May Fortune Guide Us
For the first time throughout this entire journey, Clover finally understood why King Ironwood had been so insistent on sending him to Patch in order to slay this demon; if the land itself was not cursed- although how could it not be, with everything going wrong like this?- and the circumstances were all purely coincidence, Clover could scarcely imagine how terrible the journey would have been for someone without his uncannily good luck.
Perhaps I've missed another road, he thought glumly, squinting into the distance. From where he stood at the edge of the mountain, it was clear that there was some kind of beaten path upon the cliff face above, but he had yet to find anything but thick underbrush and brambles and densely forested pathways, gnarled roots and low-hanging branches blocking his every step. There was no way of knowing where the proper road had begun, for wherever it was, Clover could not see it.
As the daylight began to wane, so too did his patience. The thick canopy above gave him some reprieve as he reached the shadow of the small mountain, helping him cool off after the sweltering day wearing his armour. However, it was not with glee that he noted the rapidly-cooling weather, for the storm up above began to crackle and thunder with more ferocity than before. Thankfully, the mighty rains always brought by seaside thunderstorms had been focusing its assault upon the south side of the mountain, keeping him relatively protected, but if he dawdled for too long he would not be safe from the storm. At least I do not have a companion with me. Being courteous is the last thing I need to worry about, he thought wearily.
He cut through the invasive vines and carved a path through the trees for what felt like hours, only to eventually stumble upon a small, well-hidden pathway that snaked up the mountainside. That victory only lasted a few minutes, however, when a well-timed lightning strike landed upon a tree further up the slope; the trunk fell in a blaze of cinders and fury as it tore down other trees in its path, culminating in a smoldering pile of burning oak and cedar blocking his path. It would be impossible to clear; he did not have the tools, nor the time and energy required to deal with it.
The only way around it all was to scale the mountainside momentarily; Clover skirted the mess and managed to rejoin the main path thanks to his agility and strength, barely maintaining his balance upon the steep slope. A lesser man would not have been able to proceed, but his sheer frustration and discomfort, and likely his luck as well, spurred him onwards safely.
The only true respite he had was that he did not encounter any Grimm along the way. It was a strange thing, to be able to walk in a wood without fearing the monsters of shadow, but Clover took it in stride, grateful for the reprieve he was able to glean from the lack of constant combat. He needed to save whatever strength he had for the battle ahead, after all.
At last, he saw it- his goal. Just as he had suspected, just above the halfway point of the mountain was the entrance to a small cave, only a few hundred yards down the small pathway. The sight of it lit a fire in his heart; he quickly downed a weak restorative potion, sighing happily as minor cuts and bruises began to heal upon his body. For a moment, he simply removed his helm and ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked hair, relishing in the crackling chill of the air. He needed to calm his heart before arriving at the cave entrance, for if everyone's fears and Clover's assumptions were correct, then he would have the fight of his life on his hands very soon.
I'm ready, he thought as he replaced his helm and finally clambered up the road, determination filling his heart with such a high that he felt his chest rise in pride. Kingfisher appeared in his hands, and he let out a long, quiet sigh, centering himself as he pressed the flat of the blade against his forehead. For the king.
The outside of the cave was set into the mountain face ominously, the large entrance covered in drooping vines and the roots of the aged trees growing all around them, hanging low like rattails dripping dirt and rainwater upon the moss-covered entranceway. It was wide enough for a decently-sized beast to fit inside. There was a faint light within the cave, but no sound; Clover peered into the cavern, eyeing the shadows suspiciously. He could spot no sign of movement, no sign of life, other than that light.
Pulling out the pouch around his neck once more, he pulled out another invisibility-spelled gem; the other's power had faded a few hours earlier, but it was necessary now more than ever, so he crushed it under his heel without a second thought. As his skin crackled and magic began to cover his entire body, reflecting the surrounding light and causing his form to disappear from even his own eyes, he cast a glance behind him, a stray thought entering his mind which only added to his trepidation.
Why is there a pathway built into the mountainside if it can just fly up here?
There were only grim answers awaiting that errant thought. Does it charm people to come to its lair? Does it bear slaves? Does it keep this path to give its victims hope of escaping? Clover had seen far too many twisted things done by Grimm and monster alike in the past, so his expectations were nothing if not terrible. However, he had no choice but to bite back his conjecture and go forward. He had a job to do.
From the moment he stepped into the cave, he felt himself be dragged to his knees, a wave of energy and force washing over him and holding him down. His gauntlets slammed against moss-covered stone, the sound barely muffled by the greenery, echoing throughout the cavern; as he gasped for air and looked down at his hands, he realized that the invisibility was fading away, leeching off, being absorbed by the very moss and stone upon which he stood.
Okay, it's spelled against magic to be used inside its lair. Fantastic. Mouth pressed grimly into a line, Clover felt the last of the hiding spell's effects drain off of him, the weight of the magical charm's pull finally leaving his shoulders. He staggered to his feet, awaiting the footsteps, the grating shriek of the shifter which he had presumably heard on his way there.
Nothing.
The storm had finally, truly hit the north-facing side of the mountain; rainfall began to crash down upon the trees, echoing through the cave with roaring, raging intensity that only built up as time passed. It nipped at his heels, daring him to leave the cave's relative protection once again. He did not exactly want to be caught in the tempest; so, with no other choice but to proceed onwards, he took his first steps into the monster's lair, approaching that light flickering in the distance with steely resolve and heightened awareness in his heart, Kingfisher sitting comfortably within his grasp. His armour clinked, the sound carrying throughout the cave, but there was nothing he could do about that; he had a silencing gem somewhere in his pack, but with the dispelling quality of the very stone of the cavern, there was no point in hunting for it.
Finally, he reached the corner behind with the light source was shining. Holding his breath, he listened, awaiting any telltale sign of life waiting to ambush him.
Nothing.
With a flourish of his sword, he stepped around the corner, only to feel his arm drop limply at his side as surprise and confusion took over his entire body.
Shifters did spend much of their time in human form to trick their prey, he knew; but why was the cave furnished like a small, cozy, human dwelling?
Clover felt his feet lock into place as his eyes slowly roved over each detail in sight. The light was coming from a small lantern, lit using a long-lasting electric-Dust crystal. It cast a homey yellow glow upon stone walls so smooth it could not have been done naturally; underneath the lantern was a small mossy area, only occupied in one corner by a simple pair of pattens big enough for a man. Past the shoes was a small wooden wardrobe with iron-wrought handles, and just past that was a small writing desk below numerous shelves built into the wall, all filled with inkwells and scrolls and sheafs of parchment, with beautifully-bound books residing upon the highest shelf. Based on the barest overview of the titles upon the spines, the books seemed to be academia-related, all focused on Dust manipulation and crystal control.
He let out a haggard breath, finally stepping further into the cave. Around another corner, there was what could only be a small kitchen; a furnace, its pipe going right into the wall, stood in the corner of this larger space with glowing embers in the hearth, shining red through blackened iron grills. A small dining table accompanied by four chairs, two of which had small silken cushions stacked high upon them, stood in the center of this new space. Clover almost laughed when he saw a utilitarian cooling box, probably lined with ice-Dust, on the floor, alongside a small washing sink and a stack of bowls of different sizes. Walking up to the counter, he froze, taking in the tiny, child-sized sets of cutlery and plates and mugs set into another shelf carved into the stone, painted with dainty pink and red and yellow unlike the plain chestnut brown of the rest of the bowls and plates.
Am I breaking into someone's home? Clover thought, absolutely baffled as he turned to see another tall shelf, this time covered in bottles of various shapes and sizes. He snorted involuntarily as he recognized one bottle; it was from a famous Valean winery, one which he knew King Ironwood was particularly partial to. The entire collection upon that shelf could have gotten an entire platoon completely intoxicated.
There was a curtain at the back of this kitchen area, a warm glow coming from within. He peeked past the gossamer material, gawping at two lantern-lit beds covered in pillows and stuffed toys and colourful sheets. Who in the world lives here? The room was filled with the scent of dust, so it likely hadn't been occupied in the past weeks, at least.
Pulling his head back out, he turned his attention to the final two points of interest in the room, two wooden doors; one led to a small lavatory, whilst the other led to a short hallway, ended by yet another door.
Clover paused for a moment at the end of this final, short corridor, his hands reaching out for the knob. If this shifter truly favoured the form of a dragon, did it also keep a hoard? The thought of bringing back treasure on top of the shifter's head to present to the king was an alluring one; however, unlike dragons and their penchant for gold, he did not know what to expect from the den of a shifter.
Is this even a shifter's home? he thought, unease and disbelief fully in control of his heart. Those two beds looked like they belonged to children, and nothing has seemed out of place. A hermit could live here with their young ones, for all I know. What is this place?
Still, he had come too far to turn back now. Before he could waste any more time, he turned the handle and pushed open the door.
This room, like all the others, was illuminated by electric-Dust inlaid into lanterns upon the wall; however, unlike everything else, this was a veritable cavern. Clover craned his neck upwards, holding Kingfisher at the ready in case a creature was hiding in the shadows above, for the ceiling was too high for the light to penetrate, casting the upper echelons of the chamber in complete darkness. He heard no noises, no movement, however, so he was able to turn to look at the rest of the room, the contents of which were frankly baffling.
There was a single large bed with plain sheets spread messily upon the mattress in the back of the rounded cavern. Beside the bed was an armoire on one side, a nightstand on the other, with a capped, clear crystalline bottle of amber liquid sitting upon it next to a small tumbler. Across the room was another door with a window carved into it, covered by glass; even from where he stood, Clover could tell that it lead outside, meaning it was an easy entrance for the shifter outside of the mountain path. It appeared to be human-sized, though, with no other exits for the veritable beast he had been preparing for throughout the past month.
What wasn't normal, however, was the shifter's true bed, which took up the majority of the room. It was not a pile of golden treasures reflecting the light and illuminating the room as Clover had quietly hoped; no, it was nothing but a mass of tree branches and moss and feathers, the outside filled with jagged edges and spiked wood, rising to Clover's eye level. There were numerous rocks encircling the intricately-woven pile, supporting the base, so Clover sucked in a breath, steeled himself, and climbed onto one of the rocks, peeking over the edge of the pile- it was a basin, a basket of sorts, lined with giant, arm-sized feathers and mossy ferns in a thick layer, covering a neatly-woven interior.
It was a giant bird's nest.
Clover was suddenly very, very tired- not of the magical kind, but purely through exasperation and annoyance. Why was there a bird's nest? Wasn't he supposed to be slaying a dragon-like creature? Wasn't that what the innkeeper had described, with wings and talons and-
Oh, Brothers above. I have to kill a bird.
He was so tired.
A small wooden chest, built in the plainest fashion Clover had ever seen, sat in the corner of the room. Stepping down from the stone foothold, he carefully walked over, sliding Kingfisher back into its sheath as he knelt down to examine the chest. It was large enough to fit a decent sum inside, tall enough to reach his knee; so, after checking the mechanism for any spells or wards or traps, he carefully unclasped the lid and pushed it back, bracing himself for the treasures- or the monsters- within.
"You have got to be kidding me," he groaned.
Inside the chest, after all of the mystery and confusion, were four gold pieces. Two pathetic coppers sat in the corner. A slightly-bent silver coin was jammed into the corner of the box, looking almost forgotten, abandoned.
Clover carried nearly ten times as much in his purse at the moment, with more in the inn.
Suddenly, Clover felt the cool sting of metal at his throat, the touch finding itself lodged perfectly in the chink in his armour between his collarbone and his helm; he clenched his teeth, stilling instantly as a low, husky voice growled, "So why's there an intruder in my home, hm?"
Clover's mind was raising as he analyzed his options. One wrong move, and the sword could easily slice open his neck. Kingfisher was in its sheath, and drawing it would take too much room, room he did not have kneeling in front of the chest.
Silently, he raised his hands, carefully pivoting around on his knee to look at his assailant, wincing as the blade of the speaker's weapon cut lightly into his skin; he kept his smile amicable and light, bringing his eyes up to look at the speaker.
It wasn't a monster, nor a dragon, nor a demon bird-human hybrid as he had feared after Elm's tales of snake-shifters. Instead, it was just a man- a proud, straight nose set over thin lips twisted in a scowl, clean brows furrowed in suspicion, red eyes glimmering dangerously in the light through full, dark lashes and grey-streaked, short-cropped black hair. Gaunt cheeks and a sharp jawline covered with stubble were accentuated by the lanterns' light, the shadows cast on his face nowhere near enough to change the fact that Clover's heart leapt up into his throat, breath catching, as he realized that the man standing before him was decidedly handsome- and, as the man's lips shifted into a snarl, bared forearms flexing as he held the hilt of a massive, red-stained claymore, that this man was going to kill him.