You don't expect sleep to come easily that night after your ruminations, but it's not until you blink yourself awake, soft light tickling your eyes and grass tickling your nose, that you realise you must have fallen asleep in the grove. The tinkling of water and the rustle of ferns really does make for a soothing atmosphere.
The light is blue and pale, illuminating the room in a way that only the clearest, most cloudless nights could hope to emulate, and the air is chill. You stretch, feeling surprisingly rested despite the late hour. The issue with gods and plagues... it's not something you can change. It's not something you can do anything about.
You let out a long sigh, enjoying the warmth chasing the chill air from your nostrils, and stand, padding silently from the grove and into the rest of your lair.
There's a special kind of peace at night. No shouts from the arena as Feathers drills the goblins in pack tactics. No laughter from Charlemagne's tavern. Just the quite conversation of the guards by the door.
You move closer, until you can identify the voices – Sienna and Jack, from the sounds of things. You move away from them before you can hear much of their conversation, leaving them in privacy.
The second floor is much the same, the cavernous room stretching away into the darkness. The only illumination the faint spark of orange that is the oread's eye.
You regard it, as it regards you in turn. It's approach is strangely silent, stone feet making barely a whisper as she glides to a stop in front of you. Its exposed bones grind as it shifts, bending to look at you till its face comes to a stop less than a foot from your own. Its mouth opens.
“It hurts.”
You flinch, violently, at the unexpected noise. The voice of a young girl, childish, but with a distortion, an echo, as if she was shouting from the other end of a cave. The oread's face doesn't move beyond opening its mouth, its face expressing no emotion.
Its head tilts as it looks at you, bending forward to keep the distance as you lean backwards. Its mouth is still open.
“It hurts.”
You can only watch in horror as a chunk of stone that forms part of her collar bone cracks, flaking away and exposing more rusted bones. The creature shifts again, the light drifting from its left eye to its right as it tilts its head the other way.
You take several deep breaths.
The oread freaks you out. But it's part of your lair. Its motives may be unknown, but it helps out, and asked to join you.
“What hurts?”
The question seems to confuse it, causing it to pull back, still with the same blank expression on its face, still with its mouth open. Teeth of a paler stone are visible, but no other parts of a human's anatomy are there, the lips opening into the same hollow cavity that fills its head.
It stands with a suddenness that makes you flinch again, not least because its head is still tilted. It sways on its feet for a moment, putting you uncomfortably in mind of a body hung from a gallows. Then she squats down so her face is level with yours once more.
This time, the voice is preceded by more echoes, a build-up of overlapping sounds that happens to form
“It hurts!”
There's more emotion in the words this time, in the child's voice. Something between petulance and pain.
“What does? How can I help?”
It's everything you can do to keep your voice measured. It doesn't seem to help, as the oread's neck snaps the other way, sending lichen swinging. The face, mask like, gives nothing away. No hint of comprehension.
“Help me!”
You shudder at the desperation, the echoing tones of a child trapped.
“How?”
“Down here! Help me! It hurts!”
Despite its words growing louder, its posture doesn't change.
“I'm trapped!”
You take another breath. “What do you mean?”
“Is anyone there?”
Your blood goes cold. The blank face looms closer, the light drifting back again.
“Hello? Can anyone here me?”
An awful thought presents itself as the nonsensical words wash over you.
How would an Oread hunt? Out in the mountains, with plenty of sudden drops and sharp rocks?
You take another breath, trying to force your heart to slow down. Luring a hero to the edge of a cliff, with a voice that sounds like it's coming from further away and a body that would blend into the stones perfectly... A hero rushing to look over the edge, only for the stones to shift and pitch them out into the open air.
“IT HURTS!”
The scream shatters the air as more stone crumbles from its shoulder. The face is still blank but the voice is anguished.
You have no idea what to do. You have no idea what's going on.
You pull open your menu, scrambling through the minion options. There's far too many of them, many still greyed out. Then you pause and select one.
There's no sentience empowerment. Whatever is happening, the Oread is sentient.
You swallow the lump in your throat and try to keep your words short, easily understood.
“I want to help. How can I help?”
It cocks its head again, the light behind its eye flickering.
“I can hear you up there! Hey! I'm down here, please!”
You nod.
“What hurts?”
“It hurts!”
The voice sounds like its sobbing now, as it comes from the expressionless stone.
“This,” you point at the section of her collar bone, “Is this what's wrong?”
“It hurts!”
“Why?”
“Hey! I'm down here!”
You wrack your brain.
It's trying, it's trying to talk but it can't talk normally. It can hear me, understand me. But it can't talk back.
A wave of sympathy passes through you as you contemplate an existence like that.
“I can try a few things, but I don't know what's wrong, what's happening to you. Can you tell me anything?”
“Please! Don't leave me. Don't... don't leave me.”
The child's voice begins to cry, the soft sobbing of a child trying not to be heard.
You scan your menu again. Empower Minion is probably useless. Evolve minion is greyed out. Elemental minion requires magic you don't have.
Maybe I'm going about this wrong.
You leave the fame menu and go into your build menu. Elation fills you.
Then despair.
You don't understand.
A huge thank you to my patreons Spockk Kirkk, Abysslsniper, Tyrant615, Dakkanor, Jakelandiar, Curious Krissy, CBK, Roman, TheDrTelos, RD, Bakerdea, and Hemlock. A special thank you to Spokk Kirkk who is paying more than they need to, which is one of the most incredible feelings. A very special thank you to Roman for being insane and updating their pledge to a truly silly amount.
You don't expect sleep to come easily that night after your ruminations, but it's not until you blink yourself awake, soft light tickling your eyes and grass tickling your nose, that you realise you must have fallen asleep in the grove. The tinkling of water and the rustle of ferns really does make for a soothing atmosphere.
The light is blue and pale, illuminating the room in a way that only the clearest, most cloudless nights could hope to emulate, and the air is chill. You stretch, feeling surprisingly rested despite the late hour. The issue with gods and plagues... it's not something you can change. It's not something you can do anything about.
You let out a long sigh, enjoying the warmth chasing the chill air from your nostrils, and stand, padding silently from the grove and into the rest of your lair.
There's a special kind of peace at night. No shouts from the arena as Feathers drills the goblins in pack tactics. No laughter from Charlemagne's tavern. Just the quite conversation of the guards by the door.
You move closer, until you can identify the voices – Sienna and Jack, from the sounds of things. You move away from them before you can hear much of their conversation, leaving them in privacy.
The second floor is much the same, the cavernous room stretching away into the darkness. The only illumination the faint spark of orange that is the oread's eye.
You regard it, as it regards you in turn. It's approach is strangely silent, stone feet making barely a whisper as she glides to a stop in front of you. Its exposed bones grind as it shifts, bending to look at you till its face comes to a stop less than a foot from your own. Its mouth opens.
“It hurts.”
You flinch, violently, at the unexpected noise. The voice of a young girl, childish, but with a distortion, an echo, as if she was shouting from the other end of a cave. The oread's face doesn't move beyond opening its mouth, its face expressing no emotion.
Its head tilts as it looks at you, bending forward to keep the distance as you lean backwards. Its mouth is still open.
“It hurts.”
You can only watch in horror as a chunk of stone that forms part of her collar bone cracks, flaking away and exposing more rusted bones. The creature shifts again, the light drifting from its left eye to its right as it tilts its head the other way.
You take several deep breaths.
The oread freaks you out. But it's part of your lair. Its motives may be unknown, but it helps out, and asked to join you.
“What hurts?”
The question seems to confuse it, causing it to pull back, still with the same blank expression on its face, still with its mouth open. Teeth of a paler stone are visible, but no other parts of a human's anatomy are there, the lips opening into the same hollow cavity that fills its head.
It stands with a suddenness that makes you flinch again, not least because its head is still tilted. It sways on its feet for a moment, putting you uncomfortably in mind of a body hung from a gallows. Then she squats down so her face is level with yours once more.
This time, the voice is preceded by more echoes, a build-up of overlapping sounds that happens to form
“It hurts!”
There's more emotion in the words this time, in the child's voice. Something between petulance and pain.
“What does? How can I help?”
It's everything you can do to keep your voice measured. It doesn't seem to help, as the oread's neck snaps the other way, sending lichen swinging. The face, mask like, gives nothing away. No hint of comprehension.
“Help me!”
You shudder at the desperation, the echoing tones of a child trapped.
“How?”
“Down here! Help me! It hurts!”
Despite its words growing louder, its posture doesn't change.
“I'm trapped!”
You take another breath. “What do you mean?”
“Is anyone there?”
Your blood goes cold. The blank face looms closer, the light drifting back again.
“Hello? Can anyone here me?”
An awful thought presents itself as the nonsensical words wash over you.
How would an Oread hunt? Out in the mountains, with plenty of sudden drops and sharp rocks?
You take another breath, trying to force your heart to slow down. Luring a hero to the edge of a cliff, with a voice that sounds like it's coming from further away and a body that would blend into the stones perfectly... A hero rushing to look over the edge, only for the stones to shift and pitch them out into the open air.
“IT HURTS!”
The scream shatters the air as more stone crumbles from its shoulder. The face is still blank but the voice is anguished.
You have no idea what to do. You have no idea what's going on.
You pull open your menu, scrambling through the minion options. There's far too many of them, many still greyed out. Then you pause and select one.
There's no sentience empowerment. Whatever is happening, the Oread is sentient.
You swallow the lump in your throat and try to keep your words short, easily understood.
“I want to help. How can I help?”
It cocks its head again, the light behind its eye flickering.
“I can hear you up there! Hey! I'm down here, please!”
You nod.
“What hurts?”
“It hurts!”
The voice sounds like its sobbing now, as it comes from the expressionless stone.
“This,” you point at the section of her collar bone, “Is this what's wrong?”
“It hurts!”
“Why?”
“Hey! I'm down here!”
You wrack your brain.
It's trying, it's trying to talk but it can't talk normally. It can hear me, understand me. But it can't talk back.
A wave of sympathy passes through you as you contemplate an existence like that.
“I can try a few things, but I don't know what's wrong, what's happening to you. Can you tell me anything?”
“Please! Don't leave me. Don't... don't leave me.”
The child's voice begins to cry, the soft sobbing of a child trying not to be heard.
You scan your menu again. Empower Minion is probably useless. Evolve minion is greyed out. Elemental minion requires magic you don't have.
Maybe I'm going about this wrong.
You leave the fame menu and go into your build menu. Elation fills you.
Then despair.
You don't understand.
A huge thank you to my patreons Spockk Kirkk, Abysslsniper, Tyrant615, Dakkanor, Jakelandiar, Curious Krissy, CBK, Roman, TheDrTelos, RD, Bakerdea, and Hemlock. A special thank you to Spokk Kirkk who is paying more than they need to, which is one of the most incredible feelings. A very special thank you to Roman for being insane and updating their pledge to a truly silly amount.
