Dungeon Life

The Harbinger

Existence has been… unpleasant as of late for the Harbinger. The surface was supposed to be soft and ripe for the taking, and it seemed that was going to be the case, until that lich finally made its play. The Harbinger would have happily taken the simple lesson of killing the lich first, next time, but The Maw has other ideas.

The dungeon actually turned the Harbinger’s own Mind affinity against it, forcing it to relive the encounter over and over. The Maw covets that lich, building up the undead as a delicacy beyond compare. The Harbinger just thinks it’s a strong lich, but even it has to admit it is very strong for a lich.

As unpleasant as reliving being torn apart by that resonance cascade was, the Harbinger has come to appreciate the kind of skill and finesse that went into unmaking it. The blend of affinities utilized was as awe-inspiring as it was unpleasant, and the Harbinger wishes, deep in its core where none can see, that it could figure out what was actually done. The mana required for what was done should have required the lich to be a Conduit, but if it had such a title, it never embraced it.

But the memories of the battle are not the only unpleasantness of existence recently. The Redcap has been getting uppity lately, too. The nerve of the scion, to imply he’d be better at leading the least than the Harbinger! To even imply it would make a better hat than a scion! It would rend the Redcap’s mind asunder, if he wasn’t already utterly mad.

Perhaps the Harbinger should attempt to piece the Redcap’s mind back together. It’d be a much more difficult attack, but sudden onset sanity could have as devastating an effect on that scion as madness has on other minds.

The idea at least distracts from the utter boredom the Harbinger is now faced with. It was quite pleased with itself for finding that traitor. It even helped the Redcap with his newest hat, keeping the mind from slipping into the relief of madness, and forcing it to understand what was being taken. If the Maw had a scion with life affinity, they might have even been able to keep it alive for more than a few hours.

With the traitor hatted, the Harbinger had turned its attention to sniffing out others, but the Maw refused to listen when it pointed out a cheesemaker as a possible ally of the traitor. When it insisted something was wrong with the stupid little curd slinger, The Maw put it on its new tortuous duty: training the delvers. It had fun with the assignment at first, happily throwing them into impossible situations and tearing them apart with the least, but that didn’t last long.

“Grow them properly before harvesting. The Great Maw will not starve because you refuse to make a decent meal,” threatened the Redcap at the time, ending the last bit of fun the Harbinger is likely to have for quite some time.

It’s not even allowed to use its mind affinity to influence them! They’ll only go a little mad, they can still be directed! The Maw is utterly unreasonable in this, however, so the Harbinger must direct them in their delves.

At least it can take satisfaction in the fact the mana is being properly used. The spawner is so close to being able to spawn lessers. Once it does, the effectiveness of the least will increase significantly! The Harbinger will no longer have to guide them, and can focus on its own actions when they next assault the surface!

It looks forward to the next assault, even if more than just least will be committed to it. The metal fey and elementals of the Maw will be joining in the attack, as well as the delvers under the Harbinger’s tutelage. After seeing the incredible variety of the surface’s defenders, even the Harbinger has to swallow its pride and admit it needs some help to deal with certain minor vulnerabilities.

It will also be a good way to show the stubborn Maw that the Harbinger’s spawner is easily the best it has. The Harbinger can try to explain all it likes, but a difference in dead denizens will speak for itself. And then… oh, and then! Then mana will pour into its spawner, and it could finally get some standards! Any small vulnerabilities will vanish once they join the battle!

It allows itself some time to be distracted, imagining the destruction it could wreak with some standards, but reality soon remands its attention. While most of the delvers follow instructions well enough, this one has problems. If it was a lack of desire to listen, the Harbinger could shatter them and the Maw wouldn’t bat a metaphorical eye. No, it’s a problem of ability.

The Harbinger internally sighs as it focuses its attention back to the training room in the Maw. According to the Redcap, the Maw calls it the cutting board: a place of preparation before actually getting down to business. The delvers are organized into small squads at the moment, working on mobility. While a battle line will need a wall of shields, skirmishes are a reality of war, too.

Most of the squads are doing their drills properly: shield at the front, spear behind, mage behind that, support furthest back. Shield intercepts spear, support intercepts mage, spear and mage look for openings to exploit. The movements are carefully measured and carried out, the squads going through the vital forms of combat.

Except for Lechula’s group. It galls the Harbinger to even know her name, but she’s forced it to learn just from repetition. The mage, support, and even spear all do their best to stick to the forms, but Lechula can’t. Not won’t. Can’t. It watches the latest example as it moves forward, not even bothering to interrupt yet. Early disruption only ever makes a bigger mess.

“No escape!” shouts Lechula, as well as her spear and mage. The Harbinger would almost say she’s getting better, since she didn’t drag the entire squad into the attack with her. The mage and spear both look a little worried, even as they contribute to the combination attack.

Lechula strides forward, shield ready and short sword raised, presenting an impassible barrier to her imagined foe. To one side of the nonexistent target, a field of flashing blades appear, the mage of the group unleashing a bladestorm to also present a blocked path. Lastly, the spear comes in from the other side, tip flashing in a flurry of thrusts as all three bear down on their imaginary target, presenting it with no option but to perish.

Or so Lechula would like to think. The Harbinger shifts its form, allowing it to slip into the center of the group attack, and then dismantle it. The spear is simply snatched from the elf’s hand, and hurled at the mage. Even with a blunted training weapon, the Harbinger is strong enough to impale them through the shoulder. The bladestorm dissipates, leaving a surprised Lechula facing down the Harbinger.

A tentacle thrust dents her shield and compromises her footing, before a second tentacle comes from the side and snares her feet. With an undignified yelp, she’s hauled into the air, upside-down. It considers eating her, not for the first time, and not for the first time it restrains itself. Instead, it flexes its affinity to communicate.

“Lechula.”

“M-Master Harbinger!” she stammers, trying to act like she’s not dangling in the air.

“What have I said about combination attacks?” it tiredly asks, putting the smallest of strains on her mind as it does so.

“That they’re a waste?”

“Why are they a waste?” It doubts repetition will teach the lesson, but it really would be unfortunate to just kill the delver. She’s very good as a shield, despite her glaring shortcoming.

“B-Because a strong foe can disrupt it and take advantage of the positioning! And a weak foe doesn’t need that much energy wasted on it.”

“Yet you keep doing it.” With that, the Harbinger lets her fall, letting the thud of the floor punctuate his observation for her. She groans and staggers to her feet, a trickle of blood coming from her nose.

“I can’t help it!” She exclaims in frustration, before the eyes of everyone on her gets her to calm down slightly. “I just… it feels like the right thing to do. A good meal brings the ingredients together and brings out the best of all of them at once.”

The Harbinger fights a groan as it’s forced to come up with a food analogy to explain it to the pale dwarf. “You are not ingredients, you are courses. If you serve the appetizer, main dish, and dessert all at once, you crowd the table and leave two courses at the wrong temperature by the time you get to it. You waste food.”

She gasps and falls to a knee, both from the accusation, and from the weight of the Harbinger speaking to her. “I… I will do… better…” she manages before she collapses. The Harbinger doubts it, but it’s technically possible. It turns its attention to the support of the group.

“Take her to the kobolds for healing,” it orders. "The mage will need the spear removed and the wound tended, too.” The support staggers back and nods, blood dripping from his nose as he gets the rest of the team to carry Lechula. The Harbinger fights its annoyance as it watches them go. It really does need to figure out some way to break Lechula of her bad habit. Teaming up for an attack is wasteful, a desperate gambit made by weaklings in the hope of snatching victory from defeat. It ignores the little seed of uncertainty in its gut, that little voice asking how it would defeat that lich without a team up attack. The strong can do a team up to show off, to prove just how strong they are by being wasteful in disposing of a foe that thinks itself worthy.

It ignores the seed of doubt’s reply as it turns back to watching the training, preferring boredom to losing an argument with itself.