Hi guys! This chapter is a little shorter than usual. The reasoning behind it is that the timing for ending the chapter would have been awkward. However, the chapter after it will be longer. Actually, he previous one was longer as well, counting nearly 5000 words. 1000 more than the average I usually shoot for. Regardless I hope you will enjoy this smaller chapter—though not too small—as we continue our story in the Maguuma Jungle.
The rain was a welcoming relief. Although it was soft, its scent penetrated the smog and cleared it all away. The sound was just as relieving, each large drop of water striking against the leaves and the roof made from branches and dried clay like tiny drums.
He had been resting in their guest hut; his mind still muddled with the images of what had occurred well over a day ago. He remembered the frog creature, who promised to come back for the bear and Asterix's stuff, after he was safe. He turned his head to look at Bobbo, his sight slanted while he laid sideways on a bed of dry leaves.
Bobbo was sleeping. His breathing was slow, but stable. The bandages, also made from long thin and dried leaves, were discolored from dry blood. It was a miracle that an artery wasn't severed in the flurry of stabs in his neck. When they retrieved him, they immediately applied a thick salve made from herbs, plucked from the jungle itself. They did the same for the Gaul's cut. It stung, but gods, did the stuff work well. However, it was undeniably going to become another scar to add to an ever-growing collection.
They assured him afterwards that they had burned all of the bodies from the scene. The best and possibly only way to make sure nothing was left of them. It was perhaps also the only thing he felt good about. Knowing that Mordremoth couldn't reuse them for its sick purpose anymore. Yet, everything else about the event pressed on his mind like a dull but persistent headache.
The first frog being he met, who addressed himself as Ibli, was a member of the Itzel tribe. Asterix never would have believed that a village, some semblance of society, could ever exist in this place. Yet here he was, as their guest. They had lived in the jungle for many centuries, building huts high up in the trees and connecting them together with vine-woven bridges. They didn't know of the dragon back then. Mordremoth had only become active recently. But now they fought the Mordrem invasions every night to defend their only home. It felt strangely nostalgic, but only in a sickeningly twisted way.
Out here, every night, people died.
Occasionally, a drop of rain slipped through the cracks of the ceiling, and he watched it fall and hit the floor, made of woven branches, the gaps of which were filled with clay and decorated with colorful paintings. But he didn't even care how they built the village. The simplicity of a mere drop of water fascinated him far more. A serene little bead, suddenly meeting its end so unexpectedly as it collided. Yet that floor was there all along.
He shook his head. With a huff, he decided he had enough of weather watching and stood up to take a long stretch. He wanted to cast those depressing thoughts away, knowing there was no time to mourn. Not here. It's not safe.
He wasn't going to be useless either. He gave Bobbo a very gentle pat on the head and whispered a promise in the animal's ear that he'd come back. Bobbo's response was a loud sleepy sigh, but it reassured Asterix that he still lived and was doing okay, all things considered.
It was the first time that he left the hut since he came here. The raindrops that hit his skin were chilling and made shivers run down his spine, but they also made him feel more grounded and alive than when he was indoors the whole time, lost and numb. The shock from what happened was still strong, but he was slowly recovering and beginning to understand that he was going to have to move on, for now. He started walking at a slow pace as he observed the villagers attending to their daily commute.
"Can I help with anything?" Asterix asked one of the bypassing frog-men, holding a woven basket filled with exotic fruit. The creature gave him an odd look and kept on walking. Right, most of them didn't even speak or understand his language. The only ones he knew who did would be Ibli, and the village's Kaana, otherwise known as the chieftain. Unfortunately, many of the Itzel looked so similar, it was hard sometimes for him to tell them apart. Then, he started to notice that the Itzel he tried to communicate with placed the basket down next to many more. He saw another one of them, also carrying a basket, bringing it to the same place. It seemed like they were moving their harvest to a safer area of the village.
Then that's what I'll do.
He followed the two Itzel as they walked back again. He couldn't shake the idea that it must be awkward for them to be watched and followed by a stranger. Although thankfully, he noted, not out of ill intent. As he expected, past two of the bridges connecting the platforms of the village together, was another food storage. Both the Itzel that he followed each lifted a basket, and began to carry their load to the new storage area. While he approached the stack, he realized how mistaken he was to believe he could carry one of those large baskets by himself. Though they were built from woven plant fiber, they were each filled to the brim with either fresh fruit or giant grubs. Embarrassed, he attempted to pick up one of the smaller ones instead, but struggled to even lift that.
"Gods, come on!" He tried one more time to get the basket to lift off the ground. The Itzel were so slender and thin, but they were stronger than he had given them credit for. Finally, he gave up and let out an angry sigh. The villagers surrounding him gave him an odd look, but they understood that he wasn't trying to steal anything. He liked to believe at least.
"Can't even carry supplies… I really shouldn't be here."
"Can I help you with that?" another villager nearby questioned, who also spoke his words. Those words felt like they were taunting him, mocking his attempts to help when he was in fact the one who needed it, but he was sure that it—they, didn't intend it that way. He stopped and looked at the frog-being, still unable to discern their gender, even by voice. They carried a rather stuffed looking, large bag in their hand.
"No. I, uh… I was actually the one trying to help," he sighed. He eyed the basket again for a new attempt.
"You are weak, but the reason you are weak is not what you think," the villager explained. "How long have you been out there?"
"Out where?" Asterix asked, feigning ignorance while he tried to lift the basket again. He just wanted to avoid answering.
"In the wilderness, of course."
The basket dropped, and he exhaled a defeated breath. "A few days…"
"Then you have been fighting for your survival that long. Your body is strained and weakened. You should rest."
"I've been resting since I got here," the Gaul retorted. "I'm really not tired."
The creature then mused in response, folding their arms. "Hmm… I suppose if you're feeling well enough, then… Ah," they piped up. "I have an idea. Why not come patrol the village with me?"
Asterix looked up at the Itzel villager. Patrolling the village… He knew it really was just a lie to have him take a stroll around town rather than actually do any labor. He couldn't possibly make the leaps they made. He saw how they patrolled. The Itzel had these outposts; just branches that were high up to serve as a vantage point. They jumped to them to scan the area below, then jumped down and walked to the next. Sometimes, they even made a leap to the next point, skipping the walk entirely. He would just be forced to sit there, waiting for them to come back down. Then again… maybe the creature was right. Maybe he just needed to stretch his legs, instead of potentially overtaxing himself by doing work.
"Alright. I'll come with you."
The two began their walk. First was the town center – really not that big of a site. Five bridges to different areas connected to it, but there was only room for twenty of the Itzel members on the platform at a time, at best. Even that was stretching it. From this location, the Itzel could easily access their various storages containing simple resources, including weaponry, food, and other tools that made life a bit easier for them.
"Why are your people so friendly to strangers?" He had to ask. The Gaul couldn't imagine this friendliness just came out of nowhere.
"The jungle provides. Your friends helped us when we needed it most, and we show our gratitude by returning the favor."
Friends… oh, they must have meant the Pact. After all, the enemy of their enemy would be their friend. It was a good thing. The more against the dragons, the better, he assured himself.
"I'm glad you found allies in the fight against Mordremoth," he noted to the Itzel. "It must be hard, getting attacked and losing people every night…"
"It is… Mordremoth is a blight upon Ameyalli, and the world. If the Pact really can defeat it, we must help however we can." The Itzel creature crouched down to build up a spring in their step, and suddenly leaped high into the sky to land on a nearby branch. Asterix's tilted his head sideways in question as he stared up at them, awaiting their return.
"Ameyalli?"
"You know her best as the jungle," they called back down, before they prepared to come back down again after inspecting the surroundings. Something Asterix did not expect, was when the Itzel villager suddenly sprouted glittering wings from nowhere, hopping from the branch and gliding back down with grace.
"Wait, what was that?" Asterix gawked, staggered. Upon closer inspection though, he realized those wings weren't actually real. They were masterfully built from fiber and branches, designed to catch air as the user fell to slow their fall. The invention detached itself from the villager, and they folded it back up into a neat little package.
The frog-creature stored that package back into the bag and grinned. "That's my glider. We use them to slow our fall and sometimes reach places otherwise unreachable."
"Amazing!"
"We can give you one. We've been sharing how to make them with the Pact. I'm sure we'll have one extra to spare."
Huh? Give him one? Surely there was no need for that. He didn't plan on remaining in the jungle.
"Oh, thank you. But I think I'm okay." The Gaul said, not wanting to waste their precious resources. "It's not like I'll be staying here much longer."
"Oh?"
"Well, er… no offense to you. Your hospitality means a whole lot to us… But I'm not actually a Pact member. I'm not supposed to be here."
The Itzel let the bag with the glider down to hang from their hand again. "I see. You must have had a good reason to come all the way out here."
Asterix nodded wistfully. "Yeah, I used to…"
"Hey big guy, dinner is here," the Gaul announced as he reentered the guest hut, carrying a small abundance of various exotic fruits in his arms. They all were meant for Bobbo, but while the Itzel insisted for him to take some for himself, he simply wasn't hungry, or eager to find out what some of them may taste like. "Come on, these will be good for you." He dropped the pile to the floor in front of the bear's nose and began to wake him with some careful nudges and repeating his name a few times. The bear woke, blinking the heavy sleep out of his eyes and letting out a long yawn.
While Asterix took a good look at the bandages, it seemed like Bobbo was already returning to his old self, albeit slow. The bear was eager to sniff at the powerfully scented fruit, and soon he raised his head to reach out and dig in. The Gaul was well aware however that the animal was still not in good shape enough to do much. Taking good care of him was the least Asterix could do. He had to get him home somehow.
And then? He didn't know yet what then. The warrior sat down beside the bear, petting him while he considered his options. He wanted more than anything else to be back in Gaul. He wished that this was all but an overly lengthy, overly detailed nightmare, and that he would soon awaken and have forgotten all of it. But that was no option.
"Hey, I know you," a voice said. Asterix's helm-wings flicked up and he shifted his somber gaze at the direction the voice came from. It was her. The charr officer from the first camp they visited. She looked at him with the same judgmental green eyes, then she noted his expression and lack of friends. She raised her head and looked around the hut. "What happened? Where's your friend?"
"We…" Asterix paused to swallow his remaining dignity. "You were right… We found her, and she was turned. We had to kill her." He felt pitiful. Ashamed and stupid for not listening. He knew deep inside that he tried his best, but in the end, the dragon was simply too strong. He should have realized that.
"And the sylvari you were with? Where is he?"
He looked away. "Gone too. He turned not long after."
"Ah…" There was a small pause. "I'm so sorry for that." The charr's voice wasn't cold or hollow. She was genuinely sympathetic, and didn't bother to remind him that she had warned him what would happen. It was something he could appreciate, but at the same time he felt that he deserved a scolding. "It's still not too late for you," she instead suggested. "Our chopper can take you as far as Rata Sum. Then you can go home from there."
Go home. Did he even deserve to? The only place close to a home was Margrit's stead. Sure, he missed her and Dogmatix right now. He missed the coziness of her house and how it would always be warm and pleasantly smelling of tea herbs, coal, ink and oaken wood. The perfect contrast to the cool winter air of the Shiverpeak Mountains. But crawling back to her, a failure – when she too had warned him so? When she had embraced him and begged him to stay safe. How would she react to see him come home defeated? How would she react if she saw her dear animal companion, who she entrusted Asterix with, beaten up like this?
He didn't just fail Margrit either. He failed Liliwen, and Bohan. They both died because he let it happen. Their efforts were for nothing. The entire sylvari race would continue to suffer under Mordremoth's choking grip. Either until they give in and serve it, or the Pact kills the dragon and ends the war.
The Elder Dragons are not invincible. They killed one before and they can do it again. And by Toutatis, he was going to witness Mordremoth fall. Maybe he was making an unwise decision, but he was done being indecisive. Done being a bystander.
The charr had turned around, her back facing him as she looked at the rain. "Well, you'll know where to go. My squad is moving out soon, so I trust you'll find your way to camp alone."
"No," he said.
The charr perked her ears and hummed questioningly. "Hm?"
"I'm not ready to go home," Asterix responded. Her head turned to face him, her expression confused.
"Your organization, the Pact… you fight dragons, right?"
"Fighting dragons is what we do best," the feline answered, fangs showing as she smirked.
"We all want Mordremoth dead," Asterix continued. "If you'll have me, then I'll serve the Pact."
The charr stared for a moment, her smile fading in an instant. Asterix expected her to start laughing next after her bewilderment. Why didn't she? He was far from what the Pact might seek in a potential recruit. Instead she was pursing her lips slightly, raising her paw to scratch her chin with two clawed fingers, and mused to herself for a moment, considering the offer.
"We do need all the manpower we can get," she admitted finally. "Small and helpless as you may seem, you did survive this long with just a small company. You're brave and you have the smarts, but you're obviously untrained and underprepared."
The Gaul chose not to comment. She was absolutely right in her observations. He watched the charr pace around a bit, pondering the offer. He was surprised she would even consider it, let alone watch her stop closely in front of him and give him a sudden stern glare, like a real superior would to her underlings. White fangs glinted again between her lips as she began to growl.
"You will address me as Captain Blademaw. As long as you're under my command you will follow my every order and never question them. Am I clear?"
Not expecting Blademaw to accept his offer, Asterix struggled a bit to get up and correct his posture, giving her the answer she wanted to hear. "Yes, Captain."
"Then give me your name, recruit."
"Asterix, sir."
"Asterix what?" She wasn't questioning it so much as she was demanding something. She wanted his last name.
He didn't really have a last name; not to his knowledge. He figured that if he had to make one up right on the spot, he might as well choose one that he knew he would remember.
"Asterix the Gaul, sir!"
The charr looked unamused by his lack of confidence as he outed the words, but she nodded and accepted the name. "Good. You will be with my squad. Don't get separated if you want to live."
"Yessir. There's one more thi—"
She interrupted him quickly and silently, staring him down with a wide-eyed angry gaze. Suddenly he realized, and he immediately corrected himself. "Permission to speak, sir?"
Blademaw's features relaxed again, this time with a hint of an impish smile. "Just teasing. I'm not that strict. Permission granted."
"I have an… uh, injured pet bear." He pointed at the animal behind him devouring his meal. "He shouldn't stay here. Can he be brought back to Hoelbrak, to his owner? I need to send a message with him too."
Of course the bear couldn't stay. He belonged back with his owner. It's perhaps a bit dishonest, to not bring him back in person. But admittedly, Asterix was just a little bit scared of how Margrit might react if he came back to her together with an injured Bobbo. He just hoped she wasn't going to rip him to shreds later, if he still lives…
Blademaw nodded her head. "We'll get something sorted out."