Chapter Thirty: The Herd

Zoteal opens his eyes, blinded momentarily by a light which finds its way through a crack in the door flaps. He blinks, letting his slow mind catch up, realizing that he had overslept by quite a bit.

Lifting his head slightly, he looks to the side, searching, but finding that his friend is missing.

“He’s probably getting something to eat,” he frowns, rubbing his head, “damn, that poison grass was stronger than usual.”

Stretching his arms up and around for a minute, Zoteal finally decides to get up. With a groan, He extends his four legs, lifting his body several feet into the air.

“Damn, I even forgot to take off my armor,” he says, noticing the sheet over his back. A symbol of four hooves intertwining can be seen, representing the herd with which he belongs to.

Doing another stretch while standing, Zoteal exits the building by moving a cloth which represents a door. The crystal light of the second dungeon floor strikes his eyes, momentarily blinding him again, but his eyes quickly adjust to the view.

Centaurs walk the clearing of the city, many sporting coverings with pictures that show what herd they are a part of. As usual, Zoteal takes a moment to enjoy the many different subspecies which mingle together without hostility.

Looking around using his species impressive eyesight, he quickly finds a group from his herd sitting around a fire, talking and eating.

Around his herd are others doing the same, and like his own, they also sit with their kind.

Zoteal trotts forwards, taking a moment to smell the humid air while taking a look at the large wooden walls which border the forest, protecting them from the monsters which inhabit it.

“Zoteal, was wondering when you would wake up.”

A centaur male, one of his herd speaks up as he bites into a greenish yellow fruit. A sour fruit which is best used for cooking as the taste can be rather strong.

“I wouldn't be sleeping so long if someone didn't put so much poison grass into the pipe,” he exclaims, eyeing his herd, looking for a reaction.

But to his dismay, none seem to look guilty. Which is annoying, because Zoteal was very much hoping to spar with the perpetrator, especially since he makes a point to wake up early to train.

Annoyed but unable to do much, Zoteal moves to the fire and grabs a bone spoon and bowl. He then removes the lid of the larger bone bowl hovering over. The smell hits him, a savory smell with a slight hint of spice. The soup, comprising of many vegetables, is a nice thick yellow with dots of red and black.

With a careful hand, Zoteal takes the ladle and scoops the soup into his bowl, not allowing a drop to spill.

Once his bowl is filled, Zoteal finds a place next to his friend and sits down, slurping his soup as he listens to what the others are talking about.

“-I took such a large shit when I woke up. It felt amazing-”

“-this soup is going to have me bleeding from behind-”

“-ink I should court Anarak? She has such nice antlers. And that tail! I just want to mount-”

For some odd reason, Zoteal, a level 91 [Ranger] had expected that his herd, specifically this part of his herd, would act normal in some way. That they would have meaningful conversations about fighting monsters or information about the plains. Heck, Zoteal would have even settled for conversations about the politics between the [Herdmasters].

But alas, they're all idiots.

Capable idiots. But still idiots.

Ignoring the conversations going along, Zoteal sips a bit of his soup before turning to his close friend and cousin.

“So what's the plan today Halistos? Did you get any information from [Herdmaster] Dragkenoss?”

Halistos takes a sip of his own soup, his face making a frown. Which Zoteal understands, his friend dislikes spicy foods after all.

“Well, it seems that the [Guards] have seen a large pack of thrashers running around near our walls.”

Zoteal nods, understanding the implications. Thrashers are pack beasts that hunt and attack prey using numbers. But what is most dangerous about them is their ability to scale wood. If the number is large enough, they may be confident enough to scale the wooden walls and attack the residents of the city.

Many would die and Dragkenoss would be blamed.

Which is not something Zoteal would want. Dragkenoss is an old centaur with a very no-nonsense personality. He is fair in leading the city and does not choose favorites. Instead, he has a tendency to favor those skilled at their jobs instead of certain herds.

Which has garnered quite a bit of anger from many [Herdmasters].

“So, we will probably need to head out?” Zoteal says as if was already decided. .

Halistos stands up, his bowl empty as he gazes at the glowing crystal in the sky, ”Orders have already been released. Our herd and two others will be sent to track down and to kill the thrashers.

Zoteal’s long ears flutter in surprise, “How big is this group if more than one team is required?”

Halistos shrugs his shoulders, “He didn't say,” he says with a sad frown.

“but I doubt it matters. We just have to quell their numbers from range.” he continues before trotting downhill towards the armory.

Zoteal watches his cousin move, failing to hide a growing frown.

“She doesn't like you. Get over it,” he whispers, dearly hoping that the man gets over it. Distractions of love are something that Zoteal can relate, but only slightly. His own love had lasted only a couple weeks before he found out that he wasn't the only one.

Shaking his head and dispelling such annoying thoughts, Zoteal focuses instead on the bowl before him. There will be little time to eat once the hunt begins.

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Good and safe wood is hard to find on the third level of the dungeon floor. Many times there are hidden beasts or deadly poisonous spores located near the trees. Such dangers can even kill centaurs with endurance exceeding twenty. A sniff of poison or a predator lunging at your neck and it can result in death. Of course, most poisons can be treated by a [Herbalist] or [Healer], but some work too fast, killing within minutes. Many a centaur have been felled by a poison, restricting their movement while some beast comes up and eats them slowly while they are alive.

And even, if in some way you find a tree, you still have to be careful. For that may not be a tree but a treant in disguise. A monster that attracts prey before killing them and depositing the body within the gastric juices underneath it.

Zoteal moves and grabs his bow from his herd's armory. His hand touches the smooth surface carved by a [Boyer] using the strong wood from the second floor. The bow is over a meter in length and allows a maximum draw length of two meters. Zoteal strings his bow and places it in a holder on his side.

He then grabs a quiver of bone arrows and placed it on his other side. Such positioning will allow him to unload his bow and to grab an arrow with incredible speed. He then adds an emergency bone spear. Rarely used, but good if something happens to your bow.

With one last check to make sure that the leather is firmly strapped around his body, he exits the armory before moving towards where the three herds are waiting at the gates.

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“A large number of thrashers are near our city,” Dragkenoss says as he trots back and forth by the gate, his eyes focused upon the three groups of centaurs, all wearing different emblems dictating to which herd they belong to. But here, within this city, Dragkenoss is in charge. He is an old man with black but quickly graying fur across his body. A piece of his left ear is missing and his tail has all but fallen off.

But none would call him weak. Dragkenoss is one of the few surviving people of the ‘Herd Wars’ which had happened over a hundred years ago. It was a bloody time where centaurs warred and fought. Many lives were lost, herds were killed. Dragkenoss had lost his herd in the wars. He alone wears his herd's emblem now.

Zoteal gazes at Dragkenoss with utter respect. A centaur which has surpassed the hundred level barrier, gaining a class of [Heavy Halberdier]. His specific level is unknown, but Zoteal would bet his tail on it that it is extremely high. High enough that the [Herdmasters] can't actually do much to persuade him.

“Which is why you all will be heading in to track them down and to lower their numbers.” he says.

“As for the reason why I am sending three herds. That is because I have a very bad feeling about this. Something does not feel right.” he stops, eyes looking at the centaurs lined up with their herds.

They stay silent, waiting, barely listening to his words. Believing themselves capable, that nothing would go wrong.

But Zoteal has found the old centaur never wrong. That the old man's warnings, though few, seems to be always on point.

Which is why he has decided to take his time and to not rush into the hunt. As the leader of his herd’s hunting party, decided on by the [Herdmaster], Zoteal will make sure his people do not do anything stupid.

Zoteal looks to the side, looking at the two other herd groups. The ‘Echoing Mare’ and the ‘Arrow Point’ watch disinterested, waiting for Dragkenoss to finish.

And the old centaur knows this, which is why he sighs before lifting his hand, causing the gates to open.

“Hunt well and stay safe,” he says before moving out of the way.

At once, the three herds accelerate out of the gate, running into the forest.

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Jump, swerve, avoid, traversing the second level of the dungeon is a difficult task for centaurs. Unlike the third level where there are many open fields of grass, the second level contains a multitude of ways for a centaur to lose their footing. And if footing is lost, chances are you will also break a leg.

And as many a centaur has been taught, their greatest asset is mobility.

Which is why every herd which sends members down to the second level must have all members with a dexterity exceeding fifty. It is vital, otherwise, the risk of broken hoofs is too great.

With exceeding mobility, Zoteal leads his brothers in arms, following his pace and speed as he passes trees and beast alike.

This is what he loves. What he enjoys. Running through a jungle of monsters, always risking that broken hoof with each increase of speed. But, it only lasts for a minute before he remembers the warning and slows down, keeping his eyes open as he looks warily around.

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Where are they? We haven't even found smaller groups of thrashers.

Swerving around a tree, Zoteal stops at a resting stop, a place with a large lake of clean water.

His herd follows his lead, doing the same.

Getting near the water, Zoteal bends down and refills his waterskin, drinking the warm liquid and refilling again.

He takes a moment to admire the lake, the clear water that hides no dangerous beasts or poisons. Unlike his home floor, where monsters wait for prey near water… or sometimes under.

It has been half a cycle and still, we find nothing.

“Halistos, your thoughts?”

“I share your confusion. No thrashers were found. We've found their nests, but they were old.”

Zoteal nods, a feeling of dread coming to him. He looks up, finding a flock of birds moving from a direction. A large flock.

Something spooked them.

“We're moving!” he yells, a bad feeling in his gut.

He swerves from the pond and starts to run.

“[Accelerating Charge], [Leading Movement], [Sure Footing].”

Three skills he activates, one allowing his herd to move very fast. The other allowing his herd to follow his movement exactly. The third is for himself, to make sure his extreme speed does not cause him to fall.

His body glows a sheen of red, flowing behind him, touching his herd, covering them in his wake, leading them behind him. Like a split stream of red dust.

It doesn't take them long, but long enough to find that they are too late. The battle has begun.

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Zoteal rushes into the clearing where he finds a grizzly scene. A massive swarm of thrashers surround two hunting herds.

No, there is only one left.

Zoteal quickly notices the dead bodies, finding that most of ‘Echoing Mare’ are dead while half of ‘Arrow Point’ stand guard in a circle around the remaining injured members. Many are bleeding, using spears instead of bows, their quivers already empty.

With practiced movement and a Dexterity of 87, Zoteal unsheathes his bow and nocks seven arrows.

He could do more, but accuracy falls off too much.

“[Arrow Storm], [Splintering Arrow]!”

His body moves, the skills guiding him. He aims his bow at the group in front of him and releases.

A whistling sound warns the thrashers of impending doom, but it is too late. Arrows slam into their hides, striking and splintering in two, striking even more of them. Screams of pain and warning release from the thrasher mouths, but Zoteal had succeeded in what he was attempting to do. He has cleared a path and now runs through it, uniting with the two other herds.

“Zoteal, thank god you’re here,” one of the centaurs exclaims, blood seeping from several wounds across his body. Zoteal cannot even imagine how much endurance it takes to even be standing.

“What happened here?” Zoteal asks, watching as the bridge of bodies he had created are closed in by the massive horde of thrashers. A truly significant number that Zoteal had never seen before.

The bloody centaur, Zoteal now realizing is the leader of the ‘Arrow Point’, frowns as his eyes gaze at the dead around him.

“‘Echoing Mare’ was ambushed. They found a group of thrashers and chased them here… but it was a trap. They swarmed them. I heard the sound of fighting and came with my herd, but by then, it was too late. Too many of them had fallen and I found my herd trapped as well.”

Zoteal looks at the empty quivers, even the ones on the bodies of the ‘Echoing Mare’. All are empty.

“And you fought them, but there was too many.”

The bloody centaur nods, his eyes gazing at the thrashers staring at them, showing their sharp teeth. Seemingly wary of the new individuals which surround their prey.

“They can avoid our arrows. The’re learning much too fast. They waited for us to expend our own.”

“This is too coordinated. They shouldn’t be this smart,” Halistos voices out, his arrow pointed at a thrasher which seems to bend its digitigrade legs, waiting to jump out of the way.

“You haven't tried to escape?” Zoteal asks, nocking an arrow to his bow, aiming it towards a thrasher. But right before he releases, Zoteal retargets and fires, striking a surprised thrasher in the head, killing it. The swarm takes a step back, wary, but learning.

“They're aiming for our legs.” the centaur says.

At this moment, Zoteal realizes that he may have made a big mistake in coming to the rescue. He can no longer escape, which means that his men are in serious trouble.

Zoteal clicks his tongue, grabbing another arrow and nocking it.

“All we can do is fight them off and hope we can kill off enough of them to leave,” Zoteal says as he flicks his bow and shoots an arrow, this time striking a thrasher in the direction it attempted to dodge.

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Zoteal’s rams his spear into a thrasher skull, killing it. But another quickly takes its place, attempting to strike his legs.

With a jerk, he moves and flicks out his leg towards the thrasher, which evades the strike by jumping back and growling at him.

Zoteal takes a moment to look around, finding that half his men are dead or dying. The leader of ‘Arrow Point’ had fallen, having lost too much blood.

Whether the man is dead, Zoteal does not know. He does not have the chance to check, especially since the thrasher numbers are still extremely high. They had killed over two hundred of them, and still, Zoteal cannot believe how many are left.

But that changes as something walks out of the clearing. A thrasher, larger than its brethren with a yellow crystal horn atop its head. Its eyes seem to glow, looking towards Zoteal with uncanny intelligence.

One thing he has been taught is that monsters with a crystal on their body are extremely powerful and tend to be leaders of their kind. The third floor has such beasts, many of them guarding their territories. If a centaur were to be able to kill one and obtain a crystal, he would bring great respect to his herd.

Unfortunately, the tales of centaurs defeating such creatures are rare.

But Zoteal cares little for glory. Especially since he finds it useless. Sure, it could help him get a mate or a higher standing in his herd, but those things can be gotten with hard work and significantly less risk.

*Cough*

“Is that an Awakened?” his cousin asks with a limp hand while the other holds a spear. One of the thrashers had bitten him on the arm, dislocating it and breaking bone in the process. Blood can be seen coming from his mouth, a possible internal wound.

“It is. I didn't know they could form on this floor.” Zoteal says, aiming his spear towards the massive beast.

“Damn, that's why they aren’t giving up. It’s the alpha.”

“Indeed… do we have any arrows left?”

Halistos shakes his head.

The massive beast continues moving towards them, the thrashers parting in its way.

And then it stops and shows its teeth. Zoteal gulps, the teeth are bloody and sharp.

It opens its mouth, takes a big breath and screams.

And then, what Zoteal had been dreading happens. The thrashers all charge.

Zoteal quickly moves his spear, stabbing and jumping back, blocking strikes, kicking.

Screams and yells can be heard behind him, but Zoteal cannot turn to look as he stabs quickly and fights. Unfortunately, when he stabs into the skull of a thrasher in the air, he finds that he cannot remove his spear. Another thrasher jumps towards him, its mouth open. Panicking, Zoteal lets go of the spear and blocks the strike with his arm. The thrasher latches on, biting through the leather.

Zoteal screams and trips over the corpse of a fallen brethren. He falls, hitting the ground hard. Before he can get up, a thrasher jumps, jaws open in midair.

He watches it, in slow motion. His coming death.

Or it should have.

The thrashers body parts in half, straight down the middle. Blood and guts splatter on his face, the rest passing over him.

Zoteal blinks and turns his head, finding that the thrasher which had been attached to his arm is not biting as hard. It only takes a moment for him to realize that it is dead. Everything below its head is gone.

With erratic disorganized movements, Zoteal unclenches the jaws and releases his hand.

And then he hears it. Screams of pain. Of whistling wind.

Eyes widening, he quickly gets up and looks around.

Corpses of thrashers are everywhere. Mutilated, bodies literally in half as far as he can see. And then he notices them, circular disks, spinning and flying at immense speeds, ripping into the thrashers with ease.

The thrashers are panicking for the first time. And as his gaze adjusts, he looks at the large thrasher leader. Purple smoke surrounds it as the leader screams and croaks, squirming on the ground in what Zoteal can only believe is immense pain.

He looks behind him, finding that his herd is just as dumbfounded as he is, watching the carnage take place.

And then his eyes lay on his cousin, mouth open as he looks into the air.

Following his gaze, Zoteal’s own mouth opens.

A figure stands upon a massive bird, arms crossed as a purple fog surrounds him, seemingly morphing, protecting, orbiting alongside spinning discs. But the most impressive feature is the eyes. Purple glowing eyes.

Eyes that look bored...