Divine Blessings. The hallmark for [Apostles], [Missionaries], [Cardinals], and [Priests]. As the world progressed into new and dangerous eras, people looked to the Gods for guidance. Limitations crippled Divine power from reaching most, but a certain few ignited like a guiding light. These special few became the bases of the Churches, along with ironing out issues unspeakable powers could bring. In the beginning those who found the powers to be too much often died of their own greed. Their hands were slain by the people they were meant to protect. These deaths marked the truth and responsibility for the Gods.

More limitations and sanctions were set, not by people or by Gods, but by the system. The system became a harsh jury, excepting no misgivings and even less understandings. Ideas such as conceptual Blessings and Blessing theft were among the first laws. Blessings could not simply be handed to anyone; if the receiving person did not want such a task, they were allowed to decline. Blessings could not be given to someone in the protection of another God. This caused issue.

Beings such as Cral, the God of War, argued that his power was all but useless. Most fighting in a war did not honor him nor did they praise him. He had one of the lowest populated Churches, simply because people did not like war. But when a battle did start, the prayers he received boggled even those of the Big Three. The system saw this and augmented. Now, some beings, categorized by the system, could send blessings to those who asked during special circumstances.

The God of War was happy, his powers could be given to those who needed it. The entertainment he loved so had meaning and reason. He felt as if nothing could go wrong, but as other Gods became jealous and loopholes were found. Who’s Blessing had priority? The religious could remove the War God’s Blessing in favor of their God’s, turning the tides of battle. The system changed again, giving supreme reign to Cral. Unless the battle was fought for a Church, his powers were set in stone.

You have entered a place of the Divine.

Part of Lesterwood’s raid team stood huddled together. Each stared off into the distance, reading over the notifications that were just received. Only a Drake peered past the hazy veil of blue, looking far into the void of the goblin swarmed cavern. Just beneath the raid’s target, a stature depicting Cazdis, Goddess of the Eldritch, two green eyes with deep burnt red iris glinted in the cave’s light. The goblin attached to such eyes was different. Aura leaked from its body, as if its skin couldn’t bare the weight. It stood tall, taller than any other goblin Bishop had ever seen. It had to crouch as to not let its head scrape against the ceiling of the alcove it rested in.

The goblin had the same far-off gaze as the others, viewing something that was hidden to all but them. It was the classed goblin, Bishop could tell. No others stopped when the notification sprouted, no others looked around in wonder. As if it felt his eyes, the classed goblin swiveled its head. It peered back, searching over the dark stone trying to find anything out of the ordinary. It did.

The cavern went silent as aura poured from the humanoid beast, flooding the lower floors. Screeches mixed with feral sounds of dying pigs echoed off the high walls. Cracks and popped shook the ground, as bones and joints broke and healed. A single hand reached from the depths below to the platform the raid team stood, then a second. And a third. The first head of the newly crowned Eldritch scanned for a moment before a sword pierced into its brain. Skull rather, as the sharpened tip failed to penetrate the iron like bone. It fell, a blood trail following its path, landing with a reverberated heavy crash. Moments later the skin was restitched, broken bones set and healed, and it began the short climb again.

As more Eldritch pulled themselves up, flame knocked them back. Their newly resilient bodies seemed to not consider the heat a factor, as they simply stuck their ground after the initial barrage. The raid leaders yelled for volleys, pointing at priority close targets. Magic mixed with arrows gave the raid enough time to reorganize, falling into rank. They constructed barricades making use of the stalagmite formations which gave enough defense for orders to be dispatched.

Moments had passed since the [Hexer] finished its spell, but it hadn’t moved. It watched with interested but lazy eyes, like a spoiled child with a new toy. It tapped a long finger against a jug of Divine blood, the liquid trembled with every touch. As its children died before it, it did not help. It only looked to its Goddess’s statue; a wave of blood was rushed down the decapitated head. A smile crept on its face.

[Hexer of the Eldritch Deacons], Goblin

The pulse of magic brought the [Hexer] back to the battle at hand. It narrowed its eyes on the cause of such distractions. A young man, no older than fifty. He carried a heavy steel sword with enchantments baked into the metal castings. With a casual lift of its hand, the beast fired a beam of pure green mana at the man. His head disappeared from his shoulders.

The sound of the spell overloaded the battle. Every living creature except for two found themselves on the floor. The first was the goblin leader, who was now standing and walking to the statue, the other the headless man whose body had yet to fall. Clammy looked to Bishop for guidance, finding it in the form of a deathly stare. She had seen him like this a few times, eyes thin slits, claws fully extended, fangs out and ready to snap.

“PUSH!” Shatterwind commanded from the front lines. Six forward members charged, arrows flying past with pinpoint precision. They collided with their targets in a two-pronged attack. First the arrow staggered the Eldritch, next a sword, hammer, or fist ripped it apart.

“PUSH!” The walls echoed again, and again the arrows whizzed by.

“PUSH!” Again, they created more ground.

“PU-“ The words halted as a new wave of Eldritch appeared. They were smaller but carried a fear unlike before. There were only four, but it each walked as if they could kill a city. A woman with fist wraps was the first to die by the new enemy. A sickle, no longer than a garden spade, sliced through her armpit up and out the opposite shoulder.

A blast of air hit the closest hard, summersaulting it across the rock. Another had a stream of flame flight beneath its stumpy feet, a simple sidestep brought it out of harm’s way. Yel found herself crossing weapons with the biggest of the bunch. She rotated firing crossbow bolts with dodge rolls, peppering it with small attacks while it missed with a massive cleaver.

A group of four adventurers took on the mage of the new challengers. A silky white Aegis blocked their attacks, illuminating the surrounding area like a lighthouse. It carried an oak staff crested with a blue gem. White light formed in the gem, forcing the adventurers to dive out of the way. Two light elementals in the forms of hideous foxes, growled. A single step brought the foxes meters closer, biting distance.

Clammy watched with distant eyes. She wanted to join the fray, but Bishop held her back. He watched the [Hexer] as it moved jugs around the statue platform. They needed to attack it, but without Domic, Shatterwind, and or Yel, Bishop was afraid he would lose. They could wait for reinforcements, hold out until the heat subsides enough for more bodies. But that left many avenues of defeat. First, time was of the essence, who knows what the [Hexer] was doing with the blood. It could be a weapon, or drinks for a feast, whatever the reason, they needed to interrupt it. Second, the raid members left behind where the weaker group. The less experienced did not bring heat resistant potions even with the knowledge of Domic’s involvement. That was not strictly true, but more than likely accurate.

“We should help.” Clammy said from his side.

Bishop was about to sigh; the girl can be a bit battle crazed. But the realization overcame him. “Yes, we need to clear a path for Domic, Shatterwind, and Yel to fight the classed. Just like the original plan!” Bishop practically sung his words, wrapping a mana message, and sending it down the artificial tunnel.

“R-right.” She took a hesitant step forward, expecting a leathery hand to stop her. She pivoted forward into a running position and took off. Bishop a step behind.

Dozens of Eldritch were being held back by the defenses set around a grouping of stalagmites. The mages and [Archers] took cover here, picking off targets just breaching the steep climb up the platform. Most of the arrows couldn’t penetrate bone, but that didn’t stop the momentum the bolts caused. More than a few goblins had to make the climb a second or third time. Magical bolts and lances made up the standard mage attack. Members of the Mage Guild often knew much stronger spells, but the close proximity of friendlies limited their options. Spikes made of sharped stone launched with enough force to put down a water buffalo were common along with beams of odd colored mana that seemed to shift in midflight.

Their primary targets were the elite Eldritch, as Inspect named them. The three leaders Bishop needed to propel further into the cave were among the forward group. With a target in mind, Clammy landed besides the mage Eldritch as if an anvil was dropped from a skyscraper. The surprise mixed with the small shockwave was enough to land a solid hit. The goblin was slammed with a magically altered swing, cracking its ribs. The hit made it to stagger back, having not been able to erect its shield. A second slam sent it flying deep, across the central vaulted area and into a wall on the far side. Clammy had altered its gravity a moment before the hammer hit its mark, allowing for such a grand slam. She moved to assist with the conjured foxes.

Bishop formed a rapier out of thin strands of lightning, it was more akin to a needle than a real sword, but he needed functionality over beauty. With a crackling thrust, a hole was formed through the elite’s shoulder. A second and third appeared moments later along with three bolts which exploded after entering the goblin’s flesh. Yel flanked, dropping her ranged weapon, and drawing a broad sword. She hacked into a stumpy leg with fury, eventually severing the bone after the fifth or sixth swing. Between the fresh holes and seizing muscles, the Eldritch didn’t last much longer.

“You, Shatterwind, and Domic need to attack the [Hexer]! It is doing something with the blood the statue produces! I’ll handle things here if we can kill one more of the elites!” Bishop yelled with enough volume for the other leaders to hear. A moment later, each took a glance at the classed.

The former teammates set their sights on Shatterwind’s mark, a small goblin with a sickle. This goblin had spilt the most blood of any, already killing three raid members. Together they overwhelmed it, after a parry disarming and leaving it weaponless. Only Bishop’s was last but as the Flame Devil walked away from a charring, twitching pile of flesh and bone, it was apparent his was dead. They regrouped in the safety of the stalagmite fortress.

“It’s doing something. Kill it.” Bishop spoke in a commanding voice only Yel had heard before.

“We need to be smart about this. You saw that beam it shot, do you think you can block it?” Shatterwind retorted.

“No, but that’s why we need to move. Now. Its preparing something, the longer we give it, the worse it’s going to be.”

Shatterwind considered this. Across the cavern the [Hexer] moved with calculated movements, shifting contents of jugs around like a mad scientist. Around it rows of non-transformed goblins laid on their knees, foreheads on the floor, and palms out. It almost looked as if they were surrendering themselves to the statue, which, when Shatterwind thought about it, they probably were. Their Goddess gave enormous power to those who asked. Was this a form of prayer? Were they trying to supersede the sacred word of Cral?

“You’re right.” Shatterwind adjusted her armor, allowing her wings full and unimpeded movement. “Let’s go.”

She marched with Domic and Yel, past an opening of explosions courtesy of Bishop and the other mages. Shatterwind started the fight off hard, summoning a gale and removing the tripping hazards in the form of the praying goblins. The [Hexer] snapped its head back to her, mana pulsed from its feet like a thick smog. The nearest goblins began to morph, breaking apart and healing with incredible speeds. Fire sprouted before the transformations finished, however, burning them to a crisp. A second gale pushed the heat into the infrastructure of the cavern, starting a domino effect of burning tents.

Bishop moved his sights away from the leaders, focusing on the ever-increasing number of normal Eldritch. Their ranks were being bombarded by the number of enemies, threatening their fortress now that Domic’s area of effect flames had died. They would be overrun sooner than later, but reinforcements were due to arrive soon. He joined the battlement, throwing electrically constructed daggers at targets, chains of lightning forming between the daggers. But it wasn’t enough.

Ironically, the person having the most success in killing the goblins, and keeping them dead, was the apprentice rather than the teacher. Clammy found the weak spot to be the heart or brain, only issue was the iron cage or steel shell surrounding the two organs. But that didn’t seem to be a problem as long as she could land a solid hit. The raw power her attacks brought were enough to splitter bones which scrambling brains or turning hearts into Swiss cheese.

The issue became finding the opportunity to harbor such swings. The stalagmites made horizontal attacks near impossible while the awkward uneven ceiling removed vertical from the table. The goblins seemed to realize this, not taking her attempted bait out into the open. The ones not actively getting knocked off the rocky ledge took to hiding in the shadows, attacking with deadly unseen movements. But they could never truly move with stealth, their bulky out of place bodies were hard to lose.

As frustrations built on Clammy’s mind, she took to brute forcing her problems. She crumbled century’s old stalagmites, using their pebbles as fuel for Rock Bullets. The Bullets did little in the way of damage, only flesh wounds, but they cause the perfect distractions. She wasn’t using her Battle Trance, but through her time training such techniques she found herself viewing battles differently.

Where she used to see only what was in front of her, she now read battles like a book. A humanoid scream meant someone was cut, a sickly green-red blood splatter means an Eldritch was sliced. She saw simple things but now her mind was able to calculate and formulate reasoning behind such events. She felt as if she had fought blind in the past, only now receiving glasses. Using this to her favor Clammy was able to fire off pebbles at targets she had her back too. Not because she was omnipotent, but because she read where an enemy would be.

A beam of white shattered the ground beside her. The spell would have hit but thanks to the Gravity Shield she maintained; the spell was harmlessly deflected away. Her eyes widened at the implications, near death experiences was a great way to get the heart racing. Clammy kicked off pulling dust and stones with her, her target had just let itself be known. The last surviving elite was back in range, and she was going to make sure it died this time.

A mole, toucan, and raven sat on a tree branch discussing mushrooms. There was no punchline in this situation however, because below them a dark and twisted landscape stretched as far as the eye could see. A forest once full of life, now dead. Dying, rather. The Druid Order’s experiments on the subject matter had led to many things. Some good, some bad, but the conclusion of the project had finally started.

It was decided a sample of fungus would be extracted; the rest destroyed. They didn’t know where it came from, how it worked, or why it was here, but the loss of life was reaching peak numbers. They simply couldn’t let more life die. Dreamstem found that sentiment somewhat funny. Since when did the Order care about life? The last few months had put her time in the Order into perspective. She was a child initiate, finding entry from her uncle before his untimely death. She had been branched in Lesterwood for nearly her entire career, something she took pride in.

But remaining outside the Temples left… Undesirable effects. First and foremost was that she never knew what was going on inside. Whether it being politics, losses, heroics, she simply did not know. The Order usually was under strict noncommunication protocols. Second, she was ridiculed by her peers. More than a few times did a wandering Order member enter Lesterwood during travels, and more than once was she ignored. She understood the reasoning, but she could do without the superiority complex these wanderers often had.

But as rumors of the Orders antics, along with her personal observations, it was apparent that the Order was not as friendly as she once thought. It was Celenia and Max’s battle with Red Mask, she realized. Her single order of no interference put a putrid taste in her mouth. Since then, she has looked at each order with different eyes. She was even surprised when the Lost Lord figured it out, somewhat at least.

Max’s rage fueled rant was right on the money. Ruden had set a trap, he had wanted to kill anyone who entered his range. But, as things go, Ruden was embarrassed and Dreamstem was able to play it off as Ruden being Ruden. But the Lost Lord was young, which scared the raven shifter. If he already had ideas of what the Order truly was, even if he now though those ideas misplaced, the egg was hatched. It was only a matter of time before he fully formed a conclusion. And as trouble seemed to follow the young man around like a starving puppy, it would be sooner than later.

“Ready?” The mole asked, the only [Druid] of Lesterwood unknown by the Lost Lord.

Ruden had quite the stern meeting after his failure simply because he was Inspected. He would have to be restationed, most likely somewhere remote for a few years. The top brass was not happy with his ambush, but at the end of the day, he did receive some potentially crucial information about Max. Max was strong, stronger than he had any right to be. His attacks lacked, but his utility with space magic made up for any shortcoming. Not to mention his bond. Now that Ruden had seen Emi, rather than just a description from Dreamstem, he could properly research her kind.

“Indeed.” Dreamstem said, a single wing shifting into a wrist and hand. She often wondered if she could fly with hands for wings, but the added mass and potential healing time stopped her from leaping.

A small vial was produced from a small runic tattoo on the [Druid]’s palm. It was specially designed for combat and or safe keeping. The pocket dimension tied to this particular rune was small. Only a dagger, or in this case a vial, could fit. But the quick sling location had saved her life more than a few times. Popping the top with her thumb, she tilted the vial upside down allowing all of its contents to drip to the desolate land below.

The effects were immediately noticeable. The mushrooms the liquid touched instantly withered away, turning the once vibrant blue into an uninteresting gray. It would be hours before the concoction effected the whole area, but that was why they started it at night. By morning they could tell if it worked, sunlight never hurt when investigating.

“Now then… Ruden, tell me again how you were stripped naked and had your inspection ring removed.” The mole said. He held his paws in front of his mouth like a gossiping child. “Please use extreme detail when you talk about the embarrassment you felt.”

Dreamstem rolled her bird eyes. She hated it here, she decided.