their gear. Either way, the one certainty for a matchup with these cuddly fuckers was pain. I’d squealed like a pig for what felt like ages, leaving my throat sore and my breath ragged.

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I flung myself to the ground and rolled behind a rock. Then I rubbed a handful of dirt over where I’d been hit, splattered the now gooey matter onto the ground and scrambled to my feet to keep running. Unless I got the caustic spittle off, it just kept going. The pain was bad. But the loss of health was even worse, because it just wouldn’t stop.

You’d think, with lovely talents that allowed me to deal both physical and magical damage, I’d be well equipped to deal with most enemies. Yet, this was now twice I’d been matched up against enemies whose preferred damage didn’t even trigger my primary method of retaliation.

It had taken me a good deal of discussion to explain the issue to the others, and come up with a solution. I hadn’t told them about my quirks or limitations – that would just put a target on my back – but I had outlined the details around Wheel of Magic, and how it needed magical damage for being triggered in the first place.

Thankfully, one of the others had a crafted wand with limited energy, that allowed him to discharge football-sized bolts of fire – fairly damaging and colourful, and intimidating enough to scare away any inquisitive wildlife. I bought it off of him for half my medium coins, and had one of them hide behind a rock and hit my poor old shield with it to activate my talent. It barely even scorched my fingers.

I charged sideways, zig-zagging to avoid the liberal barrage of missiles aimed my way. A single glance at my health cost me, as another missile struck me, this time on the back of the arm. Gah. That would put me below four hundred health. An afterthought sent Internal Scourge, already overworked in the current exchange, to work again, counteracting the caustic after-effects. Once, enough of the acidic crap had reached my bloodstream that I’d had to use the active effect of Higher Self-Heal to purge myself of the Toxic Blood debuff that had resulted.

Wheel of Magic worked on overtime, delivering its retributive payloads, constantly and reliably. Unfortunately for me, the Rastlers were less predictable. Though their adorable looks indicated something different, the little beasts were agile and a lot faster than you would think. It was only their size and short legs that held them from being true menaces. I shuddered to think what would happen if one of them was allowed to gain enough levels to grow big.

Fortunately for me, they were fragile. I watched in the corner of an eye, as one of the three remaining Rastlers took a frozen, near-invisible missile to the leg and tumbled end over end, entirely out of control. It ended up in a sitting position, looking completely flabbergasted – right until a bolt of arcane magic struck it between the eyes.

It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t easy. But I took down the final two beasts over a prolonged, gruelling stretch. The last Rastler simply refused to surrender, even as its breath grew more ragged, and its leaps less accurate.