Chapter 25: The Draknich Tribe
It got quieter the closer they got to Moto’s home.
The birds stopped chirping, bugs stopped buzzing, soon there wasn’t the slightest hint of lesser mortals around them.
The swamp’s ambience was replaced by the blowing of wind and rustling of leaves. But they weren’t the only sounds, as distant thunder foretold of yet another storm approaching. The sky had darkened, but they had more than enough light to see the roots.
There were more of them, dark purple tendrils growing more and more numerous until they were bursting up from the dirt and clogging the moist ground. Eventually, there was nothing but roots bending under their feet as they moved.
“Dark Father… keep hungries away.” Moto gestured to the choked swamp around them “Even swarm-lings flee! Safe for Draknich!”
She danced ahead of them, throwing caution to the wind the darker the swamp got. She marveled at the roots, some of which had grown up the side of trees and were wrapping around those that had fallen.
Cross wished he could share in her enthusiasm, but the curious nature of her Dark Father was too distracting.
Neither him or his comrades had said much after entering the territory of the Dark Father. The quiet stillness was such a jarring contrast to the mess of congested life that was the regular swamp. They let Moto go on, praising her Dark Father for shielding her tribe for generations, and damning other tribes who wanted to steal their protector.
Nobody questioned her on it, not even Misser. He’d kept to himself in the back, glancing up whenever she said something suspect but always looking back to his scattershot Caster. Surprisingly, Armel wasn’t much better. Despite being right behind Moto, he barely looked up from the Blackstone pad.
Being right behind him, Cross was able to glance over his shoulder, but the pad wasn’t displaying anything different. It was still a bunch of randomly scattered lights with no indication of which was their Rook, yet Armel hardly looked up from them despite the drastic changes in the scenery.
Leaving only Wristy to keep Moto going.
“But you lot beat ‘em back, right?” she spoke up, tearing her gaze from the surroundings to flash Moto an awkward grin “Ya Dark Father wants ya strong, right?”
“Mhm!” Moto nodded fervently as she pushed her way through “Seeder fought… when Sharplokh tribe come. Good fighter… proud father!”
“Seeder’s a new word.” Cross noted, prompting Moto to clap excitedly.
“Seeder Keta-Nilli… care for egg Moto.” She said before rubbing fingers along her scales “Protect Moto… protect many eggs…”
Her words began trailing off just as she passed through more dangling vines, coming to a sudden stop just beyond.
Cross tilted his head and sped up, pushing the vines aside only to freeze.
Purple roots filled his vision, forming a large basin around a massive cocoon of thick black vines which had grown to entangle with nearby trees and wrap around nearby branches. It was immense in scale, rising higher than any tree nearby and choking out the sunlight with its vines.
While some light bled from the dense ceiling of dangling vines, most originated from the roots themselves. Those closest to the immense pillar glowed with purple light from within.
Easily showing the bodies littering the basin.
“Malsnei!” Moto cried out as she broke into a run, shakily sliding down to the nearest body before collapsing at its side and rolling it onto its back “Metikki palsar?!? Malsnei?!?”
Another bipedal lizard like her, with scales a slightly darker shade of purple. About seven of them were scattered around the basin dressed in various forms of skinned serpents, with most sporting large gashes or with sharpened sticks protruding from their wounds.
Cross didn’t need Armel’s experience with Mortals to recognize the aftermath of battle. Similar sticks were stuck in several parts of the basin. With a large one impaling one of the Draknich to the roots nearby.
Kneeling beside them, Cross marveled at the weapons used. They weren’t sharpened sticks at all, but spears made with wood and sharpened ore. The smaller sticks were just small spears, but Cross wasn’t sure why one would need a smaller spear.
But not one of the slain had anything that resembled weaponry.
Cross glanced back, finding Moto grasping at her eyes whilst struggling to breathe through her own gasps. Clear fluid seeped from her eyes, leaking through her fingers as she fought not to wretch.
“Armel?” Cross whispered without tearing his gaze from her “Is… is she okay? She’s leaking.”
But after several seconds of no response, Cross glanced over to find Armel had moved past them, and stared at the black vine cocoon at the center of the basin.
“Comrade?” Cross tried again, but got no response.
“Shh.” Wristy’s low tone made him glance back to see her kneeling beside Moto and carefully wrapping her arms around her “Let ‘er grieve, these was her kin.”
Cross nodded and backed away. He was no stranger to feeling anger over the loss of comrades, but Moto’s leaking eyes and trembling form wasn’t a kind of grieving he had any familiarity with.
He moved to join Armel in viewing the large cocoon at the center of it all, with Misser joining them soon after. Lowering the hefty frame of his modified Caster, Misser glared at the cocoon before nudging Armel.
“Is this it?” he asked, “The Dark Father’s tree?”
“Prime contender, at least.” Cross glanced back to the bodies “Though it looks like it isn’t much protection against Greater Mortals.”
He looked to Armel, expecting some kind of comment. But yet again, their resident mortal expert just looked down to the pad again.
This time, however, Misser took note as well. He leaned over Armel to check the pad, before frowning. But before he could speak on it, the vines shifted.
Cross and Misser trained their weapons on a patch of the cocoon which pulled open, the vines revealing a soft pink glow from within. Emerging was another Draknich, one who dwarfed Moto and the bodies considerably.
With a dark wooden mask that brought its height to the Pawns’ shoulders, the mortal immediately whipped up a jagged piece of ore with cloth wrapped around the handle. Instead of the serpent garb worn by Moto and the corpses, this Draknich bore armor. Wooden armor reinforced with a shiny, dark brown substance.
Its other hand released the leg of another corpse, leaving it just barely poking through the pillar as they stepped out and let the vines close behind them.
Misser glanced to Cross, who nodded before lowering his weapon. Misser slowly did the same, but the mortal never once took its eyes off them. Cross could just barely make out the dark blue spheres shifting from side to side through the eyeholes of its mask.
“We were sent by the Dark Father.” Cross spoke, leading the mortal to pause “You… can understand us, right?”
Though the Mortal went still, settling its gaze on Cross, it never once lowered its blade.
Not until a hoarse spoke up from behind Cross.
“Keta?”
That made the mortal’s stance shift, eyes widening as Cross looked back to see Moto pushing against Wristy as she scrambled to her feet. Wristy let go, letting Moto race down the side of the basin and dart past Cross and the others.
“Nakral Keta!” Moto cried out as she threw herself at the larger Draknich, who hissed before dropping down and wrapping its free arm around her.
“Moto burto nakral!?!” Keta grunted, keeping his blade aimed at the Noirites “Gantan? Gantan Moto Burlonna?”
“Hey Armel?” Cross leaned towards him “We’ve heard her speak that language for some time, have you picked up enough to know what they’re saying?”
Armel actually lowered his pad at that, but closed his eye before shrugging.
“Don’t need their speak to see what’s goin’ on here.” He nodded towards Keta “If he’s her protector and the tribe’s scared, don’t think he took her runnin’ off lightly.”
“Quiet!” Keta spat at them, gesturing with his weapon “True Dark ones? Not trick?”
“Trick?” Wristy stood tall and looked around “Why’ would we trick ya? Who else could we be?”
Keta shook his head before carefully pushing Moto aside and reaching back with his free hand. Without ever taking his eyes off them or lowering his blade, he reached for the leg of the corpse and dragged it out of the pillar.
The corpse may have been a bipedal lizard like Moto and her tribe, but Cross immediately noted differences.
Chief among them was the green scales, opposed to the shades of purple and blue the Draknich sported. And the armor, instead of wood this corpse bore heavy rock slathered in tar and strapped to the limbs using tightly bound ropes.
“Sharplokh!” Keta hissed, prompting Moto to gasp before quickly moving to look inside the pillar “Know of Dark rocks…. know False Father scare tribe!”
Keta brought up a leg before bring down his foot upon the dead body before him.
“Attack Dracknich,” he hissed before spitting on the corpse “pay in blood!”
“The best answer for a challenge like that.” Cross nodded before waving a hand towards his comrades “I’m sure the timing seems weird, but we’ve never seen Mortals like those before.”
Cross wasn’t sure he was the best pawn to talk Keta down., but Armel had gone quiet again. Neither Wristy or Misser seemed willing to jump in at that point, but Keta wasn’t lowering his weapon.
What he did do was look to Moto, who grabbed his arm and began nodding fervently.
With a sigh, Keta reached up with his free hand and lifted up his mask. A scarred snout turned their way as he narrowed those dark blue eyes at them. Despite the glare, he lowered his weapon and stepped aside.
Moto perked up at that, and quickly gestured for them to follow before darting into the pink glow.
Cross glanced to Misser, who shrugged at the offer, then to Wristy. She looked to Keta, to the glare he still aimed their way, before slowly stepping forward.
But Armel just walked in, without even looking up from his pad. After seeing him enter, Wristy sped after him. Cross shot Misser a smirk before heading towards the pillar as well. He gave Keta a nod, drawing a grumble from the warrior, before slipping inside.
The pink glow came from the black vines near the top of the cocoon, all of which grew from the oddly proportioned tree in the very center. It rose high and had many branches sprouting from its twisted bark, each branch thick and sturdy enough to hold up large bundles of scale skin dangling from them.
Draknich were poking their heads out of holes in the bundles, with many of the bundles housing several within. Many had turned their eyes on Cross and the others as they entered, with many on the ground freezing the moment they saw them
There had to be dozens of them at least, but Cross could see that there used to be more.
Near the base of the massive tree lay several bodies wrapped up in serpent-skin garb, the which was stained in multiple places with translucent blue blood. Many Draknich had gathered near those bodies, and appeared to have been in the midst of some ceremony when the Noirites’ arrival had stolen their attention.
In contrast, the bodies of over a dozen Sharplokh raiders had been unceremoniously dragged to the dangling black vines at the edge of the cocoon. Several larger Draknich in the same warrior garb as Keta were poking through those bodies, but many had dropped them and immediately drawn weapons upon seeing the new arrivals.
Their stances relaxed upon seeing Keta enter behind them, with even the smaller Draknich cautiously drawing closer.
Seeing so many of them only made Cross notice their tiny differences even more. Short snouts, longer claws, some had stumpy legs while others carried younger Draknich on their backs. Even though their builds and the colors of their scales were similar, they were a long way from the uniform nature of the insects back at the hive.
And even farther from the perfect simplicity that Pawns had.
“Mierchall!” Keta barked, drawing the eyes of his tribe to him as he stepped past the Noirites and gestured back to them “Mierchall kono beyta!”
Cross did his best to smile at the gathering tribals, noticing Wristy waving and quickly copying her. He nodded to Misser, who shrugged before giving a haphazard wave as Keta spoke on their behalf.
At least, Cross assumed that’s what he was doing. The expressions of the tribals went from cautiously curious to overflowing with awe, so whatever he said must’ve been inspiring. In fact, Cross couldn’t help but feel that pleasant boil of pride coursing through his veins.
These mortals hadn’t exactly had the easiest time since they’d arrived. The Rook tore through their lands, sending the predators into a frenzy and prompting a rival tribe to attack. Having them appear on behalf of their Dark Father must’ve felt like a godsend.
Cross’s suspicions were confirmed when Keta finished speaking, drawing cheers from the Draknich as they surged forth to greet them with broken words.
“Dark ones… save yes!?!”
“Protect tribe… father rewards!”
“Slaughter False Father, slaughter Sharplokhs!”
While Cross was positive the Rules of Play wouldn’t let them fulfill that last one, he didn’t have it in him to stifle the joyous cries of the tribals. Wristy must not have had it in her either, as she just let tribal after tribal grab her hands and greet her with reverence.
Even Misser allowed several smaller Draknich to pull and poke at him whilst asking questions, occupying himself with looking at the Dark Father’s Tree.
Not that Cross could blame him. While basking in the adoration of Moto’s tribe was pleasant, Cross couldn’t overlook the endless confusion revolving around the entity they worshipped. And supposedly, the tree before them was directly tied to him.
Yet despite the notable effect it had on the surrounding area, Cross wasn’t sure if the tree alone would be able to answer any of the questions he had.
So, he looked to Armel, only to find that he’d stepped away towards the pile of dead Sharplokhs. Keta watched from nearby as Armel kneeled beside the corpses and looked through them
Taking care not to be rough with the mortals, Cross pushed his way through the crowd towards Armel. After breaking free, he hurried to ask Armel to investigate the tree with him. But Armel spoke before he could even open his mouth.
“Your scales are different.” He said, looking over the arm of a dead Sharplokh “Ya got any words on that?”
“Purple scale…” Keta grunted before nodding towards the tree “gift of Dark Father… Old Draknich Green like others… Dark Father change… help hide in night!”
Cross wasn’t ready for the way Armel’s eye widened at that. He cracked a smile, chuckling before looking at the pad. He grabbed at his head, groaning before pushing himself up to his feet.
“What’s wrong?” Cross asked as Armel looked around “What do their scales have to do with anything?”
Armel gave a shrug before smiling and gesturing towards the Dark Father’s tree.
“Wanna see?” Armel asked before glancing back to Keta “We’re gonna have a quick chat with the father, tell the others to give us space, real important knowledge is about to get passed around.”
Keta narrowed his eyes, but nodded as Armel strolled towards the tree.
“You can contact him using the tree?” Cross whipped his head back around towards Armel before hurrying after him “Is that how the tribals do it?”
Armel didn’t answer him, just walked past the covered Draknich bodies and approached the gnarled, twisted trunk of the tree. But to Cross’s surprise, Armel turned and began circling around the hefty trunk.
“Comrade?” he asked, pausing beside the tree “What are y-?”
Then, he heard it.
A barely audible murmur in the depths of his mind.
Thoughtspeak.
Immediately he looked back to the crowd of Draknich, but the murmur grew quieter when he stepped away from the tree. Slowly, he looked back at it, drawing closer in an attempt to make the murmur more comprehensible. It was so low and weak that he could barely recognize it as a deep voice, even when he pressed a hand against the blackened wood.
Only to freeze, a piece of the wood was far harder than the rest. Only upon closer inspection did he realize that there was something black molded into the wood.
“Is this…” he narrowed his eye, which widened as the familiarity of the substance struck him with full force “Blackstone?!?”
Scanning the side of the tree, he found more pieces trapped amongst the dark wood. It was so tightly bound that only a keen eye could tell the materials apart at a distance. It wasn’t like the debris of the Tower, no sign of damage to the wood at all. The tree had to have grown around it in order to be so tightly bound.
A snicker from the other side of the tree snapped Cross from his daze, and he slowly made his way around the tree finding more and more Blackstone jutting out from the wood.
On the other side, Armel was sitting with his legs splayed out staring up at the tree with a tired smile. His eye turned to Cross, so he leaned up before pointing towards the tree.
“Show some respect, Comrade.” He shook his head with another strained laugh “We’re in the presence of history itself!”
Cross frowned before following his finger, eye snapping open as he took a step back.
Even more Blackstone jutted out, a large patch of the tree above was practically nothing but Blackstone. But it was the shape it took that robbed Cross of his words.
Near the top of the patch of Blackwood, it formed the shape of hefty shoulder plates that poked out of the twisted wood. A hand was suspended right next to them, fingers slowly twitching as the murmuring grew.
“Enemy… near… Ally… Assist” it rumbled quietly, as a dull purple glow brightened and dulled within a broken helmet “Slaughter… Enemy… Warrior… Damaged.”
It was a shape Cross was familiar with, yet on a scale much smaller than the one they’d been searching for. Yet despite the reduced size, simplified armor and stunted words, Cross recognized the being trapped in the tree immediately.
“Rook?”
