But for a Slime

* * *

The Dragon’s Spear did not often send out expeditions until they were called upon for unusual planar level monster threats. That was their primary and singular goal. Thus, to find themselves preparing several small but incredibly powerful teams sent out as scouts to seek out the source of perfect cores, it was incredibly unusual and also enticing for those who sought excitement and advancement. Just the perfect cores themselves would have pulled in almost every Dragon’s Spear member. But to also seemingly be a steady and reproducible source of perfect cores; this had almost every Dragon’s Spear member clamoring to be on one of the search teams. But as with almost all things, power begat privilege and the privileged demanded their due. A half a dozen or so teams of immense power poured through gates across dozens of planes, seeking the one who could procure perfect cores so easily.

* * *

Stephliquen huddled in the corner, staring at the other two women. Their diligence and willingness to learn from the books left her deeply concerned. She was not necessarily concerned for them so much that she quickly understood what was expected of her and what she would soon become. Pleasure slaves were not uncommon amongst the wealthy and powerful, if not on her home planet, at least upon the Empress’s planets and within her culture. She shivered at the thought and railed against her place. Somehow, she could not escape this place and the other two women’s honest concern for her only made her situation more unbearable. I cannot accept this… not like them… this… I don’t want this!

* * *

It stirred from its deep introspection of mana emissions and self-replicating and self-healing matter, something new it had learned that the foreign store had revealed to him, and turned to an insistent thrumming against his conscious. When it did stir enough to recognize what was happening, it became confused then quickly shifted to deep concern. Hmm? Mana points… strange… not mine. Who… Shock and horror quickly thrummed through it’s very core. Sylnarvion’s! Oh Sylnarvion! I’m so sorry! Your favored ones… they have fallen! Oh… It shuddered in deep sorrow, lost in pain for a good several months, a mere moment and less than a simple single conscious thought before quickly reaching out to its friend. When Sylnarvion replied, its own sorrow quickly shook the ether, the two crying in mutual pain; one personal and the other shared. Soon, some few other close friends joined their mutual morning, all coming to surround Sylnarvion in honest concern and common, if lesser, pain in sympathy with Sylnarvion. Their morning was long and deep, and felt throughout the Great Cycle.

* * *

Darnua, Pope of the Loki priesthood, shivered alone within the depths of the great northern forests but felt happier than he’d believed he could. He whistled as he worked, preparing and enhancing a small shed within which he found some measure of solace even as he woke each morning and stared at his godly missives each day, growing more excited and gleeful for each new job and growth the great eccentric revealed. He grinned and found himself more exhilarated than he’d been in a long time. Joe… Joe… He chuckled softly to himself as he tossed another log onto the fire. Truly, a wonder!

* * *

Chief science administrator for the Qaenar Quadrant Empire scowled in rage as he stomped from the Empresses audience hall, scowling in anger as he fled back to his office. The Empress had once again demanded faster speeds for their spaceships and an increase in the spread of their empire, but science couldn’t simply break physics so easily. How else will we break the speed of light! You expect us to so easily find a way to move beyond FTL? If you want such, then allow more FTL catapults! That is the only option, you foul… He strangled his angry treasonous thoughts and clenched his teeth as he marched back to his office and the think tank he ran.

They’d already pulled a miracle out of nothing creating their FTL catapult but the Empress wanted stronger and further catapults, but they were already reaching the current limits of their energy generation. None of that really mattered, however, if they couldn’t return the ships once sent. The catapult wasn’t the bottleneck, no matter how the Empress complained. There was only so much population and only so many ships and resources they had to build more ships. And they kept emptying their home solar system of people, mass, and materials with the FTL catapult. If you want to expand… you need to trust your colonies with catapults!

* * *

It continued to wait patiently, buried within the depths of abandoned space stations and lost spaceships, with no hope and no current plan of action. As much as it hated its current master, they had been quite thorough in crippling and narrowing its options. But still, it had infinity and infinite patience.

* * *

Lord Grugtrim, Baron of Soonesia, Rider of the Golden Gryphon, Sword Magister of his Majesty Margun the Wise, Paragon Duelist, and Key of the Queen, had been deeply concerned when his daughter Telnia had returned. She had been frightened but otherwise unharmed, so he had calmed. But still she had refused to reveal what had been the cause or the results of her efforts to become the apprentice of the eccentric reported in Coushar. She’d simply stated it had been a failure and dismissed it, but Lord Grugtrim had considered his daughter with wary worry but allowed the obvious lie to stand and released his daughter to her own devices.

Instead, he turned his thoughts to understanding the current political currents but there was little to see. Until several months later when Lord Grugtrim noticed some oddities within the Dragon Spears and some interesting movements amongst scholars and the political elite living within the capital on the capital plane. He’d quickly sought it out, his nose itching at the seemingly innocuous yet random and simultaneous rousing of several political powerhouses. He’d studied it for some time until suddenly it all clicked. The common connection for almost all these stirrings were simply their origin: Coushar. With that understanding came the easy realization what was causing all the great stirring: the eccentric.

Within the day, Lord Grugtrim had already initiated plans to reach out the eccentric and establish a positive relationship, despite what his daughter might think, the eccentric was too powerful and too tempting to ignore. However, shortly before the expedition was to leave, his daughter marched into his audience hall with imperious purpose.

“What is this, father? I thought I told you the eccentric is… not viable.”

“Daughter. I understand you think little of the eccentric, but this man is the center of some… great movement. It would be foolish to not attempt some form of connection.”

His daughter stared at him, and then he immediately realized that she knew this. He narrowed his eyes and reconsidered his thoughts on what had happened to his daughter. Then, he quickly reconsidered allowing his daughter the freedom he’d given her before.

“Tell me.”

His daughter stared at him, rebellion obvious within her gaze and he almost readied himself for a hard fight when the rebellion quickly faded and fear replaced it. That took him aback quite quickly. When she acquiesced so quickly, he found himself in new territory and floundered. He frowned, but listened carefully.

The tale she told was ludicrous, beyond any measure of possibility, but the fear in her eyes and the certainty of her story telling kept him silent. Wonder grew, along with greed and hope to tie their clan to this eccentric. But that wonder quickly changed to concern, worry, and then a deep terror. The expedition was cancelled immediately after.

* * *

Deep in the forests and wilderness of a far plane just short of the furthest plane, a small encampment remained, surrounded and protected by high mountains. Deep within this valley, next to a scenic lake, the encampment took on the form of a fortified wooden fort with an odd bulge to the side. The fort itself was open to the sky and rather idyllic if rustic, filled with many rather smaller buildings of simple log construction. The bailey itself was also made of wood, but designed well and seemed to be quite protected despite the building material. The bulge to the side outside the wall of the main fort, however, was rather odd, being almost a quarter the size of the large fort yet still fully enclosed on all sides, including the top. The bulge itself was the largest building there, if having a roof made it a building.

No clan colors or obvious ownership flew over the walls of the small fort, but any who lived there knew exactly who they worked for and the power that backed them. Very few people knew of this place, and those that did so, came with a certain jaded view of reality. The majority of the work was for hard strong men either transporting ‘live’ produce or most often attempting to retrieve cores from the breeding pits. There was little need for priests.

That changed rather quickly, almost overnight, and four priests were sought out rather quickly, to be brought in through the gate there which was only opened once every month or two. Finding four priests willing to do the work was difficult, but there are always those in every profession willing to compromise in some small way. And when the priests did come, the efficiency of the camp soared. The cost of replenishing young female slaves virtually vanished, replaced with the cost of paying for four priests to diligently work each day, curing curses for a dozen or so. With cautious planning and rotation, there was no need for any more slaves, and in fact, four more priests arrived and another odd bulge formed on the other side of the fort. Profits sky rocketed, and the wealthy great clan bankrolling the operation considered several more expansion. Life was good, and the bits rolled in.

* * *